Swappers Day, the Collection and The Motion

Swappers Day, Johnstown Ohio. Another time and place. A short drive on Highway 62 takes you from Columbus to Johnstown. It is probably only about thirty minutes, but time is just a series of numbers that move through space and I am uncomfortable with numbers, and not a little unsteady with space. Let’s just say we could listen to my Obsession Playlist twice so my wife could decide which to choose (Don’t forget to exercise your right to vote)^1.  We still had time to talk about the knights suit of armor on the back porch of the small house right on the side of the highway, and the other things that make traveling so much fun.

We have been going to Swappers Day for about five years. My wife started her new job, and one of her coworkers, one of her friends, who has become one of my friends, told her about it. We are always game for crowds, sales and festival food. We really had no idea what we were about to see. Even now, all these years later it is still new, and always interesting.

One of our favorites is the negotiations. Intense, occasionally difficult to understand.

“Look, I’ll take sixty dollars, but that is the best I can do, it is still a hell of a deal and you’ll still make money off it.” Which seemed, to me, an odd sales pitch for a compound bow. But, the quiet, bearded Amish man, dressed in his simple clothes was comfortable with the price and the implication and bought the bow.

Or the angry exchange between vendor and woman customer.

“It’s marked as ten dollars, I’ll give you five.” The woman offered.

“I’ll take seven.” The vendor countered

“Are you f*&#ing crazy?” An agressive counter offer from the woman.

You have to enjoy the people. It is always the people, more than the booths, the food, the wild variety of products displayed, bickered over, bartered for and occasionally sworn about. It is always the people.

There is an old couple with a really nice camper, an expensive, newer model that looks comfortable, and huge. They always have a “booth” right by the road. Several tables under an awning with a few trinkets scattered tastefully and sparsely, it looks more like a museum display than a sales booth. the sit in comfortable looking folding chairs and watch the crowd mill past. I can’t help but think they are there on a little vacation, to see some old friends, to make some new friends, money isn’t everything, right? For some reason the thought makes me happy.

Some places have no camper, no tents, just tables piled high with tools, like they were dumped there from a tractor’s bucket. Old tools, newer tools, wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers, chisels, tools for every job. All you had to do was pull out the one you wanted, and hope the rest didn’t fall on the ground in avalanche of clanging, clattering metal. You break it you bought it. I’m not very good with tools, so I just look, from a distance.

There are some people who are there on business. Pulling carts recklessly, homicidally through the crowded paths, looking for a bargain, they are the most aggressive negotiators, pity the poor vendor who has the item they want for their shop, sale, booth or swap meet table. They are as hostile stationary as they are moving.

One guy was pulling a cart full of guns, he stopped at a booth with a lot of guns laid out on a table, and asked “Are you interested in buying any guns?” He asked, politely, and they talked quietly about the guns. Before he moved on he bought at least one more gun from the table to add to his traveling sales cart. You have to love the people. 

It was a good day, and we are already looking forward to next year.

1.  At last check it was a three way tie between An Emotional Fish, Dr. John and Scandal. Which leads me to believe nobody watched the Midnight Oil video, Peter Garrett was a wild man.

Woodworking for Dummies, and Idiots.

Having spent years trying to fix, or make, or assemble things I have come to the conclusion that I am not very handy. There are shows on PBS and YouTube videos that provide a step by step guide to the alchemy of woodshop.

It all looks so simple, measure, cut, glue, assemble, fasten and finish. Magically, you have converted a pile of lumber into an heirloom, a small pile of sawdust, and enough scraps to build a spice rack. There is always something, though, some step that they must have edited out. Some keystone procedure that brings the whole assembly to completion, or I am just not able to follow numerous, detailed, dangerous and difficult instructions.

One thing they seem to be pretty cavalier about is the banshee like shriek of the power saws. Tearing through wood without mercy, you can never be sure what is screaming, the agony of the wood, or the angry burden of the electric saw. I hate the sound, it is unearthly, demonic, Sweeney Todd, and Lizzie Borden fighting over the last piece of pizza.

We have, where I work, a man named John. He can create things using only his imagination, some wood and an impressive assortment of tools. He measures carefully, sketches out plans, always wears ear and eye protection. He assumes setbacks are going to happen, and reacts calmly, no swearing, no hysterics. He just corrects for course, calm, unconcerned, the therapeutic power of experience. His reactions are as measured as the hardwood he cut for the tabletop.

A delicate ballet of man, machine and material working toward a goal. Measure, mark, flip switches, press triggers, saw, stack on a neat pile, repeat.  Each measured step done delicately, deliberately, with an economy of motion, and a lack of hurry or concern. It is like watching a robot, every move timed, in sync. I watch as long as I can, until the perfect method starts intruding on my madness, on my need for haste.

When I feel the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him so violently the pencil falls from behind his ear, the safety glasses thump softly on the floor, and scream "For God's sake would you hurry up, man?" I leave. It helps preserve our friendship.

To the untrained eye it might look like several piles of similarly cut wood, stacked by an obsessive
compulsive person with spare time. But, to the man willing to dream it is monument to dedication and skill. And when he assembles the pieces it an act of almost unbelievable beauty.

John's finished product meets the specifications he set before starting. A brand new object, functional, attractive, and durable. In so many ways it is an amazing, symbiotic process, an exchange of goods. Both doing their part, teamwork, progress, moving from here to there in careful, predetermined steps.

When the piece poses in all its glory, and John stands admiring the culmination of his design, engineering and construction you sense something bigger than a simple cut and hammer exchange. You sense a profound respect for the beauty of craftsmanship. It is almost as if they had worked together in the act of creation. Both of them better than when they began.

In that one moment you can feel thousands of years of wisdom, the culmination of trial and error by people trying to build a better life, trying to make the most of the resources at hand. The most natural thing.

John won't talk much about the work, he just shrugs, says something self deprecating and changes the subject, And everybody views art through their own filter, but in so many ways what happens in the small room, in the building where I work is art. Of course, the finished product is art, but the act of creation, from the first pencil mark, so precise, to the last coat of lacquer applied so carefully is art, too. But, don't tell John you heard it from me.

Welcome Friend.

Today, we are going in a little different direction.  We are going to talk about my friend, John.  John is ancient, almost as old as me, and yesterday he joined Twitter.

Twitter should be perfect for John.  He is a man of few words, and that makes for a very strong friendship, as I am overrun with words.  So, I tell him all sorts of things and he pretends to listen, which is very nice.

Another key difference, is John's ability to do things with his hands, he is amazing.  He can, weld and solder, and drill and hammer and measure and saw and assemble and finish projects and they look like what he intended.  He can handle plumbing, electrical and carpentry projects.  All without swearing or beer.  Amazing!

His tool chest is orderly and neat, his wrenches and sockets are sequential, and clean, and he keeps a can of de-greasing hand cleaner sitting neatly and elegantly within reach.

He understands the internal combustion engine, and how one works.  And how to make it start working again when it stops.  Plus, he can repair the brakes that are so important while driving around in a vehicle powered by an internal combustion engines.

He is completely unafraid of that dreadful, fearful, intimidating phrase "some assembly required."  He actually reads and understands the instructions before he starts.  Then refers to them during assembly.  And when he is finished he doesn't have any left over parts unless the manufacturer sent too many.

John can sand and finish a hardwood floor, correctly.  He can paint walls and in colors that actually complement each other without consulting a woman.  When people talk to him about their home repair problems he guides them with sage wisdom and kindness.  He is an oracle of home repair and improvement instruction, and we are awed by his knowledge.

And now he is on Twitter, a true renaissance man.  If you run across him while tweeting, please say "hey, John, welcome, friend, oh, what is the best way to patch a gutter?"