The mill would reduce its disposal expenses.
Lana would receive kiln-dried cedar at a tiny fraction of normal retail lumber pricing.
It was not a small advantage.
It was the kind of cost structure capable of making a difficult business possible.
By the end of 2011, the numbers were becoming harder to dismiss.
Lana had completed forty-seven closet installations across Bedford County and neighboring Rutherford, Coffee, Marshall, and Lincoln counties.
Average job revenue was approximately $1,850.
Average purchased material cost, including fasteners, adhesives, and the cedar handling fee, was about $118.
Her tool collection had expanded beyond the original estate-sale hand tools.
She owned a table saw.
A router.
A pneumatic nailer.
Most had been purchased used.
Total equipment investment was roughly $2,200.
Gross revenue for 2011 reached $86,950.
After materials, tools, fuel, and trade-show expenses, her net was approximately $61,400.
Lana was 24 years old.
She still worked largely by herself.
Her operation still ran from a modest rental property with an $800 used cargo trailer.
Hank Sterling’s showroom remained on Madison Street.
The sign still said Bedford County’s Closet Expert Since 1991.
His particle-board systems still went into houses across the county.
But several real estate agents who had traditionally sent referrals to Hank had begun sending some customers to Lana because those clients were specifically asking for cedar.
Hank did not offer it.
The community reaction was not exactly hostile.
It was closer to persistent skepticism delivered in the language of friendly concern.
At the co-op hardware store, Lana heard questions.
“Cedar’s going to be hard to keep consistent.”
“How are you going to scale if you’re doing everything by hand?”
“What happens if the mill changes its mind?”
They were not unreasonable questions.
But sometimes they were asked less as requests for information and more as socially acceptable ways to communicate doubt.
Lana answered with numbers.
Then she bought her fasteners and left.
In the fall of 2011, Garrett drove from Murfreesboro to see one of Lana’s finished installations.
The homeowner was a retired schoolteacher named Margaret Flanigan.
Margaret showed them the cedar-lined walls.
The adjustable shelving.
The joinery.
The way the smell of cedar reached you the moment the closet door opened.
Garrett stood in the doorway for a long time.
He ran his hand along one wall.
Then he examined the corner joinery.
“You did this yourself.”
It was not really a question.
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”