story

“There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Hobbit, or There and Back Again“

My Dearest Young Friend,

I was told you have made it eleven times around the sun this year. Eleven! In celebration of this, your dad commissioned me to make you a special knife, which was convenient because I prefer to make knives that are special regardless! I like to make them out of things I find- in fact, the knife I made you was made out of materials that I found in the garbage. The blade is made out of an old bedframe that I can harden and the handle is made from walnut pulled out of an abandoned house.

I make a lot of these particular knives. Anytime I see a bedframe in the trash, I pick it up and take it to my shop. Not all bedframes make good little knives but enough of them do so that it becomes worth my while to pick them up. It is through these little knives that I can explore and just be curious. I use whatever I have lying around the shop for the handles, or I try out ideas, or I just tinker around with no particular goal in mind to see what will happen. Sometimes nothing happens, but sometimes I can make something special that didn’t exist before I made it.

This creates a wonderful feeling that starts in my head, and goes through my arms and out my fingers, and keeps on going down my legs out my toes. I think you know this feeling. Perhaps you get this feeling when you read your books by Mr. Tolkien, or when you play Breath of the Wild. There’s always something good on the next page or just down the way- you only have to go looking for it. Even if you don’t find anything you might have made a new friend, or learned something about yourself, or your brothers and sisters. That is something special and should be celebrated- because sometimes the best party is the unexpected one.

As a grownup I sometimes forget that the unexpected and unknown can be good things- I started making knives to remind myself of this. It takes courage to be curious and explore and it’s important to remember that there’s a big world out there.

Some days I wake up and have no idea what the world will bring me so I try to approach most every day as an adventure. I spent a couple days each week of the past year helping your dad out at his work. One day I showed up and he told me we were going to stock the pond at your house with fish. We got in his truck and went to the farm supply store and your dad got something to the effect of a thousand minnows. That was a fun day, and you guys were all there. You never know what may happen if you don’t explore a bit. Thank you for sharing that adventure with me- your mom took this picture:

I hope you have a fantastic birthday and you keep reading and exploring!

The knife I made you begins with a piece of bedframe that I cut into smaller pieces:

I trace my design onto the steel:

Then it’s just a process of cutting it out- I have special tools for this.

I always try to have a couple of these going and I’m usually working on more than one at once-

Once I get the shape right, I grind the bevel in-

Then they go into the forge, a controlled fire that gets the steel very hot and hardens the blade. It gets so hard that sometimes it’s difficult to drill holes for the handle pins-

After that I use sandpaper to get the bevels nice and smooth. This helps the knife to cut better-

This one is blunted for you, so you can learn the feel and what it’s like to carry a knife-

Here is a piece of Black Walnut. It was pulled out of an abandoned house in North Carolina-

I cut two pieces of it and fit it to the knife. For a bit of color contrast, I use a bit of fiberglass computer board blanks that I rescued from a dumpster-

Now it is pinned and glued to the knife handle-

Here is where I shape it….

…..and shape it some more-

And now I sand it till it is shiny-

I made you a nice sheath for it so you can carry it around-

“When we are children we seldom think of the future. This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind.”

Patrick Rothfuss- The Name of the Wind

(you can read about the original crafting of this knife here)

As I approach early middle-age I find myself surrounded by the children of my close friends. They are marvelous little beings, unfettered by the troubles of the world, and always see possibilities and wonder around every corner. In watching many of them grow up I feel like I’m let in on a beautiful little secret as they walk, talk, and become more cognizant of everything going on around them. Boldly pursuing their curiosities, there is a pronounced presence in their endeavors and the way they move through their little worlds.

This unfettered presence of being is a subtle reminder that as an adult I am always second-guessing myself. “I wish I had done that better,” I will think to myself, or “I wish I had been kinder.” Rumination at the end of a bad day can trouble my sleep, and the thought of facing the day the next morning can be daunting. I will often judge harshly my perceived tumbling through the world and wonder if I am doing any of this right. There are moments when I find it hard to get excited about anything. Many of the adults I confide in are often thinking the same thing. These are merely symptoms of being grown in an extremely complicated world, and as many therapists have assured me over the years, are completely normal feelings to have.

Much of this melts away when I spend time with the children of people I’m close to. They don’t think about any of those things. As someone crashing through adulthood, I find that to be deeply reassuring. I am also reminded that I am in fact an adult- no, you can’t have cookies for dinner, you can’t use your Ipad in the bathtub, and yes I do have to leave (please don’t be sad, I’ll be back). I’m not sure how such big feelings can be contained in such tiny people.

About four years ago I made a blunted knife for the oldest child of some good friends of mine. They have a house on some property in the country about 45 minutes out of the city. They grow mushrooms and berries and have animals and forests. I know the place pretty well- I helped them move out there.

There are now four children at their home. They are farm kids in the summer. I saw all of them the other week when I was doing a side job delivering some water containers to his dad, who uses them to run his homestead. While he was sorting out another visitor, I went in to say hello to the kids. They were all confused, except for the oldest, and asked me who I was and why I was in their house.

I told them who I was and that I was there to help their dad. I was then barraged with questions and chatter- the oldest shows me their puppy, the second oldest tells me she doesn’t remember me, the third oldest asked me why I was there a second time, the youngest doesn’t talk yet but eyes me suspiciously. Dad comes in and clears everything up. I don’t think there are too many visitors during a weekday, and I felt that my presence was a happy little gift. I’ve found the most sincere thing a kid can do is talk to you.

Before their dad and I unload the truck I brought in the oldest, whom I’ve known since he was three, wants to show me his treasures. He pulls a box out of his room and starts removing things- some small folding knives, a bit of paracord, and a compass. He is immensely proud and can’t even contain it. I’m a bit jealous. As a large man when I get excited it usually scares people. So I quietly and secretly took in his excitement with him. Whoever figures out how to concentrate little boy excitement and put it in supplement form will make a mint.

His dad and I went out back to unload the truck and this little boy received instructions to make lunch for his brothers and sisters. A few minutes he comes out with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for me. His dad hands me his blunted knife I made a couple years ago and asked if I could make it into a real knife. I tell him I sure can.

Because in the end, it’s not just a knife.

This little boy isn’t thinking about the bigger picture but I am. In seeing his reworked knife, I hope this little boy will learn to see what it is to grow and improve as he figures things out. I hope that he will learn to look back on where he’s been and feel satisfaction in seeing how far he’s come. I hope he will see what it means to put beautiful work out into the world and the empowerment contained within speaking his truth. Most of all I wish him to not fret about the future and to trust in his tireless human spirit. This is the lesson of the Ace.

This was the knife I made him four years ago. It is a hardened and tempered butter knife that allowed him to get comfortable with carrying a bladed tool.