So, phew. A long, long time without a Blog post, for various reasons, some of them obvious, some less so. One thing is a technical reason. I am very often in want for Internet connectivity and writing on a smartphone sucks big time, too. Then I am on Facebook and I really underestimated all the work that this meant. I can relate to anyone not wanting to be on FB, even more now that I have personal experience, so I do not buy into the "blogging is dead" mindset. I am an old fart so I am entitled to some geriatric stubbornness. If you guys are still here, awesome. I love you all for this.
Another, more obvious reason is that I have always been someone with some weird ideas on planning a career. I never got the gist on why the ratrace should be a good thing. I did my part and when I worked, I always did my best, because I wanted to do some good work, not because I wanted to climb a ladder. That has backfired big time during the pandemic. Of course I am right, but that does not buy you food. Of course the ratrace is even now hitting the concrete wall at full speed. I do not need to tell you about the Shitshow going on. You are not reading my Blog because I tell you that the World is shit. It is. We all know it. And it does not offer any of us any resilience at all ranting about it.
And I daresay, that last year we all strived and struggled to find whatever resilience we could find. I certainly did.
And that is what this post is about. We all are a bit like hamsters in a treadmill. Running fast and getting nowhere. And the postmodern capitalist mindset (and mind you, I am still not a communist) is becoming very dangerous very fast, because it has become some sort of pseudo religion. The stock market does not regulate a Virus. Or climate change. I spare you the details.
A lot of people have no other religion or spirituality other than capitalism. This is not meant to shame or criticize them. But it is a truth. Obviously it is my truth, not everyone's. And our leaders and good shepherds, such as those space nerds sacrificing Earth for their megalomaniac Mars Mission dreams, simply eat up the flock instead of guarding it. Nuff said. So it all fails and falters. The System doesn't work. There is no such thing as politics anymore, just Stock market economy and a lot of corruption as has been at the end of all high civilizations in history. It is nothing at all surprising.
But nuff said, we all have to carry on. We need to survive that Shitshow.
Now you all know that I am not quite fond of the Survival and prepping crowd. Because, of course, you can build a bunker, hoard weapons and ammunition and dry food, the more disgusting, the better. Of course, there is a time and place for this. But that timeline and place will come even sooner the more you cultivate this mindset. It is a paradoxon.
But sitting in your bunker waiting for your enemies might help you to survive. Even not necessarily so, but there is a certain probability. But it is not living. It offers no resilience. Because, well, the bad news is that we are all in this together. It is not as simple as "us versus them". And, most importantly, you need a reason not only to survive, but a reason to live.
Fear is never a good councellor. It, too, has a time and place, but you need more to stay resilient.
I can safely say that I am afraid. I am very afraid. And maybe righteously so. Of course I am. But not all of the time. Of course I avoid people. I wear a mask, I wash my hands and I advocate sensible vaccination. But this post is not about discussing that, either.
I find I really close the doors against the world a lot these days. I mean, it is toxic in more than one sense of the word. In another Post long ago I have already talked about the "civic duty of escapism". I find this really valuable and it gives me a good perspective to actually live.
Because I think I have found a way of life that is called escapist. But reality shows us just and even now that what was called reality does not work. There is no such thing as eternal growth. In physics and chemistry, in biology, mathematics and even cosmology, growth at a certain point tends to fall into entropy, and while I am a specialist in neither field of expertise I think that there is no exception from the norm.
I have a lot of books. I love to read them. I love to think. But thinking things through to the end does not offer me a lot of pleasure these days. You have to stop it from time to time. Instead, I have found it very beneficial to do something with my hands.
Crafting stuff has always been a haven and a home for me. In school, I was a weird kid. I have written a lot about that, so I just spare you the details. But whenever I was being mobbed or beaten, the shop in the basement or the woods were my safe space and a place for retreat. I still have not bought a single piece of furniture in my life. I still use the wardrobes and cabinets and shelves I made together with my father when I was nine. They are not perfect and they do not need to be. But every time I look at them, every time I use them, I remember where I come from, what I am and enjoy them. I remember my father and mother and the bad times and the good.
When you came down into the basement of our home, there was a very characteristic smell. First, there was a pantry, in the dryest room with a lot, a fecking lot of conserves and food and my mother also did the laundry in it and crafted her own stuff in there. The Workshop had this warm smell, a bit with a vanilla note of the warm shavings from the wood lathe and circular saw, but also the stern and hard smells of various metals, including the somewhat incense - like smell of titanium, and the various smells of lubing, grease and detergents, varnishs, lacquers and paints. But what I really loved most was the smell of wood.
We presumeably had every tool man has ever invented. ☺️ And my father taught me how to use a lot of them, as far as he knew, at least. He was often a harsh teacher, but I am really grateful for all the knowledge he gave me. When I think about these times now, I am even more grateful. Because it is the smells and the knowledge of my hands that mean a haven and a home for me. Maybe you have something like that, too. If not, make it. It is not too late.
So, doing stuff with my hands is what saved me and still does. And I daresay you deserve some impressions what I was about all of this time. Of course I did a lot more, from foraging to smithing to riding to more sensible stuff. I spare you the promises of upcoming posts, because I might not be able to follow through. But there is enough material. Or would be. I hope you can excuse me if it doesn't work out.
Now you guys may know my positions on Moras by now. They are a reality check for every knifemaker worth his shit. It is not easy to best their performance. It is neigh on impossible to best their value for money. I cannot beat their quality... By far, that is. ☺️ This is one of my favourite knives these days. I reforged it from a somewhat silly design of a blacksmith knife I once made from 1.2842 (O2) adding a little bit of extra pewpew to the tempering and grind. Which is almost flat to zero, just a tiny bit convex. Handle is made from birch burr, copper, bronze, and glued in with pitch glue. Which, by the way, works really nice. I am still trying to figure it out, but I daresay, it works a cinch for rat tail tangs like that one.
This is still a work in progress. A Virobloc from an Opinel, a boxwood handle and a damascus blade. Still needs a bit of fiddling about, and I am still learning how to do it right, but I am really loving it.
I also did quite a lot of spooncarving. I still take care of Fritz, the partner of my laid mother. I left this one quite raw so he could finish it. He was enjoying it mucho. And we had a beer. Perfect. ☺️
Sitting in dark woods has become a custom for me. I had forged a tomahawk, which is something of a tall Fimbulmyrk tale in itself, for I found a hatchet someone started from crucible steel embedded in the soil. That guy must have given up on punching through the steel, for there were only superficial chisel marks.
I made a handle from some mystery hardwood I found.
This is a ladle I carved very recently. It is made from birch wood. Not everything you can do is something big. Sometimes whittling a humble gypsy flower is enough to get your mind off things. Cuppa tree, a simple project accomplished in ten minutes is often enough do regain enough composure to plough on.
Just for fun I forged a ram's head walking stick topper out of spring steel. So folks, I do not know if you need that, but it is not just about Survival. It is about living. To me, life is good when it can be this way. Most of those things are for free, if you know how to. But even if you don't feel so inclined, a cuppa in the woods goes a long way in keeping you sane.
Please take good care, stay safe and sensible and don't care about every mumbo-jumbo you hear.
Hope to write again soon, yours truly,
Fimbulmyrk. ☺️
