On the bench: A new dangler sheath for my little sica

 Yesterday I mustered some resolve and got to work on a sheath for a knife that had been lying around in my workshop-turned-attic-turned-home-turned workshop ;-). The knife, a nearly accurate replica inspired by several finds from the Daco-Getian iron age (https://i.pinimg.com/564x/fa/74/c7/fa74c7ce0827111670d94ee08afc1e12.jpg and https://i.pinimg.com/564x/0e/c6/d8/0ec6d888ce524ff55b7cb4d620012bfa.jpg, just to name a few) had to help in making the sheath, and its performance in leatherworking was a big surprise to me. The dangler is handforged out of mild steel, and yes, the stitching DID see some rework... ;-)

 The sickle shape with the tiny, but pronounced tip makes for a very effective cutter. It gathers up the material like a claw and also makes for a very precise cut when cutting small curves. To make a sheath which was not overly huge but big enough to accomodate the shape was a pain in the arse, but turned out well enough considering my lack of practice.

 I must admit I am quite irrationally fascinated by this type of knife. It has a history as a peaceful farming tool and a herbalist´s knife and was an insign of the Mithraic mysteries and therefore of Roman state religion as well as a deadly weapon of the same back-alley cut-throats the Roman empire was so afraid of. In Romania, the sica continues to have a prominent symbolism in the stories of the Strígoi, the fairies of the land, and it was a Sica used to combat the vampires of of Transsylvanian local legends. In Stoker´s "Dracula" it became a Khukhuri that ended the vampire prince´s life, but the differences are marginal.

 It models the shape of the hunter´s moon´s crescent and all the spiritual aspects of its mythology as well as being a most formidable everyday tool. I daresay it is this ambivalence that adds to its fascination. It tells stories in itself, and I like that.

The blade, then is made from a stainless material I found in the woods, under a crescent moon, of course ;-). It is rich with Cobalt, and after a very conservative selective quench and temper came out so hard that it carves a Roselli UHC Wootz blade while retaining an astonishing degree of flexibility. I estimate it at about 62-63HRC. It does not take that fine an edge (yet), and I am still figuring out what the best edge angle might be. At the moment it shaves, but I feel there can be still more performance gotten out of it... we´ll see. It worked the leather well enough, better than most tools I bought for that task, and I could not ask for more! It seems to be some HSS steel or something along the lines, and there seems to be quite a fair amount of Chromium in the steel. It came out stainless out of the ground and takes no patina even after 72 hours in a salt-vinegar-citric acid solution that stains even 440B after 24 hours. Fact is, I don´t know what it is, and the culprit is, I need not know what it is. I did all the tempering intuitively, and it turned out well enough.

I am currently writing a local mythology and, doing some research, found that a sickle played a prominent role in local fairy legend as well. One could easily say that it is a fairy knife... and this, adding to the fact that I found the steel in the woods, adds to the mystique of the atmosphere... ;-)

This, originally was what I wanted to express with my knifemaking; the gift of the other world made flesh. The wonder that waits in the ordinary, for there are few things more profane than a rotten, rusty piece of scrap metal... and yet, from the most mundane, and in the most profane situation lurks a world that is deeper, darker and most profound. It is the realm of legends and fairy tales, of myth ad wonder and awe... there life and death are not antagonists, but aspects of the same coin.  It is the realm of intuition, and I loe to wader there for no reason but my amazement how beautiful this creation and all its creatures are- all of them.

An early spring foraging hike

 These days I am not overly fond of my "fellow" human beings, to be frank. I did a lot of work for others, and of course charity bears its reward in itself, but if you ALWAYS get mobbed and deadbashed and sabotaged in the process, you get some different ideas how you want to spend your life, or rather, what you´d rather not want. I would gladly work for free for someone or something worth it... but alas-those few that would be worth it, are spread thin.But then ...alas... I do not care that much any more :-). having a bout of the flu and not feeling like doing a 85k ride with some 1500 vertical metres at all, but still feeling the need to get WWWAAAAAAYYY out there, I hitched the bus to the mountains... more the foothills of the Sauerland, but still. Arriving at the trailhead and climbing the first 100 m of rather steep incline I realized I should have rather taken it a bit slower ;-). But, not that much harm done, I did my huffing and puffing while enjoying the scenerey...

Then I climbed on at a more flu-compatible pace...

Through the thicket I scrambled, quite literally, sometimes on all fours. The Sauerland mountains might not be that huge, but steep they are well enough... ;-). I relished in the silence and solitude, with the ruckus of the valley subsiding with every step I made. You might know this feeling; I always thought there is a subtle threshold, not necessarily a geographical one, while geographics matter in this, but something more subtle. There is not anything huge that will happen, no dramatic light effects or a bombastic portal standing there.

But still, at that point, the world changes, and you change. Your mind gets another perspective, and the vibrations of your soul thrum louder than they do in the everyday mayhem, hum in harmony with the rustling of leaves and the sound of the oncoming breeze.

Then I came to a fireroad, broad, but solitary, and I followed it for  awhile.

The hills in the distance summoned me on... I must admit i followed a trail I did not know. I did not know where the trail might lead me, but everything is better than the city and its madness on som days. This was one of those days, where even lying in bed curing a flu was less of an alternative.

Even better yet: There was a cure waiting for me just by the roadside: Balsamic fir resin.

I harvested some of it. At home I took three peanut-sized grains resin with a tablespoon of coconut oil and three tablespoons honey, heated the coconut oil (you can also take whatever is at hand, but coconut oil is slightly antiseptic in itself) and dissolved the resin in it, put the honey in and per three teaspoons of the stuff took three finger´s breadth of cheap whiskey (I am talking whiskey still, not glass cleaner, mind you ... ;-) ) in a pint and filled up with boiling water, constantly stirring. Don´t overdo this, you might get stomach problems if you drink too much of the unprocessed resin!

Anyway, I climbed on, and still the vistas became more wonderful... somehow my spirit always lifts at that place, and it is as if a heavy load is taken from my shoulders. The air was fresh, but not cold, and felt clean and refreshing to me.

On the top of things, I met this not so little fella. I really like this guy and I must admit I have developed sort of a bromance with him.

I like his cloak... and the owl...

And the way he looks...

And Mr. Fluffkins at his feet... ;-)

Quite spontaneously I decided to visit the villag, Nachrodt-Wiblingwerde. This village is how a village should be, in my opinion. You can simply tell it works by how the inhabitants greet each other, and kids and elderly people interact on the street. It always warms my heart. Of course, there might be  a lot going on behind the scenes that does not necessarily looks so pretty in broad daylight, but having sat in the café at the marketplace and having involuntarily overheard one or a hundred conversations ;-) I would guess life is a bit better on the heights, at least than it is in the city.  

It started to rain, and when the cold drizzle subsided...

I was rewarded with this beautiful rainbow...

And could not resist shooting this photo... :-P

At first I had contemplated taking the bus, but then it would have meant waiting for two hours in the cold, so I decided to walk.

And, of course, I was rewarded again with murky woods.

...and mist rising from the dale.

I like walking like this. When twilight falls and embraces you like a harsh, unforgiving blanket, and still, you feel snug and huddled in the dark.

When the owls cry and foxes bark and deer are shying in the distance, then my lifeblood becomes warm and strong.

Then stars come out you cannot see in the valley, and the moon is a haunted spectre hunting in the woods, setting beings dancing around rotten stumps...

And while I might be ostracized in the world of man, still I walk trails at moonlight they would not dare walk in broad daylight.

The hooting of owls and the fighting and hunting and living of little and large critter and predator and the badger bear no terror for me... not as much as the ugly nocturnal predators that have designed the world of man...and if you fear not the twilight, the twilight will become you, it will never be your friend, but you will not need for anything else.

And then, suddenly, it was over. In stealth I trod on an empty road.

But, waiting for the bus, a car just stopped. I was a bit alerted, for you never know in the city of Hagen, but there was someone with a smile and a good face OFFERING me a ride to the centre of Hohenlimburg, if I agreed (!).

Maybe all´s not lost... and knowharramean? :-P