When I look back at all the projects I’ve done over the years, some of the most satisfying have been built-ins. There’s just something rewarding about transforming a blank wall into something beautiful and useful. A couple of years ago, I was called in by a young couple who had just bought their first home—a charming, albeit slightly dated, Craftsman-style house. They had big dreams for the space, and one of the first things they wanted was a cozy window seat with tall storage cabinets on either side. Not only did it need to be functional, but it had to feel like it belonged to the character of the home.
So I got to work. I’ll be honest—while I’ve built countless cabinets, every job comes with its own quirks. This one had slightly uneven floors and walls that weren’t perfectly plumb. But that’s the joy of custom work; you’re not just building furniture, you’re solving puzzles.
I started by visualizing the whole project and then breaking it into manageable chunks: building the cabinet boxes, face frames, doors, drawers, and finally fitting everything snugly into the space. These cabinets would be tall—reaching from just above the baseboard to within inches of the ceiling—so I built them in two parts for easier handling and installation. It’s a lesson I learned the hard way years ago when I tried to muscle an eight-foot-tall cabinet up a narrow staircase. Never again.
At the heart of my process is simplicity and practicality. I don’t use complicated jigs or exotic tools—just a few dependable ones. My go-to setup is a portable workshop in the garage or driveway. I bring in my table saw with a sturdy outfeed table, a miter saw, a router, and a track saw for breaking down sheet goods. It’s a humble setup, but it gets the job done every time.
One trick I swear by is using a story pole. It’s essentially a long stick or strip of plywood where I mark all critical dimensions. This method saves me from second-guessing measurements or discovering mid-build that I miscalculated the face frame width. I can’t tell you how many times that story pole has saved me from disaster. It’s like my project compass.
For the boxes themselves, I use 3/4-inch Baltic birch plywood. Years ago, MDF was cheaper, but nowadays the cost difference isn’t worth the trade-offs in weight and durability. Birch plywood holds screws better, resists splitting, and sands beautifully. I cut dadoes about 1/8 inch deep for the joints and glue everything together with pocket screws. The shallow dadoes help keep everything aligned during assembly, and that bit of structure really makes the box feel solid.
The face frames are made from poplar, which I like for its straight grain and workability. It also paints up beautifully, especially if you avoid boards with those telltale green and purple streaks. I’ve learned to pick through the stack at the lumberyard, running my fingers along the grain, hunting for those perfect pieces. There's something therapeutic about that ritual—it’s like choosing ingredients for a great meal.
I once had a client who wanted a window seat in her reading nook. She told me she imagined curling up with her favorite novel and a cup of tea, surrounded by shelves full of stories. That mental image stuck with me as I built those cabinets. I wanted the corners to be just right, the drawers to glide effortlessly, and the seat to be sturdy enough for generations of readers.
Building the cabinet boxes is one thing, but getting the face frames on cleanly takes some finesse. I always make the frames just a bit oversized and trim them to fit flush after the glue dries. Pocket screws hold everything tight, but on visible sides, I rely on glue and clamps to avoid unsightly holes. Once, I had to rebuild an entire cabinet because I got impatient and skipped the clamping. That mistake taught me patience.
Doors come next. I prefer mitered frames for a cleaner look. Using a loose tenon system makes assembly more forgiving. The corners align beautifully, and there’s no exposed end grain to mess up the finish. Inside the doors, I slip in a plywood panel cut slightly smaller to allow for seasonal expansion. I still remember a summer job where the panels swelled and cracked the joints—it was a rookie mistake I never repeated.
For drawers, I use 1/2-inch Baltic birch with 1/4-inch bottoms. I’ve switched to undermount slides because they’re invisible and smoother than side-mounted ones. Fitting them takes some trial and error, but the payoff is worth it. I always ask clients what they’ll store in the drawers—files, kitchen gadgets, toys—so I can make the size and layout fit their lives. On this job, the couple wanted one drawer for dog treats and toys. A small detail, but it added personality to the whole thing.
Drawer fronts are cut from the same birch plywood and edge-banded with a simple bead molding that matches the cabinet doors. I use glue and a few pins to hold the molding in place, then sand everything until it feels like one seamless piece. I always install the drawer fronts last, adjusting them until the reveal is perfectly even. That little 1/8-inch gap around the drawer is like a picture frame—it needs to be just right.
The final step is installation. I shim the base cabinets until they’re level, fasten them to the studs, and then stack the uppers. Scribing to the wall takes patience, especially in old homes with waves in the drywall. But once the cabinets are in place, trimmed out, and caulked, they look like they were always part of the house.
One of my favorite moments is when the client sees the finished product. On this project, the couple walked into the room, sat down on the window seat, and just stared. “It feels like this was always here,” the husband said. That’s the goal. Built-ins should feel inevitable, like they grew out of the architecture.
And that’s why I keep doing these projects. They’re not just about wood and screws—they’re about solving problems, making spaces more livable, and bringing a bit of joy into someone’s home. Whether it’s a cozy nook for reading, extra storage in a busy kitchen, or a display case for family photos, good built-ins blend function with emotion. They’re the quiet heroes of home design, and I’m lucky to build them.
In the second part of this story, I’ll dive into how I crafted the actual window seat, added the cabinet tops and shelving, and brought everything together in the client’s home office. That part is where the magic really happens—when all the components fit together like a puzzle and transform a blank wall into a favorite place in the house.
Stay tuned. There’s more to come, and more stories to tell.