A Knife Sheath

A good friend of mine while in a market somewhere in Africa found a merchant selling knives for $5 US and he stopped to pour through the man's shop until he found what he called "the only thing worth calling a knife" and bought it. That was some years ago and two years ago he heard I was into leather work and asked if I would consider making him a sheath. And this last Tuesday--yes I am embarrassed--I finally returned the knife to him with a significant face lift.

BEFORE PICTURE:

Now a few things to know. The sheath was a loosely weaved thick chorded (5-ply strand) cotton canvas like material. The snaps used to hold the cloth fastener around the handle had pulled through, and in a moment of none-to-careful handling I discovered the knife tip had sliced through the bottom of the sheath as well. Things were in a pretty sad state of affairs. And before anyone complains about a sepia tone setting on the camera, knife colors really were that washed out.

My good friend served in the United States Marine Corp in at least one theater of war. We do not talk about his experiences other than my occasional "thank you" for his service, and when I have questions about small group tactics as I am trying to get good enough at Warhammer 20,000 to hold my own against my 14 year old son. This is important as this project started out as a labor of love and when asked about what kind of a sheath he might want he literally replied "You will know it when you find it."

So with that kind of pressure it took me almost 18 months to find the right kind of design to put on the sheath. Ideas popped into my head and popped back out as they were either over worked, too stylized, or they seemed really cool one day only to be utter crap the next. I wanted something that would reflect my friends character in a way that would honor him. In the 18 months he continued to demonstrate an immense and incredible loyalty. Not just to me, but to everyone in our shared circle of friends. He is an uncomplicated guy. That is not to say he is simple, if you assume that, he will shatter your perspective and when he figures out you underestimated him, you will miss out on one of the best friends you could hope to ever have.

Slowly the design gravitated towards a simple single image engraved on the sheath that would underscore his unflagging loyalty and commitment to his friends, and most especially to his wife. When I stumbled across a website that indicated the Celtic Knotted Hound was a symbol of a warrior and most often connoted loyalty and bravery the quest was nearing its end! While celtic artwork is fantastic to look at when well executed, it is an absolute pain in the to do it well enough to make it pop, and there is always a mistake made. Okay, at least in my work that is true. So I avoid celtic knots with a passion. But the design was so perfect and then I found this in my resource library:

Determined to find a way not to do this particular piece of artwork on this particular sheath I made a paper template of the knife, traced the pattern, and laid out all the pieces to give them a good view convinced I could find a way to say "NO!" Not sure you will agree but the following picture said "TO BAD!" so strongly that I rolled up my sleeves and started working in earnest.

This is on the flesh side of the 4oz leather I used to make the sheath. I used dividers set at 1/4" (6mm) to determine the outline of the pieces, cut them, and then used scraps to make the welt. In this case I decided to do a standard thickness welt on the back edge of the knife to give the sheath some natural fit and used the same thickness along the knife edge to protect the thonging I planned to use to hold the pieces together. To make this work at the false edge of the blade the 4 oz welt was skived to 2 oz thickness to the blade tip, from that point onward I used 2oz leather that was skived to 1.5oz. The shell leathers were skived all the way around to a very shallow angle of about 60 degrees. Everything fit skin tight!

This picture has the welts glued in place and held by push pins. For those of you who know I enjoy doing period work, sometimes modernity is just too convenient, so push pins worked, and they stay in the tool bag. If you need an inexpensive high quality cutting board, the one I found at Ikea is hard to beat and is the surface you see in this picture. It is the right density to stand-up to cutting work and is a very convenient size.

This was front side of the sheath which before being used as a pin cushion had the pattern traced, carved, and stamped in a more US Western tooling style. It seemed important to make this image as bas-relief as possible. And keeping with celtic knot tradition there is a small mistake in the tooling and it will be confessed should you find it. A cooler head prevailed against starting over and the work pressed ahead. 

A lot of my earliest work would shrink or move in odd ways as it was tooled. To minimize or eliminate this movement the leather is cased, strips of packing tape are applied to the flesh side in one direction, and then a second layer of tape rotated 90 degrees to the first layer. It also provides a useful hand hold  when carving by pinching a portion of the tape between thumb and forefinger to rotate, and the pinky and ring fingers keep the work from sliding on the cutting board. This kind of design used to take an hour to complete the initial carving. Carving and stamping completed in 75 minutes. 

Upon completion this was dyed using Fiebing's USMC black which after one coat gave the sheath a blued iron tint. Simple saddle stitching seemed to detract from the look to me, so Mexican Round Braid was used with 3/32" (2.5mm) latigo lace to hold the pieces together. It turned out really well and revealed a few lessons to be learned moving forward. Believe it or not the total length of thonging used is nearly 27 feet (9 yards or 8.7m). It was a long evening of wasting my brain watching something on TV, and my fingers hurt, and my arms were tired, but it was totally worth the effort.

This picture does not do the impact of this look justice. The carving seems to have withdrawn back into the  leather of the sheath and has lost some of its pop. Not true if you were to see this directly. Feelings of accomplishment when the stray thongs were trimmed were swiftly dashed when the look of the handle was compared to the hard work put into the sheath itself. It made the work and time invested appear cheap and simplistic. So I asked for permission to give the knife a new handle, and with the owner's blessing accomplished the following look. The handle is black palm, and I re-used the screws from the original handle to put everything together. To improve resilience a two part epoxy was used to set the knife scales in place.

Something you do not know about my good friend is that he tends to be a man of very few words. He would give John Wayne's "The Silent Man" a sound whooping in terms of the number of words spoken, their relative import, and the density of meaning they convey. As I understand it he works in a shop that repairs and restores dials and equipment found in the cockpits of planes of all sizes. So he is fantastically critical of the work he sees. Thus I was hoping for a pursed lip review, a small "hmmmm", and then a nod. That would indicate that he critically review the work, appreciated the effort, and really liked the result. I got all that, plus a a very direct "thank you this is great". 

He is happy and that is all that matters. Semper Fidelis my good friend, Semper Fidelis.

NOTE: if you would like to see more photographs of this work in progress with additional details and challenges about the work please see my photo book here Knife Sheath Photo Journey

Confessions of a Romantic

"You are a ROMANTIC!" was the slack jawed observation with accusatory finger wagging in my general direction. "Yes, yes I am" was my calm reply. You see I find pessimists to be Debbie Downers whose soul sucking is insufficient for the victims of conversation, but somehow manage to make life more frightening for the rest of us with their negativity which ultimately congeals into a semblance of pessimism that quite frankly makes the colors run to dun. Rationalists on the other hand are so convinced in their logic that they are correct and their conclusions so irrefutable that to engage in conversation of anything of interest is to have the dynamic divulge that the rationalist is actually a pedant in disguise fully incapable of recognizing that their "logic" at some point is based upon a premise which just might be wrong. They are tiring, and at the end so much more soul sucking than any Debbie Downer one may ever meet. So that leaves us with the Romantics. And in the model of confession I will admit that I am constraining myself to these three general schools of reality engagement as a matter of convenience. Thus if one finds a specific world view filter unaddressed, just call me a simpleton and move on.

So still here? Excellent. I will be considering the quick notion of why I am a romantic and then move on to other things and if you like you may stay and read my ramblings or otherwise ignore them. You see I do not care. I am a Romantic. And in fact admit right now to give you a romanticized description of the romantic world view. It seems only fair to be consistent as well as transparent for the pedants (I mean rationalists) and Debbie Downer (ahem, pessimists) that may have erred (old/middle english to have wandered) this far in their readings.

A Romantic finds the present day distasteful and believes that "something more" exists, or rather ought to exist. And here is where it gets most interesting even within the Romantic Camp for one must choose--though I often wonder who is the enforcer of the choice and therefore must conclude it to be a natural consequence of the human need to exclude others--between a Romantic of Past or Romantic of Future. Specifically, the Romantic must decide whether the past is 'better' than the present and thus give some historic period a thorough aggrandizement, or fantasize about the possibilities of tomorrow and endeavor to make them real. Starting with the Romantic of the Past, such a romantic is quite aware of the seedier aspects of a past historic period, and chooses to ignore those un-pleasantries whilst simultaneously titrating the best of that period to a richer purer form. This is not to make a mockery of it as some suggest, but rather to reveal the ideals of yesteryear in their full glory by which they may be treasured and carried forward, or rejected as less important than originally considered. This should not be construed that all Romantics of Past remain unaware of darker sides of histories past, rather we are looking to bring forward something of the past that ought to be highly valued in the present, to enrich the current now. As such while the bulk of humanity lusts to destroy any vestige of Chivalry in a call to equanimity and equality, the Romantic of Past recognizes that the human spirit in such a system of life living is stultified. In the interest of egalitarianism we care less about our fellow human being and their condition. We win out something of value at the loss of something of value, and one that some argue as of even greater importance. Time will tell, though I shudder to think of how this present day will be romanticized, but I suspect it can and will be. The notion of chivalry should not be used to conclude that Romantics of Past are merely medieval reenactors. Quite the contrary, Romantics of Past are caught up in Viking Era, Roman, Byzantium, Steam Age, Colonial Era, Civil War, American West, and I am sure there is a list that goes on for some length. These listed merely represent a fraction of which I have become partially aware.

What shall be said of the Romantic of Future. In most instances of which I am aware I can only discern a Romantic of Future as a matter of reading one's epitaph or obituary. You see the Romantic of Future is a subtle creature who latches onto an ideal and let's it form every thought and action of their life. They actively build the better tomorrow by thought, word, and deed in the present now. They wear the guises of Captains of Industry, Workers of Charity, Champions of Ideals, and thus more easily recognized for the guise and rarely for the motivation.

Now my darkest confession is now rendered due. I am both a Romantic of Past and a Romantic of Future. I engage in rediscovery of the past wholeheartedly admitting that I ignore various negative aspects of history beyond understanding how the ideals of that historic epic arose. It is my belief that the negatives of a time result in responses that are provide contemporary relief and give rise to the abuses and challenges to which the next reaction is made. But some ideals transcend the temporal moment in which they arise, and are a lasting net positive to all future generations. These we need to ferret out from their dusty hiding places, clean up, a represent to the ourselves, our peers, and future generations. It is in this light that Chivalry is a "net benefit" to present and future generations. If it leads to sexism and rationalization for "us vs them" behaviors then it is will be a net negative influence upon the present and future. (Surprised are you? Romantics are quite rational even when you disagree with their behaviors and conclusions.)

This is to say, I hold very dearly to a specific world view that I maintain and pray will infect every aspect of my live-a-day life. In some contexts it will be imminently apparent what that world view is, and in other contexts it will be less so. And if done properly, the less so moments will leave some people wondering "why" I did what I did. More importantly I succeed when this question arises from a sense of wonder at how an unusual behavior benefited that person. It is of course a failure if I have injured that person and left them wondering what daft moment left me incapable of taking the proper medications that morning resulting in such irrational behavior. Sadly, they do happen and far more often than I care to admit.

So where are we going with all of this nonsense. I really do not know. What I do know is that this blog is intended to embrace, celebrate, and share various aspects of my Romantic of Future and Romantic of Past natures. I suspect that the Romantic of Past will be more transparent to the dear reader, but deep at its heart, I hope that by working to bring ideals of the past forward, you may get a brief hint and come to embrace my deepest ideal as your own. So enough jibber-jabber, how about we get to our first "Romantic of Past" project, shall we?

Because monkeys have fur

Ok, so there are things that just sort of happen as one is driving down the road in a foreign city and the kids are asking to do silly things like roll down the windows in the middle of a crack house infested projects portion of town. You know the kind I am talking about, not the white-toast projects of Denver CO, but the really scary ones where not even Lucifer's mother would go into that neck of the woods for fear of the things that go bump in the bright noon day sun. It is a moments like these that my childrens' internal radar goes off and they want to do silly things like roll down the windows and invite strangers into the car for a family meal. It is at moments like these that I am thankful for my quick thinking and can remember that the car has child proof window locks on the driver's door, a quick punch of the button and problem solved.

But you see the acorn never falls far from the tree so my children are equally smart and immediately start with the questions of why, why, why? If you don't have children try renting Uncle Buck starring John Candy and look for the scene in which Uncle Buck is cornered at a kitchen table by an inquiring mind who wants to know. And you begin to get a sense of what I mean by "rank amateur" as my children are truly unpaid professionals, a la NCAA football but that is a tangent we will avoid for the moment. So back to those moments in the car. Why can't we roll down the window? Why can't we invite strangers to lunch? Why can't we turn on the radio? Why can't we grin and wave at the guys on the corner? Why can't we have it our way? Why . . . and you begin to get the idea of the cacophony from the back seat. My simple response was so sublime that I just have to share it. "Because monkeys have fur!" was my quick response. A brief moment of silence in the back seat and then the question "What does that have to do with it?"

"Why everything," I literally beamed from the front seat. "This morning if monkeys did not have fur you would be able to roll down the window and invite these nice folks into the car for lunch, but because of the time of day--it being morning and all--and the fact that monkeys still have fur, you may not roll down the window and perform a number of other life risking activities. I would love for you to do this, but you see, monkeys have fur and that is why you cannot."

I could not believe it, 15 minute of unbroken silence from the back seat permeated the car as my wife and I tried to navigate our way through Scary Place USA. Little did I know that my son had put my daughter up to the task of watching the clock on the dashboard with a diligence I had never considered possible in a three-almost-four-year-old. Just as the digital read out declared high noon, Isaac strolled out into the middle of that dusty western town and called me out to a duel. Not of pistols, as I am trying to be dramatic and perhaps poetic, but he was indeed going to challenge the supremacy of my new found logic as best and as quickly as he could with the creativity and ingenuity of a nine year old.

"Papa, can we roll down the windows now."

Basking in my new found solution I said "No, you see monkey still have fur and we have already been all through this. No you may not."

With a wail and an accusing finger he pointed at the dashboard clock and declared his independence by stating, "But Papa it is not longer morning, it is now afternoon; monkeys having fur was the reason in the morning, but now we can do it because your fallacious (yes he uses big words properly) argument no longer works. It is now clearly afternoon."

For a panicked moment I realized the little bugger had outfoxed his father, and a quick glance at my wife trying to navigate with three maps delicately balanced on her lap, and a quickly shared ashen expression, I knew we were done for. And then it happened, the most submlime stroke of genius struck again. With new found confidence and a grin on my face I calmly replied, "Unfortunatley Isaac it being afternoon and the fact that giraffes have long necks you may not open the window. If God had ordained giraffes to have short necks then I would gladly and willingly let you open you window, but sadly God made giraffes with long necks and for this particular moment in time you may not open the window . . . for giraffes have long necks."

The murderous glare from the back seat from both my daughter and son made me realize the truth of scripture when it says that not one of us is good, not one of us, we are all born corrupt. If looks could kill--and in my mother's case I think they can but that is another tangent we will avoid for the moment--I would have been struck dead, not by the shadowy figures on the streets at High Noon, but rather by the innocence of two young children in the back seat. An
innocence obviously betrayed by their father with his irrational yet unassailable logic.

Now before you think all is lossed and that The Fates missed this opportunity for irony, we soon found our way out of that neighborhood and made it to our final destination, parked in a lot for 2 hours 49 minutes and 31 seconds. This was the time it took to go to the floating museum, rent and audio tour, take the tour, eat lunch, and return to find all our possessions still safely inside our rented vehicle. Presenting my ticket to the man in the little office I was suddenly robbed the sum of $19. As I fumed and ranted internally at this ridiculous sum of money I slowly uncurled my clenched fist from the waded dollars in my hand and asked with as much indignation as I could muster, "How can you justify such robbery?"

Without missing a beat this nice young man with english accented from an origin somewhere in Northern Africa responded non-plussed "Because fish have scales!" Chagrined more by the victorious shouts from the backseat I mumbled, "Of course, I see your logic is flawless."

So to this day my children enjoy reliving this moment in my life whenever I respond to a silly question with "Because monkeys have fur!" to which the jubilant victory cry with attending pointed and taunting fingers, "And fish have scales!".

Until next time,

John