Maker

    I got my start as a maker, when I was about four years old. I would sit out in the back field by the chicken wire fence, and I would bend the wires back and forth, back and forth, until they broke. Then I would twist them back together, into different patterns. By the time I was five, I had graduated to pliers (obtained with consent from the basement workbench), some old nails, and a hammer. My workshop was in the low crotch of a tree, where I would bang in the nails, and use the pliers to twist the wires around and across them.

     My particular friend from kindergarten came over one time, and I asked him if he was interested to see my workshop. He said he was, so we climbed the tree and I showed him the various nails sticking here and there, and the twisted pieces of wire connecting them. I had a story and an explanation for each part of the work in progress. For instance, this particular nail here, was intended to be banged in deeper, but it had bent over, so I had been obliged to put in this other nail next to it. My friend listened to my explanations very attentively. After I had shown him everything, I felt grateful: to have such a friend, who took my work as seriously as I did.

    Today at 72, I've come a certain way from that first pliers and hammer, but the important things aren't really that different.