And Milwaukee receives it differently than Mill Valley does—not as atmospheric gesture but as structural commitment, the grey-to-nearly-black veins of Black Limba read here against a tradition of craft seriousness rooted in generations of woodworking fluency. The city's resurgent design studios, many occupying repurposed industrial buildings along the Menomonee Valley, have begun specifying Black Limba for millwork where the golden brown heartwood provides warmth while those darker streaks introduce visual rhythm that prevents residential interiors from settling into blandness. What stays the same between the two cities is the wood itself—its color deepening with age, its sapwood merging softly into heartwood without sharp demarcation, the figuring arriving as geology arrives, unbidden and unrepeatable. What changes is the conversation around it, and as these sheets travel north now toward Minneapolis, they carry with them the accumulated intelligence of every specification that came before—