The raven´s day...

 Yesterday I simply wanted to get out of the city, and thus I took the bus to the hills. When I was just seated, someone called my name, and who stood there? Harald, the guy who taught me the very beginnings of the real side of the craft. He corrected my scrollwork, showed me many projects, and last but not least showed me how to forge-weld the steel. Once we worked together in a museum, where we both fared not too well. I was mobbed out, and he was kept low. An accomplished craftsman, all he was told to do was ridiculous work. If he did a good job, he was yelled at. It´s not my opinion alone, it was also stated in an article in the Hephaistos, a blacksmith´s magazine where the museum was called the "Phantasialand der geknechteten Handwerker" (event park of enslaved craftsmen). Anyway, Harald had a hard time, and was sick for a long time, and I put a lot of energy into him which ultimately lead to a break in our relationship, for I could not help him in any other way. I respect him, for he managed to get a hold on his problems. We had a chat of old times together and a cuppa coffee, and he showed me a striker knife he made from chainsaw chain damascus after a drawing I made long ago. By the way, the writing are hieratic runes I developed long ago... as a writing version of the carved Futhark rune forms. The knife he made is not exactly the one on the sketch, but I like it nonetheless. have to do it myself soemtime soon! We talked a bit longer about this and that, about dreams and pains and plans on life, and then I went on my merry way. I hope Harald will continue on the great path he is on, and I hope we can do this again sometime. Maybe we will meet in the smithy, where this guy simply belongs, and it´s my turn now to give something back.

 The hills called loudly. Winter is still restinging heavily upon the snow-ravaged-land, but spring is already on the way. The sun shone, not warm yet, but sun it was.

 Into those snowy woods I went, still in winterly, deadly silence... but this silence was broken by the tweeting of some birds already fluttering around and calling to the sky for spring to come.

 Dark it rests still, the cloak of the ancient, ice-cold lord, but the golden bough is sprouting already. Everywhere plant´s hips were sprouting, and there was an atmosphere of a violent breakthrough in spite of all the ice.

 The creek was singing aloud under the veil of ice that still covers its waters.

 Towards the lake I came, that lake I passed along so many times, where I passed my childhood and the days of my youth, and as often as I have seen it, so many faces did it bear. Never did it look the same, and the older I get, the more I see it with a sense of awe. I have never travelled far, have not seen many countries, but I have seen the worlds within the world, the multiplying faces of nature that never get to any end, that spring forth with violent vigour...;-)(alliteration is fun).

 ...
And as I walked on, the trail besides the lake, I came to the hillside of the birch grove I like so much, deep in thought and in a sense of wonder, and I bowed towards the four places of the wind and the law of the universe, and to the spirits, and the forces of the land, when in the distance I heard two raven croak, and it was a hair-rousing experience, in a good sense of the word. Oh, I remember, and I think, and thus Huginn and Muninn might fly within my soul...

 I sat there, on top of the hill, and time passed, or not, and I meditated on past and the flow of time, on the burden of the years and the dance of youth within my step that´s springy still, but nearing old age with every stride.

 I drank a cuppa tea, and let the sun sink, sink lower still...

And through the twilit woods I made my way home.

A children´s birthday party- and the birth of a shaman´s damascus knife from fire and ice and song;-)

 Volker called the other day and asked if I´d come to work on Saturday, so I saddled my steed and rode through the snowstorm to Witten.

 When I arrived, the snowfall subsided, and we could light up the forge.

 Soon the kids arrived, some really great children celebrating! It shows in the kids if the parents are not half-mad;-). We certainly had fun working with them, even if it was cold. here Volker greets the kids and explains what we will be about.

 Then it was party on... even if licce Kevin does not look the part, he enjoyed himself making his first own knife. We made the knives from mild steel. I am not quite comfortable about that, mind you...;-) but I work-hardened the edge some by coldforging. So, the knives were a bit more useful than being utter crap, and the kids used them even for whittling some sticks that were left over from fire building.

 ...

 Since it was that cold, we lit up another fire for warmth. Cozy, huh?;-)

 Then, suddenly, the kids were all gone, and I set to work on another project of my own. I forged a spatula and inlaid a piece of 1.2842. Here you can see the first three layers of the billet. I folded it some, and got 24 layers, forged it square, did some torsion on the billet, folded it unto itself, then welded another layer of 1.2842 into the middle for cutting prowess. Did not work as well as last time, and I messed up the direction. In the meantime, it was snowing hard again, my muscles were sore and my back was aching, but a thought occured to me. It was like a song that was hard to describe, but I thought: This is the raven´s song! No clue what and why, but this is what I thought.

 A very peculiar atmosphere it was, the roaring forge, the red-hot metal, and the snowstorm blowing and howling. It was hard to work under these circumstances, but I was grateful to be able to experience something most people do not even deem possible. You do not need grand words for it. It was just snow and a forge, and Volker providing me with coffee and cake;-) (Thanks again, bro!). Now and then I paused to take a swig of water, to have a cake and coffee, to chat with Volker and to collect my thoughts and concentration, and then continued to forge the billet into a Hadseax shape, but alas, a portion of the tip had a deep dent in it, don´t know why. So I normalized the blade and ground that part away. Cheating, I know, but what should I do? Then I put a coarse grind on the blade and tempered it.

 Then I said goodbye and thankyou to Volker and rode home over snowy trails in the darkness. It was another peculiar experience: The soft powder snow, just high enough to be fun to ride in and low enough to offer plenty of traction, the glittering snowflakes in the light of my headlamp, the howling wind in the vent holes of my helmet... and, apart from the sound of some ducks and geese, and the rustling of little animals in the underbrush, utter and complete silence.

 ...

 At home, I did some finer grinding and some etching with vinegar, citric acid and salt solution... and realized I messed up the pattern... this is the "bad" side of the blade...

 ...and then I realized the other side looks like a bird´s head, a raven in fact. Can´t make heads nor tails out of that, but that´s okay with me.;-) I never said I wasn´t superstitious, did I?;-).

And YES, THAT IS A WELDING FLAW to the right*grml*ggg*, but it´s just on one side, and this blade will quite certainly see not a big deal of abuse, so I kept it as is.

 And since it has two faces anyway, I made a stag antler handle carved with a triquetta and a "valknut" on one side...

 ... and a raven head on the other.

And as it now has two raven heads, I found the val-knot only appropriate;-). I find this is a nice example of how inspiration works. You do something, and it may be even something going severely awry. And word leads you from word to word, and work leads you from work to work...;-)