Hugh Hollowell

Making things makes us human

This essay published May 3, 2021

Once upon a time, we humans mostly did work that fit into discreet time periods. Land was measured by the amount a man could plow in a day. Craftspeople worked on one piece at a time – if you were a furniture maker, you made a table, and you worked on it until you were done, and then you might build a chest of drawers or a cabinet. Days had rhythms to them that were dependent upon the amount of daylight available to you, and at the end of the day the sun went to bed, and then shortly after that, you did too.

We don’t really live in that sort of world anymore. With the advent of electricity, we can work around the clock, and sleep is a biological necessity rather than part of the rhythm of the day. Because of technology, I can work for a person in another state, interact with her daily, and never have seen her in person, or know anything personal about her. We have close friends who live all over the world, and yet we do not know what shoes they prefer, whether they have bad breath, or if they have dandruff. I am emotionally close to people whose legs I have never seen.

And our work has changed as well. Many of us work on projects that, if they have endings, are long in scope, and when they are done, there is nothing tangible to show someone. If you make soap for a living, you can show your mother the bar of soap you made yesterday. Not so much with a database. For those of us in the helping professions, there is all of this, but more so. Jim was an addict yesterday, and will be an addict at the end of the day today when I go home, and will probably be an addict tomorrow. It’s hard to point at a finished product and say, ‘I am done.”

It all feels like a treadmill, endlessly turning, and because it feels like one could hop on or off at any point without changing the outcome, it is easy to feel disconnected from the world around you, and to feel as if you are not needed, and would not be missed. Because who the hell understands what you actually do, anyway?

Which is why I like making things in my spare time. When I set out to make something like a cutting board, I know it will take me a few hours, and then I will be done. I make one of them at a time, and it has a beginning, a middle, and an end, and I can finish one before I go to sleep at night. Even if it is a bigger thing like a table, a thing that will take more than one day, I still can look at the work I have done and it has obvious progress – I can point to the pile of materials that is smaller than it was at the beginning, and the table carcass that now has turned legs and a glued up top waiting me to plane it.

I get the same feeling from gardening, which ties me to the seasons and the environment, or cooking, which ties me to people and pleasure, and which allows me to make low-risk bets that teach you something, usually in less than 30 minutes.

So if you feel disconnected from the world right now, I encourage you to carve out time to make something. Maybe a table, or whittle a piece of wood, or maybe just an omelet for yourself or someone you love. Something that has a beginning and an end, something that when you are done, you can point to it and say, ‘I did that” and that you can know would not have come into being apart from your work.

My daddy’s pocketknife.

This essay published April 9, 2021

One winter in the early 2000’s, I was practically penniless. I had went through a career change, having gave up my dream gig as an “Account Executive” in a Wall Street firm in order to save my soul. As a result, a nasty divorce ensued, and I had even been legally homeless for a few months earlier that year, when I lived in the backroom of the small (failing) bookstore I bought as my “second act”. I moved in with my girlfriend as a way of surviving that winter.

She invited my parents to Christmas dinner that year, without telling me she was going to. I was pissed – In part because my parents and I were going through an awkward phase after my divorce, but also because I had wanted to avoid having to buy them the sort of present you open in front of other people. You know – nice ones.

I don’t remember what I ended up getting Mom, but Dad was always easy to buy for: He was always happy to get a tool or pocketknife. Believe me when I tell you I had no money, so I was waiting as long as possible in the year to buy him something. You would not believe how scarce money was for me that year.

Finally, just 2 days before Christmas, I went into the small hardware store near our house to look at knives. I had, unfortunately, waited too late, and all the lower priced knives were sold out. But there was a large yellow handled Case XX sitting in the display case that was about $60, which was about $20 more than I would have paid elsewhere and about $35 more than I had planned on spending.

But.

When I turned 15, I had bought a hunting knife with my birthday money, and I had bought a Case XX, because Dad told me what a good brand it was. (I later gave that knife to my friend Dennis when he took a trip across America on the Lewis and Clark Trail one summer, as it had brought me good luck, and I hoped it would him as well).

Dad told me at the time he always wanted a Case XX knife, but he couldn’t justify the money.

So anyway, here we are, some 17 years later, and I was feeling a lot like a failure and had just watched my life fall apart and everything was turning to crap, but I could afford to buy my Dad a knife he would want and be proud of, and it would be from me.

So I bought the knife. On Christmas, he ooohed and awed over it, and then he put it in his right hand pants pocket. I was glowing, knowing I gave my dad something he actually wanted.

It’s been nearly 20 years since I thought about that knife. A lot has changed since then. The girlfriend and I tried really hard, but it didn’t work out. Eventually I would close the store and move to NC to work out some crazy ideas I had about how we could address homelessness. There I would get married, things would turn around for me, and it was there that many of you came to know me. And then, 13 years later, I would move back to Mississippi.

Last October, my Dad died from COVID, and on Easter Sunday I was standing in their bedroom, going through a box of his things Mom had put aside for me to look through. And there, sitting in the box, was a yellow handled Case XX pocket knife.

It’s scratched up now, and the blades are slightly worn from being run endlessly over an oilstone and there is some staining, but all of that is patina from use. The important thing is that my Daddy not only liked my knife, but he *used* it.

Dad would never hurt someone’s feelings. Ever. If he hadn’t liked it, he wouldn’t have said anything, but then when he got home he would have just slid it into a drawer and forgotten about it.

But no – he carried it, he used it, and obviously liked it. And now it is mine again, and it’s currently in my right pants pocket, where it shall stay. It cost $60 way back then, but it is now far more valuable to me than it was that Christmas all those years ago, and it has cost so very much for it to come back in my possession.

30 Spoons, done and all in one place.

This essay published January 24, 2021

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, as a mental health move and to improve my skills at carving, I made a spoon every day for 30 days. (There were a few days off for Christmas, New Year’s, and the odd unforseen thing, but 30 spoons, 30 days all the same.) I learned a lot during this experiment, and not all of it was about spoons.

I learned that daily practice can allow you to make dramatic changes in skill level in a very short time.
I learned that having a goal that you told other people about, so they can hold you accountable, really is more powerful than just saying, ‘I want to be better at carving”.
I learned that I am better at design than I think I am. Trying to come up with designs for this project (so I didn’t make the same spoon over and over)
People really liked following along and seeing my process. I know of several people who were inspired to begin their own 30 day projects in their own respective crafts.
I like making things that people think are beautiful.

Some folks have asked if, now that it is over, if I will be selling these spoons, or if I have spoons for sale. And the answer to both questions is yes! I’m still working out the details, but for right now I am encouraging you to put your email on this list if you are interested in buying a spoon, or having me make one for you, and I will be sending out an email in the first part of this week with the arrangements.

Here are all 30 spoons, in reverse order. If you click on the picture, it will take you to a large version of the image.

Miracle enough

This essay published January 4, 2021

I spent this morning among Pentecostal folk.

I have never seen a blind man regain sight.
I have never seen a cancerous tumor go away untreated.
I have never spoken in tongues.

When I prayed over the dying, they still died.
Despite intense prayer, my church still has a hole in its roof.
And praying in Jesus name has yet to bring me wealth.

But each day about 5PM, the birds gather
in the bamboo grove near my house
And sing songs of praise as they prepare to sleep.

And for me, that is miracle enough.