From tree to bar table

They were there before you arrived. Before the bar opened, the rooms were filled, and the first wine was poured. Two proud linden trees, like natural gatekeepers of Under the Linden. Their branches swayed with the seasons, their shade fell on countless encounters. Until the day came when it could no longer do so. The trees became diseased. Unsafe. And so they had to go. But not without a final chapter. 

A goodbye that became no end 

The decision was tough. The limes are more than trees. They are identity. History. Stand for fertility and protection. So we made a plan. Don't throw them away. Not shred. But preserve. Honour it. And not much later, the last log was transformed into something new. A bar table. Tough. Solid. With a story in every grain. 

A table full of memories

Today it stands on the terrace. The trunk of the old lime tree. Heavy, but inviting. Around this table are chairs where people laugh, toast, recover. Where friendships begin and stories emerge. Exactly as it once was - under the branches of the tree itself. Only now in a different form. 

You feel it when you put down your glass. This table is alive. It creaks a little sometimes. Has grain, knots, scars. Just like all of us. That's what makes it beautiful. Real. 

Connection in wood 

The power of this table is not just its shape. It is what it symbolises. He is literally and figuratively a piece of Under the Linden. It connects the past with the present. He makes the abstract tangible. What once grew above ground is now at eye level - as a place where new memories are allowed to emerge. 

This is where stories are told. Plans made. Laughing and listening. And sometimes, when things are quieter, the table itself seems to whisper something back. An echo of what was. And what is yet to come. 

Your place on the trunk 

Sit down. Put your hand on the wood. Feel the warmth of the sun, or the coolness of the morning. Order something tasty, take your time. This table is not there for haste. It is there for connection. Like the tree it once was. 

You might think of it when you take a picture of it. Or gently scratching your name into it with your fingernail. Not that you have to - but know: you are part of the story. 

And if you look aside and to the front, you can already see the new lime tree growing. Small still, but vigorous. As if it knows that its predecessor is still here - in wood, in atmosphere, in memory. 

Did you have a nice moment at this table?

Leave it in our leather guest book at reception. That way, the story keeps growing.