Every flute I make starts with the wood—it’s the soul of the sound, the feel in your hands, the story it whispers when you play. At Wind walkers, I often turn to native UK woods, grown in the earth we walk—oak hums deep and steady, rowan dances bright—but I also seek out others, like maple’s crisp clarity or tulipwood’s airy lift. The grain, the weight, the way it sings—it’s not just craft, it’s a connection.

Choosing the right wood shapes the tone—warm or sharp, soft or bold—and it carries meaning. One player might love alder’s calm, another might call to yew’s mystery. When the wood is right, the flute sings with you, carrying the spirit of the tree. These woods, whether from ancient British groves or far-off roots, hold myths—Celtic wards, forest spirits, whispers of the wild. When I carve, I’m not just shaping wood—I’m waking its story for you.