Blacksmithing
by Elle Garriock
When my longest days have brought every possible misfortune, I venture out to my dad’s shop. I can always rely on him being there at the end of the day, fidgeting with trinkets and clanking metal rods around the soundproof insulated walls. The art of blacksmithing has always brought my father and me together after our most hectic, everlasting, and work-filled days. Setting aside dedicated time in the shop at the end of each day to use as a creative outlet, or to simply share a good laugh, means the outcome is always rewarding.
The shop lies tucked away in the prairie-filled country, snuggled into the back left corner of my family’s three-acre property. Every summer night is crowded with a gleaming sky, full of illuminating stars, and the sound of crickets chirping, while winter is silent and still, with sparse calls from an occasional snowy owl. As a Winnipeg local since birth, I have faced some of Canada’s most daring, long winters. The walk out back during the frigid winter months is something I have been taught to manage from an incredibly early age. I gather my boots and wrap myself into my feather-filled parka for the hundred-yard journey outside the comfort of my warm home, ploughing through knee-deep snow and tiptoeing on top of the packed-down snowbanks, trying not to fall through.
Entering the shop, I am instantly greeted with a thrust of blistering heat. Now the race to peel off all my winter layers becomes an instant priority. The four paneled walls are filled with rhythmic sounds of the forge growling and various metals being manipulated by electric–power tools, hammers, and other assorted items, with each noise echoing the creativity shared in the shop. Once you’re equipped with gloves and goggles, any piece of art can be created—functional or beautiful—that one’s mind puts them to.
On several nights, I’ve left the shop with a project that’s unfinished or unfunctional, but sometimes my blacksmithing is not about creating something—instead, I’ve used the art as an outlet, to relieve whatever has built up within the day. Banging on a hot piece of metal with a hammer is quite stress relieving. It allows me to let go of anything I have been holding in, with no judgement at all. When I first began blacksmithing, my dad taught me that there was no failed project. Some nights are more successful than others and don’t always turn out how I imagined them to be, leaving me with a better sense of self rather than a created physical object. Other nights I can turn something raw, ugly, and plain into something beautiful, functional, and artistic.
On one evening during the midst of the Covid lockdown, an endless pattern of struggles blocked my vision to create a shiny, useable metal spoon. As simple as creating such an inanimate object may seem, my attempts to manipulate and thrash the small piece of rail tie metal from an old train track were left incapable of taking shape. Each hit to the anvil from the flat-headed hammer became continuously less controlled as my frustrations built, each swing hitting anything but the glob of metal itself. After a long night and much-needed fatherly guidance, I grabbed my long metal tongs and retrieved the metal glob from the blue flames that peeked through the apple-sized keyhole of the forge, quickly dipping the scorching red metal into the water-filled RONA bucket. After placing the glob into a vice for polishing and coating, I was rewarded with a shiny metal spoon.
My dad attempts to lecture me often. Many of his valuable “words of wisdom” roll off my memory like a dewy raindrop on a waxy leaf. Yet, as stubborn as I may be, my dad has played a significant role in shaping me as the young woman I now am today. Without the confidence and courage I have grown to develop, I do not believe I would be able to enter the spark-flying, electric-saw-cutting, and hazard-filled environment of his shop. Blacksmithing and many other crafts or activities can be very male dominated. At times when visitors such as family or friends stop by the shop, the energy can become unwelcoming and filled with male blazing testosterone, but my dad has always made his strongest effort to make the environment feel as if it’s a place where I belong, too. He explains that the shop is meant for anyone in need of an outlet. That blacksmithing is not just used to create art, but to find an inner peace within, viewing the industrial aspect as something deeper. I often take these words beyond the workshop’s walls, carrying them into my life as a reminder for unfortunate everyday occurrences, to be okay if something fails to succeed and to look for the beauty within.
There is something just so special about working with your hands, transforming raw material into something meaningful. I have grown to appreciate the meditative escape that the shop provides. Deeper than the art of blacksmithing, I would not be the person I now am today without the time my father and I have spent within those insulated walls. No matter the season or time of day, I can always rely on the blacksmith shop as a creative outlet to express and to relieve some of my darkest days, while making some of my best memories there, with my favorite people.