There is something magical about smithing at night. The forge's dancing embers brilliantly disrupting the cool crepuscular sky line with its thermal glow. Somewhere behind me I can hear the crickets chirping over the forced whine of my shop-vac which is supplying air to the fire through my tuyere. I look forward to nights like these when I'm cooped up in a cubicle,still reeling from the latest mind numbing business meeting. I can only take so much business speak before I begin longing for the primal simplicity of a hot coal forge. I long to forget rambling nothings about out of the box solutions, delivered at scale, while maintaining company values that align with our core competencies. Yikes... I guess I'll just have to "touch base" with all that junk later...

No, when I'm at my forge there is no business speak, no office politics, no balancing the needs of everyone around me. It's just me, a roughly hewn anvil, and a big barrel of slightly rusted scrap steel stock that I salvaged from the various "goldmines" that some would erroneously label as junk piles.

What shall I make tonight? Shall it be practical? Beautiful? Round and elegant? Or should it be gnarly and full of sharp angles? The possibilities are endless. In fact, the possibilities are just as fun as the work itself. Some projects are a part of larger plan, parts to be used to make other parts in and endless chain of making tools to make tools.

And some projects are one-off fancies that hold my attention for a quarter of an hour at best. These quickies are no less satisfying than the week long builds that take days to work out properly.

Not every piece goes according to plan of course, there are the occasional boo-boo and mishaps. I sometimes cut too deep when drawing, or I somehow manage not to punch a hole that is perfectly perpendicular to the stock.

It's no matter though, I don't pay attention to these mistakes. I fix the ones I can or start over for the ones I can't. My only measurement of success is the pile of dull grey oxide scale that accumulates around anvil. These little flakes fall like snow, and provide me an assurance that I'm on the path to mastery. It is as they say, more about the journey than the destination. So far I can quite confidently say that

I'm LOVING the path I'm on.

Anyways that's about enough of my rambling. I'm hoping you found this article interesting rather than irritating and inspiring rather than dull. Sometimes waxing poetically about my craft is all that is needed to get my butt back in the shop, and that is what is truly important. Regardless of the weather, my many obligations, or even the time of day.What is important is that I get into my shop and MAKE SOMETHING.