About ACE Custom Builders

Growing up in the hills of southern West Virginia and western Virginia, I found myself drawn to wood at an early age. The smell of fresh sawdust—something most would call a nuisance—was a gift to me. I loved the textures, the way each grain seemed to hold a memory of the land it grew from. To me, sawdust wasn’t just a byproduct; it was the scent of possibility.

Wood has always carried a kind of quiet dignity. Even after its leaves have fallen and the wind no longer stirs through its branches, a tree lives on. In my eyes, it transforms—becoming a rocking chair where a mother gently cradles her baby on the front porch, or a sturdy table hand-crafted to gather a family around meals made with love. I could see it as firewood too, offering warmth to a couple wrapped in the romance of the evening. In every form, wood told a story of connection, care, and continuity.

Those early lessons shaped more than my love for craft; they became part of how I see the world. I came to believe that integrity is like the grain of the wood—it runs all the way through, steady and true. Trust, like a finely made table, must be built with care so it can support the weight of real life. Just as I learned to honor the tree by shaping it with respect, I have come to honor people by meeting them with honesty, kindness, and an open heart.

That belief began to take root in me one summer when my uncle hired me to help him replace his front porch. I can still feel the rough boards under my hands as we tore away the old and began laying down the new. It wasn’t just a project—it was a lesson. He showed me how to measure twice before cutting once, how to line things up true and straight, and how to take pride in every nail driven home. More than the skills of carpentry, he was teaching me patience, discipline, and the value of doing a job the right way, not the easy way. By the time we stood together on that finished porch, I knew it was more than lumber we had put in place—it was trust, passed from one generation to the next.

Those lessons were echoed in another way with my dad on the family farm. As a boy, I would also get lessons in conservation—the love of the land and what God provides us with. The trees are His precious creations, and we were called to cultivate and steward what He provides with love and care. On Saturday mornings, while many kids were watching cartoons or sleeping in, I was in the woods with a packed lunch, ready to spend the day alongside my dad. Together we harvested trees—cutting those that had fallen in storms or selecting ones that made sense for the health of the forest. From learning how to maintain and sharpen the saw, to respecting the forest and its inhabitants, the lessons were plentiful. They remain some of my fondest memories as a child of the Appalachian Mountains. This is forever ingrained within me, and I am grateful for the lessons God, through my father, graced me with.

In this way, my story is not just about wood, but about people, family, and the bonds that last. Like a well-worn chair or a long-loved table, I hope the life I build offers comfort, stability, and a place where others feel welcome.