On strike

On Blacksmithing Workshop Day Three, I wore my anger management t-shirt. Grrr.

Just in time. Before I knew it, I was striking. Or standing in as striker. Or whatever the correct terminology is.

Here’s how it works. The blacksmith holds the glowing hot metal on the anvil and points out where to strike with her hammer. It’s then the striker’s job to strike at that exact place with a massive sledgehamming blow.

“I’m afraid,” I said to R. I had a different idea about going on strike. My heart was racing a mile a minute. Only day three, and I’m supposed to be wielding a sledgehammer?

“Tim put your piece in the forge and it’s already hot,” she said. “We’re supposed to take turns.”

So much for cowardice. I mean really, if this long-haired blond wearing yellow safety glasses and a kind smile invited you to beat the @#$% out of something, how could you refuse? Especially after you’ve been struggling all morning with @#$% hole punching and leaf-fashioning.

So I grabbed that sledgehammer and started striking. Tap, tap, tap — WHAM, tap WHAM, tap WHAM. Our mission: to draw out the ends of our plant hanger frames (stretch and thin them from 1-1/2 inches to 1/2 inch at the tip). In a hundred or so more WHAMs we accomplished it.

Did I finish the plant hanger frame? Almost — drew it out, scrolled both ends, just gotta vise/wrench it to a perfect right angle dead center.

Here’s my sketch of the plant hanger drawn at about 7:15 a.m.

And what I’ve got so far — I’m proudest of the leaf scroll.

So how do I feel after a long, arduous day? Anger managed.