Knifemaking: magic, noticing, and the Conjurer

December 25, 2015January 19, 2016 / ballardmidyette / Leave a comment

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”

― W.B. Yeats

With most things in the world, there are many behind-the-scenes forces that help things to happen. Take a blossoming flower. Beautiful, fragrant, and simple. But behind all of that is a team of unseen helpers going about their existences- honeybee’s to pollinate, an ecosystem of soil for roots to take hold, and a concoction of nutrients within that for nourishment. There is rain, meteorological patterns to govern the rain, and atmospheric conditions to govern those. The beautiful blossoming flower couldn’t do what it does without these things, but that doesn’t make it any less magical, or detract from it’s wonder.

Life is a microcosm of this. For everything in our lives, magical or otherwise, there is a team going about busy existences to make those things happen. It’s important to notice these things.

A few years ago I started getting calls to work big shows. Rock concerts, comedians, people of Youtube fame: acts big enough to fill coliseums and large concert halls. My job title in these instances is Production Runner, a gofer, someone who knows where to find things and can make problems go away. I’m the guy who gets someone coffee, or picks up prescription strength fungicide for professional wrestlers, or buys lumber for stage carpenters. I’ve worked for a huge number of these acts. Sarah Bareilles is very sweet, Taylor Swift’s bodyguards are terrifying, and Bill Cosby told me I was a connoisseur of elongated bullshit.

These performers are like the flower. Most of them are who they are because they do something special that resonates with people, something fragrant and colorful and moving- magical even. But like the flower there is also an army of forces working very hard so that these performers can do what they do. There are truck and bus drivers, lighting designers, electricians, sound technicians, board operators, music directors and musicians and a slew of pencil-pushers and smooth-talkers to bring the flowers to the masses. There is even magic in what all of these forces are.

One of the first shows I worked was on the set of a two day DVD filming at a local concert hall. It was for a well known ventriloquist and was to be shown on a national TV network. It was exciting. After it was all over there was a director who needed a ride to DC to visit his brother before he flew back to Los Angeles. Being ever the cash opportunist I offered to assist.

In the I-95 traffic we had deep conversations of politics, sex, and music. He was telling me about a production he was watching from backstage in LA. It was a Stevie Wonder performance being filmed live for television and there was a performance of “My Cherie Amor. He had heard this song hundreds of times before but this performance of “My Cherie Amor” moved him to tears. He couldn’t explain it. Why was that one time so moving and special?

I told him that it was probably because he hadn’t really stopped to listen before, or maybe not in a very long time. There wasn’t anything else to do at that moment and he was able to hear a legend do what made him famous, to hear this beautiful man conjure deep things through his very simple gift.

This is the lesson of the Conjurer. To see the magic in the simple things. To conjure your own magic through the simple things you do in your life, because that is where the magic really lives. The flipside is to notice that the magic is there. It’s what puts the color in this world.

She is made from a bar of 1095 spring steel
Rough grinding

Ready for hardening

Hardened and scaly

Tempered

Brass for the liners

The Conjurer: 1095 spring steel, Mora handles, and brass liners and hardware

When the director gentleman and I got to DC he gave me his card. I went home and googled him. This man was responsible for many magical musical productions and television shows and his name was shown prominently on each of them. Turns out he is quite the celebrity in that world and for good reason. If I hadn’t taken the time to notice I could have missed a special experience and the simple but beautiful conjuring that this man did. He helped me to see my own conjuring and magic. This is the deeper lesson of the Conjurer.

Knifemaking: creating space and the Pas de Deux

December 10, 2015January 2, 2016 / ballardmidyette / Leave a comment

“You want to make two knives that become one. Or perhaps one knife that becomes two.”

Igor Antonov

Over the years I’ve quite a bit of production work for the ballet company in town. Building things, running a shuttle, being part of a crew that makes something special happen. My most favorite part of the work I’ve done is a program called Lecture Demonstrations. This is a fancy name for kiddie shows; in-school performances, where the company puts on performances for the children. The company manager would line up shows at elementary schools and take care of all the administrative details. I would show up to the ballet, load up sound equipment, props, costumes, and half a dozen dancers into a minivan and go to an elementary school, chat with school administrators, set up the sound system, wire up the lead ballerina, start the show, and punch the mic and music cues. After the show everything would get torn down, packed up, and loaded into the minivan along with myself and the dancers. Then we went to the next one.

The performance was an adaptation of “Coppelia”, made easily digestible for second graders, complete with talky bits and a question and answer. The kids enjoyed it.

I feel most people who have seen any sort of ballet video or performance have seen the lady in the tutu dancing with the man in tights. This is called pas de deux- French for “step of two”. Man and lady dancing together. Very simple on the surface.

Over the course of a month and a half we did two of these a day, four days a week, plus rehearsals. After watching about 60 of these shows, I found that I really looked forward to the two sections of pas de deux in the program. I loved the balance of the masculine and the feminine. I loved the interdependence of the dance- they are both separate entities. The beauty comes when the feminine surrenders to the masculine. The masculine leaves a certain space for her to shine, for her to be what she is. In doing what she does, the feminine leaves space for the masculine to be what he is. Trust permeates throughout. They both have their own identity but together they do things that individually they could not.

I had an idea for a knife. There is a wonderful Ukrainian gentleman on the artistic staff who would come to these performances and give notes and critiques to the dancers on how the performance could be better. He also gave me critiques on the the technical side of things. After one of these critiques I told him what I do and how to work the pas de deux into it. “Ah,” he says, “You want to make two knives that become one. Or perhaps one knife that becomes two.” I had to think about that for a couple of months.

To flow seamlessly between separate and together- this is the lesson of the Pas de Deux. To leave space for things to be what they are while maintaining one’s own identity. It is in this space that intimacy exists and blossoms. To be so secure in oneself that submission requires small effort. Sometimes we hold on to things so tightly that there isn’t any space for the things we need. Sometimes there is a great amount of space and everything may seem to sprawl and lose form. Always, at the end of it all, everything ends up where it is supposed to be.

I chose to make one knife that became two.

First the feminine…
Rough grind Hardened

Purple Heartwood

Here is where I had to take the handle off and put a new one on. I couldn’t quite get that little tail to bond to the tail of the tang. In the next picture you see the new handle with two little brass rivets.

Now the masculine…

Hardened

Tempered

Tulipwood for him

Now the stinky part…

The Pas de Deux, a kitchen pair: 1095 spring steel

The feminine is Purple Heartwood with brass hardware

The masculine is Tulipwood with brass hardware

Embrace the space. You and your partner, in whatever form they may take, will both shine.

Knifemaking: mistakes, tedium, pizza ovens, and the Cynewulf

December 9, 2015December 16, 2015 / ballardmidyette / Leave a comment

“I’m not exactly sure what we’re doing here, so we’re going to figure this out by denial and error”

Frederick Pritchett, Jr.

I spent two years working in the warehouse of an auction company. They specialize in used restaurant equipment. All aspects, from tables and chair, mixers, slicers, refrigeration, the whole lot. I kind of fell into this job and ended up managing the inventory and auctions. But before that there was a lot of grease, dirt, rust, and burnt pizza…

A couple years ago I was in a tough place and I needed money. A good friend of mine said I could come work for his auction company. One of the first things they put me on was cleaning three commercial smokers. They had spent three months festering in a hot warehouse and smelled of what I believe a sauna full of garbage trucks eating month old Vietnamese food would resemble.

It was here that I met Fred. As I stood there with three stinking smokers, pondering my life’s decisions, the service tech came by and told me the best way to get those clean was to mix some bleach and ammonia together in a spray bottle and shake it till it got hot (“But don’t hold on to it for too long or it’s liable to explode”). Then I was to saturate the interior, let it sit in the sun, and then hit it with the pressure washer that got up to two hundred degrees. All while not breathing in the fumes.

I did all of these things and sure enough they got clean. I hated myself a little bit.

The main thing I learned working here was that there are many ways to get things done. Some ways are less insane than others, but then sometimes life calls for the insane. Sometimes the insanity is all relative.

I also learned that in any sort of business one has to adapt to what makes money. If that doesn’t happen then you’re dead.

One of the owners is second generation Italian and as it would follow many of the company’s customers were Italian. They liked to support one of their own. For awhile there were a lot of Italian restaurants opening up and these gentleman required pizza ovens. Pizza ovens are heavy, expensive, and take up a lot of space. Pizza stones for a double deck oven will set you back at least $600 and if not properly seasoned will crack or break. It was decided that we would rebuild used ovens.

Here is where the adaptation of making a profit and the insane got together for a tumultuous marriage. At first. After awhile things settled in. Fred was at the helm of this operation and we all moved bravely forward.

The first step was obtaining a used pizza oven. We travelled far and wide. One time Fred and I did a marathon drive to a closed restaurant in Florida, extracted a 3,000lb set of Baker’s Pride ovens, threw them on a trailer, and drove back. Fred is really good at moving heavy things and makes it look effortless: I’m pretty sure his ancestors built Stonehenge using nothing but Druid redneck ingenuity and several barrels of barley wine.

We would then strip it down to nothing. Exterior paint was taken off and everything was sanded. Everything. For a solid month we cleaned out every Home Depot within a 20 mile radius of most of their abrasives. Figuring out how to get the exterior paint off was tricky at first. Stripping the paint off the first oven we did was a bitch. First we tried a blowtorch. A pretty big one. It didn’t work that well and made everyone smell of burnt pizza. Then we tried every sort of angle grinder attachment known to the universe. There was no quick way to do it. All of the inner structural pieces had to be sanded as well. Somebody would have to put on a paper suit and climb into the behemoth and sandblast it.

In the process of anything worth doing you encounter tedium at some point. When tedium mixes with not knowing exactly what you are doing, self-doubt can settle in. It becomes hard to focus and in this lapse of focus mistakes happen. This is where many people either give up or figure it out. We couldn’t give up because then nobody got paid. Fred kept us all on task, for better or worse.

It is also in this tedium that you can find out a lot about yourself. How you operate and what lies at the bottom of that self-doubt. If you can be with that long enough you can start to blossom. The things that used to hurt you start to help you. I found myself making these really kick-ass playlists and began to appreciate the nuance of Barry Manilow. When I got home completely covered in shit I would take a viking shower and cook myself something special. All of the other side jobs I had became a pleasure. I would see myself as a warrior, bravely defending the honor of the Oven of Pizza, and all of those who came before her.

I would go in and stare these things down everyday. Sometimes it was overwhelming, sometimes time flew by. Days of sanding, painting, polishing, going to the metal shop to have a piece refabricated, or having a special tap set ordered. It was an adventure. I’m glad Fred was in charge because I would have told the Italians to figure something else out.

Another area of tedium was polishing. I spent many hours with a Scotch brite pad and 000 steel wool trying to make these things shine. This was about the time Mr. Al joined us and as fate would reveal he is actually the Stainless Steel Whisperer….

After Fred put new burners and controls in they would be ready for delivery. It was a sprawling process. At the time I stopped working there, the process was down to a week and a half to two weeks, start to finish. They ship them all over the country now.

This is the lesson of the Cynewulf. Life can be a sprawling, tedious process. It can be hard to stick with something and not being able to see where it is taking you can make it harder. Instead of seeing yourself as the warrior you start to see yourself as the oppressed. Momentum can turn to stagnation and focus can lapse. You begin to question your life decisions and maybe sometimes you hate yourself a little bit.

I find myself in these places more often than I’d like. And what I’ve found is that it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

This blade took me on a journey. I had to start over after I had spent quite a bit of time on it and I got really frustrated. The name Cynewulf means “Royal Wolf”, which relates to the regal bearing and balance of this blade but also to the ability to not get stuck in one’s mistakes or complacent with one’s successes. It’s quite large at 8 inches and 13 inches overall. It was really tricky to heat treat in my little forge. I hammered it through some 2×4’s just to make sure she was ready for the world.

1095 spring steel

A rough grind
Ready for the forge

Phosphoric acid etch…

The Cynewulf: 1095 spring steel with an acid etch, Cherry handle, and brass hardware.

The Cynewulf, with her fallen sister…

I gave this to my chef friend to try out and he ended up buying it on the condition that I customize it to his specifications, which I did. You can already see the patina starting to reveal itself from the potatoes he sliced…

Work through the tedium and pay attention your mistakes. Even the kingliest and queenliest people make them and there are many possibilities in them. There may be some pizza in it at the end…

Knifemaking: the courage to be and the Ace

December 7, 2015December 7, 2015 / ballardmidyette / 1 Comment

“If you love something, you know what the best in the world actually looks like.”

James Altucher

This blade was a commission for a six-year old boy who lives on a farm. His parents are close friends of mine. They have several acres of property in Montpelier, which is about 40 minutes outside the city.

I go out there as often as I can, usually just to get away from the city. They have goats, chickens, ducks, pigs, and other animals. I keep turning down offers to hunt. I’m not much for guns or shooting things but I have made knives for them to skin and clean with, and I will always eat whatever they brought back, provided it’s already dead.

I’ve known this little boy since he was about three. He loves to play and is curious about almost everything. He asks questions that I don’t really have the answers to but I always answer him as best I am able. He is open and fearless and kind. He loves his family and everyone close to him is a dear friend. He sees the best in everyone and wants to help as much as he can. I have to remember to watch my mouth when I spend time with him.

As an adult I see this as profound and courageous and often inspiring. This what I would call the Courage to Be. But as a little boy he is only doing what he knows how to do. He just loves and in those moments I can feel that whatever he has going on is pretty much the best thing ever. As a former little boy, I know this feeling well.

I was out there recently for dinner and he showed me where he had lost a tooth. I asked him if the tooth fairy had visited him and he lost it and screamed “THERE IS NO TOOTH FAIRY” and ran out of the room. Apparently, his mother explained, he had found out the tooth fairy does not exist. She said he threw her two dollars at her and demanded his tooth back.

His little world was shaken and he wasn’t afraid to let the big people know how he felt. Sometimes I wish I could get away with demanding my tooth back…

I was out there the other day and his father needed a hand installing a new washer and dryer. I had this little boy help me while his father did chores. He kept asking me when we were going to play and make things. I couldn’t lie to him. I told him I had to help his dad and I might not have time for play. He wasn’t very fond of my games- break the water line with the channel locks, hold the door while I cart out the old dryer, hand me a screwdriver. I thought we were having fun. I like hanging out with this little being, even when there is much to do.

And then this little boy had a meltdown. Tears and everything. “All you do is work,” he says. “Maybe you work and save some time for play and then maybe you won’t be so tired,” he says.

I asked him if he would like a hug, and he said yes. I didn’t tell him I had come out there to have his mother help me with my resume. I didn’t tell him that his parents work hard and sacrifice so he can play and learn and Be. What I did do was put him on my shoulders and tell him to hold on tight. He said he wasn’t scared.

This is the lesson of the Ace. To find the Courage to Be, even when the grown-up world has dimmed your shine and made it painful to love without condition. To know what the best in the world looks and feels like, even when you have trouble paying your bills, or sorrow makes you weary, or there are many moments when there isn’t enough of anything. To know that while you are not going to get your tooth back, you don’t have to like it or settle for anything less than you believe you deserve.

I had traded a skinning knife and a small paring knife for some supplies from his parents. This little boy found them and said he wanted one. His parents found a two-foot machete in his play fort. The little boy said it was for “keeping bad guys away.” I have seen no bad guys in the vicinity so it must be working. They asked me if I could make a small knife with a blunted edge for him to carry and learn with. I then asked the little boy what kind of knife he would like. I received a drawing and a strict set of parameters, the last of which required that it be a sword. Right little man, I’ll get right on that…

This is what I came up with. A blade for a smaller hand. He’s an inch across at his widest point. This is the smallest blade I’ve ever made.

full flat grind…

…hardened and tempered…

testing for handle fit…

The grip is a piece of Mahogany floorboard

The Ace: O1 tool steel with a satin finish, Mahogany handle and brass hardware.

I made a small leather sheath for him to carry it with. The blade is blunted and I ground the tip down per his parents request. He’ll grow into it and I’ll build him another one when he’s ready.

Take note of the little ones. Try to find your Courage to Be.

Knifemaking: braving the storm and St. Elmo’s Fire

November 24, 2015February 10, 2016 / ballardmidyette / Leave a comment

“I have seen many storms in my life. Most storms have caught me by surprise, so I had to learn very quickly to look further and understand that I am not capable of controlling the weather, to exercise the art of patience and to respect the fury of nature.”

Paulo Coelho

St. Erasmus, or St. Elmo, is known as the patron saint of sailors. The namesake of this blade refers to a meteorological phenomenon that results from an electrically charged atmosphere that occurs during thunderstorms. It manifests itself as a series of blue sparks, with the mast of the ship acting as a conductor. During storms at sea, sailors would often observe St. Elmo’s Fire. It has always been symbolized as a sign of the Divine, and sailors knew that they were looked after when it appeared.

I made this blade with idea of it being a seaworthy vessel- something that has braved many storms and still has its spirit intact. Sometimes we brave so many storms that we forget how to enjoy the calm. Instead of having a life of calm punctuated by storms, it becomes a life of storms punctuated by calm.

The important thing to realize is that beneath the churning waves and far beneath the thunder, lightning and winds is an entire body of calm. And that there was calm before the storm and there will be calm after.

This isn’t to say that storms aren’t dangerous but they do come with their lessons. I’ve spent a good amount of life in a state of anxiety anticipating storms. Some of us have been conditioned to live in constant turbulence, lest we not be prepared for the foul weather. Over time, we stop differentiating between the calm and the turbulent seas and create a maelstrom where there is none because we haven’t ever known what that calm feels like. Shifting this type of thinking takes time and a good deal of work. To be perpetually worried of the storms robs you from fully enjoying the moment and the beautiful things that occupy the vast majority of time between. Ultimately you can’t control the Nature but you can control yourself.

This the lesson of St. Elmo’s Fire. To allow the storms to pass and to have faith that you will find safe passage through the rough waters. To feel your own calm in the midst of chaos. Oftentimes you can find out what you are really made of within that chaos.

This blade was a commission for a very old friend who did a lovely photoshoot for me. We’ve often talked about storms and how to get through them.

I did a series of kitchen knife designs and this one was sort of a wild card. Functionally she is a German style chef’s knife. The clip in the blade gives her some forward momentum. The drop in the handle rests comfortably in the heel of the hand, and also follows the natural line of the forearm through the wrist. The finger choil provides a comfortable resting place for the lower three fingers if a traditional chef’s grip is preferred.

The blade is 7.25″ long. Blades these long are a continual challenge for me to grind. If ground too thin they will warp and possibly crack during heat treat. On blades this large there is grinding before and after hardening and tempering.

I love working with Mesquite. It has a fiery bouquet.
St. Elmo’s Fire: 1095 spring steel with a phosphoric acid etch, Texas Mesquite handle and brass hardware.

There was some turkey involved on this past Thursday

Trust that the storm will pass.

Be sure to check out Lauren Serpa and her beautiful work.

Knifemaking: power in the small things and the Petit Poucet

November 5, 2015December 9, 2015 / ballardmidyette / 1 Comment

“It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.”

― Arthur Conan Doyle, The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

When I was twenty-one I took a summer job in a cabinet shop. I was in between semesters of school and had made some pretty significant life changes, at least for a twenty-one year old. I had transferred colleges and I decided I wanted a summer job where I would learn something useful.

This particular cabinet shop did custom work. Everything was built to order. The owner was a friend of my family’s. On my first day I was introduced to everyone in the shop. It was noisy in there, with all the fans and sawdust collection systems, and everyone heard my name as “Bernard” instead of “Ballard”.

I didn’t find this out until later, after everyone had been addressing me as Bernie for at least two weeks. I was just happy to not be called college boy.

I was hired to sweep floors, which I did for approximately one hour on my first day. After that hour I was handed a reciprocating saw and told to cut up a stack of pallets. When they found I still had all of my fingers, they gave me other things to do not involving sweeping the floor. From then on I did whatever was asked of me, still happier to be called Bernie than college boy.

I built drawers for desks to go in lawyers’ offices. I would be on a crew of four guys to build an army of receptionist desks for a medical complex. I built a mile of L-bracket to mount cabinets in an insurance building. When you work in a shop with over a million dollars worth of tools and machinery there isn’t a whole lot that you can’t build. The owner liked to make money and I can count the number of times he subcontracted jobs out on one hand.

This was one of the best summers of my life. I didn’t hang out with anybody. I didn’t go on any dates. I got to work at 7:30a and left at 4:45p. When I got home I would practice my horn for four hours in my parents’ basement and then go to sleep. Then I would get up and do it all over again.

I found myself spending full days on a panel saw, a massive contraption designed to rip and crosscut full sheets of plywood. It cut everything perfectly square. You see these at Lowes and Home Depot but this machine made those look like Tinker Toys. This particular one was made by a Nordic company that specialized in making badass cutting tools. It cost about thirty grand and when it broke down they had to pay a company service tech from Pennsylvania $600 an hour to fix it, which included drive time. Clearly we were all in the wrong business.

I was given a cut list for each job. Some of these lists would be casework for an entire building, others just one or two pieces. I cut all the cabinet pieces by hand, within a 1/64th of an inch, which by industry standards is a pretty large margin. The real tricky bit was cutting cabinet doors and drawer fronts. These cuts had to be cut short to accommodate for the laminate that would cover the side edges of the door. This was to allow the doors to fully close once the edge had been covered in laminate and for the drawer fronts to have the proper reveals once installed. When I would get to the doors and drawers on the cut list I would know to cut them between 1/16th and 1/32nd of an inch shorter than what was written, depending on the type of laminate being used.

I cut hundreds of these things without incident. Then one day I screwed up.

The boss called me over. Shit.

I had sent over four doors that I hadn’t cut short, in this instance it was 3/32nds. They had been laminated, drilled, installed with ungodly priced hinges, cleaned and finished.

“Bernie, you fucked up. Let me explain to you the depth of your fuckup.”

He proceeded to tell me that not only had I wasted my time, but I had also wasted the time of everyone involved in those doors, plus materials, wear and tear on machinery, saw blades, electricity, and by default, company time that we weren’t ever going to see again. With everything involved those doors came to about $240. A piece. He instructed me to take them and throw them in the dumpster, but to do it one at a time, and to use that time to reflect on the breadth of my folly.

Four long trips to the dumpster. I was mortified. Everyone else thought this whole ordeal was hysterical. I made sure to not overlook the doors and drawers in the future.

The summer came to an end. I went back to school with a deeper appreciation for both higher education and the people who build the things that make life possible.

There is much power in the small things and sometimes you only find this when you overlook them. Sometimes they are absolutely necessary. Sometimes they make the world a bit sweeter. Small acts of kindness to yourself and others, small acts of gratitude and compassion- these are the stuffs that can give the world its particular hue.

This is where the Petit Poucet comes in. I have been designing kitchen knives and also watching Jacques Pepin cooking videos. There was one of these that struck me where he had all these beautiful knives at his disposal, some quite large and impressive, but he prepared a gorgeous meal using only a six inch utility knife. Petit Poucet roughly translates roughly to Tom Thumb, a very small person who was able to accomplish large things. It’s important to not overlook the small things. This is the lesson of the Petit Poucet, a small but mighty kitchen blade.

I started with a bar of 1095 spring steel

After rough grinding and heat treat. Thankfully he didn’t warp.

Keeping it cool during finish grinding…

I had some Bloodwood that I found to be striking the Petit Poucet: Acid etched 1095 spring steel, Bloodwood handle, and brass hardware.

Mind the small things- the big things will turn out that much better…and you will save four trips to the dumpster.

P.S.- the man I worked for was possibly the best boss I’ve ever had, and one of the most decent men I’ve ever known. We still talk from time to time. He keeps saying he has a place for me in his business and asks me how I am with finance. If he only knew…

Knifemaking: presence, vulnerability, and the Forester

September 21, 2015September 21, 2015 / ballardmidyette / Leave a comment

“Take the time to know
How alone you are in this world
Just to find
Death is on your mind
As you stand still, you realize where you are
In her world
Aged and bright
My moon after the tide”

Craft Spells- Komorebi

(you can read about the initial inspiration for the Forester here)

I love the forest. I’m fortunate to live in a larger city that is in close proximity to the woods. I have good friends who live on farms in rural wooded areas. I occasionally house-sit for one of my good friends who lives out in the sticks and I will tell you that as a city person there isn’t anything much better than being able to wake up to a place like this:

I think what makes the forest such a special place these days is that it gently brings you into the moment. Not all at once, and not all of the time. Sometimes I go into the woods and all I can think about is how I am going to get my health insurance paid or why I didn’t wash my dishes before I came. Both of these are valid concerns and also a prime example of not being with yourself, or being present- how am I supposed to experience the here and now when I am consumed with shit that will be dealt with later? It’s a thing: once you start noticing that you aren’t being present with yourself you can start to work on it.

When the presence does happen it’s quite wonderful. It’s as if you can see what you are doing and where you are going without any judgement. I try to capture those moments. There’s a vulnerability in the forest because you are so open. Everything is. And it’s empowering and humbling. There is no posturing and no bravado. You can feel your place in things and it feels so safe. At least for me. These are the places where you can really feel your being: There’s a word in Japanese called komorebi. Literally translated it means “sunshine filtering through the trees”. This page explains komorebi a bit better than my understanding of the depth of it permits me. What I do know is that it conveys a sense of wonder at something that would be there whether we are present to observe it or not. It just is. I dig that.

The seasons of the woods: summer…
And autumn when the leaves fall:And winter:And spring:

This is where the Forester comes in. Something that that looks like it just stepped out of the woods, without pretension or affectation. Something to help you be present with yourself and to find the power and connectedness in being vulnerable.

I found a green cutting board that I thought would be interesting to work with. I liked the idea of being able to take something green with me when I couldn’t get to the woods.

…and I hated it. I though it was ugly and it wouldn’t sand up or polish the way I wanted it to. So I cut it off and put an oak handle on instead.

She is made with O1 tool steel, white Oak handle scales, and brass hardware. She was bought by one of my good friend’s father, who is a bit of a Forester himself.

May wherever you are be where you are supposed to be. This is the lesson of the Forester.

Knifemaking: the Lioness, revisited

September 18, 2015September 19, 2015 / ballardmidyette / Leave a comment

“The stuff we make don’t go bad”

“The ugly dog barks the longest”

Tray Eppes: potter, musician, fully present citizen of the Universe

(you can find the initial crafting of the Lioness here)

So a number of years ago one of my best friends asked me if I wanted to play a gig with him and his godfather. It was a Christmas parade in a small town about two hours away. We were both in music school and played near any gig we could get. Neither of had cars at the time and a big ass Dodge truck piloted by a gentleman with a large beard pulled up. This was Tray. On the way we stopped at a jazz club, had a few cold ones, and heard some badass tunes. We got to Tray’s farm at around 2am and he showed me his guitar rig (at full blast). I went to sleep to the sound of coyotes howling. I got up and Tray’s wife had made us smoked venison with Hollandaise sauce on a lightly toasted English muffin. We drove to town and played brass band versions of Christmas songs and it was a blast.

We played those parades for the next couple of years. We spent a New Years out there. As I recall we drank gin and sat in the outdoor hot tub in front of a fire the size of Rhode Island. I make sure to keep in touch with Tray and his wife.

A couple months ago I was standing in the middle of a field working security for a country music concert, alone with my thoughts due to the fact that most of the audience was in the beer tent and there wasn’t much securing to do. In those moments I often find myself thinking about places I’d rather be and in this case I would have rather been, well, almost anywhere else. I decided I would call Tray and see how he made a living making the things he makes: killer pottery.

He told me about selling pottery to the Amish. The Amish don’t have any possessions that are purely decorative. If there are pictures on the wall, it is most likely a Bible verse written in a modest calligraphy. Likewise, nothing is frivolously decorated. This particular group, Tray was telling me, used white dishes. Tray also told me that white pottery is a bit more labor intensive than his normal work and the Amish are the only ones who ask for it. So he can make a large batch of it and have it on hand and not have to fool with it for awhile. He was explaining to the Amish man he can make it and sell it years later.

“Ahh”, said the Amish man. “Not like spoilt cow’s milk.”

This was when he told me the stuff we make doesn’t spoil. You can go back and rework things that you aren’t happy with. I’ve had a few proverbial ugly dogs barking at me and recently I’ve been reworking those. And it’s not limited to just pottery, or knives, or music…just because you were one way yesterday doesn’t mean that’s how you have to be today.

Tray also ordered a knife and a sheath. I made him this:

For the Lioness I found the blade to be too thick. I went and ground down the bevel, which in turn improved the balance of the blade. I wasn’t happy with the finish so I took care of that as well. All of this came from a gentle place. Nothing is going to spoil.

O1 tool steel, Cherrywood handle, and brass hardware

The nice thing about refinishing a wooden handle (or wooden anything) is that the grain is so much more prominent due to the permeation of the finishing oil. The grain pops much more grandly than it did the first time around. I see it as a little gift for going back and trying to make it better.

I also smoothed and polished up the tang.

Tray and a much younger me

Check out Tray’s site at here and drop him a line

Knifemaking: honor, integrity, and the Hound

September 13, 2015September 13, 2015 / ballardmidyette / Leave a comment

“Both sides of my family were landless sharecroppers and mountain people from as far back as I can remember…What did I receive from this lineage? Things I believe to be very valuable: a good raw intellect and a good tough body…A sense of honor that results in a touchiness common to our people…When the only thing you own is your sense of personal honor, you tend to protect it at all costs.“

Eric L. Haney, Inside Delta Force

This blade was initially a commission from another very dear friend of mine. He asked for a knife that was based in a sort of old-world honor. A sort of honor that is maybe not seen so much today, at least not on the surface of things. Something that may get lost in performance reports and email threads. Something that isn’t tied to how much money you do or do not make, what deity you do or do not pray to, what color your skin may or may not be, and completely independent of whatever gender with which you happen to identify. A sort of goodness that comes from having a place in this world, of knowing deep within your being that you deserve to be here and that no one can take that away from you. He asked that it be called the Hound and I got to work.

There are times in my life when I have felt empty and hollow, like something was missing. I tried filling this with all sorts of things- material things, a busy schedule, pharmaceuticals, and overindulgences of food and drink. What was actually missing at those times was a personal bearing. In more difficult times I had traded my honor for things that were fleeting, for a sense of security, and for a feeling of belonging. When you have something to ground yourself in and can carry yourself in esteem, the aforementioned things will find their way to you, though at times it may feel like you are a thousand miles away from any of them. No one gives this feeling to you. Some people have this from an early age, others have to find it, and still others go through hell and many trials by fire to figure out what it is for them. Some people have been beaten down so far that they aren’t aware that it even exists- but still it can be theirs.

When you act and speak from this place it brings an integrity and truth to the things you do. A resonance that permeates everything- like an orchestra, where a balance of intonation, volume, harmony, and depth of emotion makes a gorgeous sonic mass. There may be chaos all around you but within you everything moves in synch, just like the bows of a symphony orchestra.

I “finished” this blade some months ago and was never quite happy with it. I’ve since made a blade of the same bearing for my friend, the Hound Mark II (here is a picture). I didn’t find the initial bevel work on this knife to be satisfactory and I didn’t come to this conclusion till after I had hardened the steel. One has to be careful grinding on hardened steel: if it gets too hot the steel loses it’s temper. So with a cup of ice water I took the bevel to where I was happy with it.

It’s important to not give away our honor, as it can be the thing that gets us through when there may not be anything else. As it follows, I added a sturdy grip on the Hound. I wanted it to melt into the hand and hold fast for times when holding anything may be challenging.

Profiled, ground, and sanded After hardening…
During tempering…    Roughing in contours…Cherrywood for balance….
Mostly sanded… The Hound

The Hound was made from O1 tool steel with a Cherrywood handle and brass rivets. Hold to your honor.

If you find you would like to purchase one of my blades or have me craft one for you, email me or check out my Etsy store. It may end up on this blog…

Knifemaking: gentleness, boundaries, and the Maiden

September 10, 2015September 10, 2015 / ballardmidyette / 2 Comments

“I was only fifteen years old and full of fire
I was a half a pound of bacon and an egg on the side
She got all the good looks, and I got all the war
She was everything I asked for, and a little more”

Francis Dunnery, Give Up and Let it Go (The Gulley Flats Boys)

This blade was a commission from a very good friend of mine. I’ve known him and his wife for quite a few years, worked for his company, and spent much time with his family. He lives in Maidens, Virginia, so coming up with an idea for this blade sort of took care of itself.

The inspiration for the Maiden comes from most all of the women I am close to. Elegant, beautiful, strong, full of love, and most definitely not having any of your shit. Or put another way, immaculately clothed but with a sword hidden beneath beneath their cloak. Or sun dress. Or whatever houndstooth scarf or coat is in season. You get the idea.

No man is an island. Sometimes it’s really healthy to have someone to tell you “hey, see that stupid thing you’re about to do? Maybe think twice about that- you don’t need to impress anyone.” Or,

“Hey, it’s time to stand on your own feet. No, I’m not going to carry you through this. Don’t worry, you’ve got this.” Or even,

“Whether you fail or succeed, I love you.”

These are strong statements but they are held by a gentleness that we don’t often give ourselves, or at least I don’t. I’ve been known to on occasion, when left to my own devices, done that stupid thing to impress someone insignificant and not stood on my own feet and felt like love was conditional on whether I failed or succeeded. Because whether we like it or not, at some point or another we all have moments of neediness and insecurity, self-doubt and self-sabotage, and the story-hour from hell where we ruminate on our screw-ups. As social creatures it’s important to hear these things from others close to us. This doesn’t necessarily mean there are dependency issues at play. It means that we are human. And whether we are aware of it or not, we are often giving the same support to those who help support us.

To me, these statements also represent strong boundaries- saying what is felt without expectation or condition. Without (or in spite of) fear of a negative reaction. Spoken not to coerce or manipulate an outcome but to help us to be ourselves.

That is the lesson of the Maiden- an elegant tool that is close in good times and the rougher times, beautifully dressed with no fucks to give. I’ll drink to that….

I designed four of these lovely ladies and had my friend pick which on he liked best. These three didn’t quite make the cut and that’s ok. I went with a drop point blade- the right balance of tip strength, belly, and piercing ability. Good for farm work.