So, a group of us spent last weekend at John the Farrier’s near Charlottesville.  Yet again: a hoot.  We had exceedingly warm weather for February, and a bit more rain than we needed on Saturday.  More importantly, we also had one person after another learning to forge.  It was beautiful, seriously amazing, heartwarming stuff to see so many of our friends learning smith-craft.  We study the iron age, see, and occasionally we as a community make some huge leap forward in our personal and  communal hands-on, bone-deep knowledge of THEM and how they lived.  It’s nice to learn from books.  It’s vital to learn from real physical experience.  In the past, we’ve made similar huge personal and communal discoveries about bronze-casting and horticulture and thatching and the transmission of myth and dye-works and such.  But this was big.  Forging was the technology that kept cultures alive, allowed tribes to trade for commodities rather than producing them all locally, which allowed them to focus on art and music and myth. 

Up until now, only a few of our friends have had hands-on experience with iron and steel forging, because it requires much more space, specialized tools, fuel, and experience than bronze-casting.  And then we befriended a man who really knows his way around iron and is incredibly generous with his time and knowledge and his home.  I managed, again, to take no pictures.  But, believe me when I say that it is wonderful to watch one person after another heft a hammer and strike home on glowing red steel.  Some of the older kids were forging.  Most of the women and men were forging.  Bevin and I had a moment of "crap, why do we have to be broken and thus not forging," but we got over it.  Kelby and John have taught Jeremy and Dominic, both 13, and both of whom really GET it.  They may have just found their callings.  They’ve certainly entered a hallowed community.  Smith-craft is one of the great magics of the ancient world, and it is in their hands.  Great googley moogley, it was beautiful to watch Ed learn how to clear just the right path through the coal for the blower to work effectively while AnnaMarie pulled a glowing-hot rod out of the fire and set it onto an anvil. 

Oh, and Geetha, the mostly-deaf rottweiler, wants to live in the forge.  She was in doggie heaven–she was out of the rain but could see everyone at once and it was warm and she had her new sparkly (dare I say sparkly-warkly?) pink collar and was adept at staying out of the way but making sure everyone was safe.  Dog smiles for days.

When we weren’t at the forge, we were wandering around the farm tending sheep and horses; burning copious amounts of (evil spark-ridden) pine; singing and playing tunes; napping, cackling about the mummified bat on the workshop wall; etc. etc. 

Oh!  And AnnaMarie is the proud owner of Rose!  I knew it was hers–the color is just right for a blonde and the proportions are just so on her.  And Simone is the proud owner of the first peace fleece socks.

So I came home with less stuff, which is grand, but with inspiration to make so much more stuff, which is even better.  Simone and I have a bit of a song percolating, and there are some felted wool rugs in my future, and the swatching for the knitting olympics is underway. 

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