Dear Mrs. Spoonmaker,
I loved watching you at the market working at your craft. Sitting straddle of an old blue bench that matched the plaid of your summer dress and the hue of your eyes, you worked, not speaking. Your hands amazed me and the strength of your arms pounding pounding each well-planned stroke at your chisel. From a block of persimmon wood a spoon emerged, strong and hard.
I watched as the chips fell around your flip-flop shod feet. I watched as the “bowl” of the spoon began to appear. I knew it was soon to be smoothed and sanded and polished to join others in a quilt lined wooden bowl.
Your tools of trade, chisel, vise, mallet all seem especially wonderful to me. They are tools for making a tool, a wooden spoon. That spoon will grace a housewife’s kitchen, stir soup to feed a family, stir juice or tea or any foods. What a good tool and how sturdy and necessary to the cook’s skill. So your work goes on and does more work after you are done.
Mrs.Spoonmaker, you inspire me with your realness, your colors, your special skill in the midst of an unskilled populous. An artisan, you work and find joy in that work. I love your spoons. I would have liked to buy them all, but I am not certain you want to sell such treasures!
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