The glass
A small pane of stained glass, pond blue and ember orange, cut in our ripple pattern and set in the door where the stove light will find it. Each one made for its sauna.
The sauna
A sauna is not an appliance, and the point of view is literal. Glass in the door, a roundel that catches the stove light, and a building we place and aim so the bench faces the best thing your land does.
Every sauna leaves Strafford the same way. A tight, insulated building made for real winters, a cedar interior fitted by hand, and ventilation done right, the part almost everyone gets wrong. Just wood that still smells like the forest it came from.
The particulars
The wood, three ways
You choose what the inside of your sauna is made of. All three come from trees you have stood under.
Humble, bright, and light. Smells like a Vermont woodlot.
Clear red cedar. Soft heat, rich color, and the scent people mean when they say sauna.
Dense, pale, architectural. Darkens with years of heat. The heirloom choice.
The heat, two ways
Build a fire or press a button. Same room, same temperatures.
A stove, stones, and the whole ritual of the fire. For the land with a woodpile.
Warm before you walk out the door. A timer, remote control, and no ashes to clean.
The delivery, one day
No foundation, no pour. It arrives whole, we place it and level it, and we point the door at your view.
The maker's marks
A small pane of stained glass, pond blue and ember orange, cut in our ripple pattern and set in the door where the stove light will find it. Each one made for its sauna.
A door pull of found wood, fished out of the pond and finished by hand. The water decides the shape. No two saunas alike.