As we guys will do, whenever I'm in a sporting goods or hardware store, I'll gravitate over to the knife display case, "uh, no thanks, just looking". What I see there doesn't sing to me, doesn't even whisper. I can't hear the bullfrog's croak, or the alligator's rumbling bellow on the Saint Mary's river at night. I can't feel the biting cold as shivering hands urgently work to get a fire lit. I don't see the young fawn, standing alertly on trembling legs, in the dim forest off the edge of the trail. I stand there before that glittering display case, saddened by the soulless, lifeless, objects, made by machines for people who themselves have become more and more machinelike.
I know why my crude home made knives have such an effect on people. They see in them, something they've been looking for in themselves, innocence, simplicity, authenticity, to be real, nothing more, nothing less. We live in a world where so much is artificial, so much is an imitation of life, but it's not the real thing, and we know it deep in the place where we keep our true hearts. A fish swims, a bird flies, a knife cuts. It doesn't get simpler than that.
Sorry about meandering so, reckon I'm in a bit of a mood. Just got off the phone with my best friend and longtime hiking/camping/canoeing partner. She has a way of bringing things out in me. Hard to say how much I love her and miss her, I am the grass and she is the dew.
Sarge