Turning Wood, Turning Pages: John Halsey’s Unexpected Second Act

John Halsey leans on a dry sense of humor when talking about the phase of life he’s in now — and how he’s handled it.

“About 10 years ago, I took a course in retirement,” he said. “And after six weeks, I had an F.”

For the past five years, Halsey — who will turn 82 in November — has spent much of his “failed” retirement in the woodshop on his family’s 65-acre farm at 757 Mecox Road in Water Mill. It’s a familiar space, one that’s hosted five generations of Halseys.

“I was pretty small when my grandfather was working in here,” he said. “My Dad used the shop for adjusting machinery. He grew potatoes. We had a mechanic down the road who could build things. But I like to make things. I was making and modifying machinery, metal and wood, for the farm.”

When he and his wife, Evelyn, retired and passed the business to their daughters, Jennifer and Amy — Jennifer is now the sole owner — Halsey quickly realized that traditional retirement wasn’t going to work for him.

“I have no problem with somebody who stopped their job and traveled, but it doesn’t work for Evelyn and I,” he said.

Instead, he found purpose again in the same shop that kept generations of Halsey men busy. About five years ago, he took a two-day beginner’s woodturning class at a Woodcraft store in Manchester, Connecticut.

Inspired by videos online — “where you can get everything you need and everything you don’t need,” he joked — Halsey found something new to master.

He now spends hours at the lathe in his shop, mask on, covered in spiral-shaped wood shavings, crafting beautiful wooden bowls and hand-turned pens. His pieces are sold at the farm and at the family’s 9-acre market, the Milk Pail, on Montauk Highway. A modest sign, Wood Turnings by John Halsey, marks his shop on Mecox Road. A hand-cut wooden bell invites customers to ring for service with a pull of a string.

Beyond the satisfaction of staying busy, woodturning has given Halsey something deeper — a new way to relate to the shop, to his past, and to creativity itself.

“In the past, I would have felt guilty if I was doing something that wasn’t for the business and paying the bills,” he said. “I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

That guilt makes sense, given the couple’s entrepreneurial journey. In 1969, while on their honeymoon, Evelyn told John she didn’t like her job at the bank and suggested starting a retail business. They rented a shop and called it the Milk Pail — named after the cows on-site. With 75 bushels of apples gifted by Evelyn’s parents, they launched the store.

“I was thinking, ‘I hope you like applesauce, because there’s no way in hell we’re going to sell all these apples,’” Halsey recalled. “Two weeks later, we were going back for more. It just caught on. Right place, right time.”

About 25 years ago, the couple began transferring ownership of both the farm and the Milk Pail to their daughters. Amy sold her share to Jennifer within the past decade.

Today, the shop is John’s sanctuary. He’s become particular about the wood he uses — no more scooping up every dead branch he sees.

“Any time I saw a dead piece of wood, I’d grab it,” he said. “I soon realized there’s a ton of wood available, so now I’m a real snob. I only take the pieces I like.”

He works with gingko, oak, locust, Russian olive, and more — mostly sourced locally on the East End. He’s especially drawn to burls, the gnarly knots that grow out of trees. While tough to work with, they often reveal something extraordinary.

He showed off a small bowl with a top made from a burl, its swirling patterns and colors mesmerizing. Functionally, it had a flaw — a large hole — but as art, it was captivating.

“It makes a really unique-looking piece,” he said, pausing. “It can also blow up into pieces all over the floor.”

That unpredictability is part of the draw. Halsey appreciates the simplicity of the craft and the surprise of each finished piece.

“Woodturning is simple,” he said. “It’s just turning square pieces round.”

He explained what continues to excite him.

“Finding a piece of wood, getting it ready, and then seeing something show up that I had no idea was there. Almost every piece is that way. And then the different kinds of wood and the challenge of figuring out how to turn a piece so I can work on the other side — these are all things an experienced turner might not think are thrilling. But to me, I’m still learning. I always will be. I’ll never be anything more than a beginner.”

While he’s had success selling his work, Halsey enjoys the fact that this new chapter isn’t about making ends meet.

He recalled how, years ago, a customer might ask for dozens of cider jugs overnight — and he’d do whatever it took to fulfill the order. That urgency is gone now. What’s left is joy.

“I like making something that someone will come and look at and get very enthused over,” he said. “It’s fun. I like to see people have a good time. I like to talk, I like to sell. And I can kind of do it at my own pace.”

And perhaps most importantly, on his own terms.

“What I’ve noticed a lot is that when Amy and Jenn first started doing things on the farm, it became difficult for me to see them going right when I’d always gone left,” he said. “That was a struggle. And they were right a lot of the time. But the stress and anxiety built up. Eventually, it got straightened out.

“One of the bonuses I have with this is, I’m doing it my way,” he added. “If you come in here and try to tell me what you think is a more efficient or smarter way of doing it, I’m going to tell you to go take a hike.”