The Inherited Hammer
A silent bond of personal connection
THE HAMMER
The hammer inherited is a silent bond of our own personal connection - to someone we know or knew, to our memories of a time gone by. It is a strong, unspeaking talisman of our remembered history.
It is an energy, that something within us that whispers from the past. A quiet, unmistakable presence deep down. That place we don’t always dare to go.
A hammer passed down through generations perhaps, from a neighbor who has moved on, a broken relationship, a find at a garage sale.
The fine stories we share are the legacy that remains. An oral culture unbound by paper and pen. Passed on from person to person through time, the form of the hammer held in a hand, cherished more than a mere photograph. Used more out of respect than relevance. Kept more for the meaning than the motive.
Singular in its strength and simplicity. Symbolic in its stability and substance. The hammer inherited: truly, the strong silent type.
Life isn't a matter of milestones, but of moments.
Rose Kennedy
HISTORY
My uncle Bob had a summer cottage on a lake in Ontario. The cottage was so old, there was always something to fix, when we weren’t out fishing. I remember he had a pretty unique set of tools he kept in the old ice shed, all in a jumble, nothing shiny or rust-free.
But there was always a hammer for every job though, as if the accumulated pile of them went hand-in-hand with the old building itself. I can remember him sending me out to the shed for “the hammer with the red tape on the handle” or else simply “the biggest darned hammer you can find”.
I’ll always remember Uncle Bob’s favorite old hammer. Somewhere back along the line it had acquired a thin splattering of blue paint on the handle. I asked him once what that was about, but he just gave me a sly look.
I have lots of memories about Uncle Bob, some with his hammer, in his hand, some not. Now, every time I pick up that hammer, I think of him, and remember.
"There's a right tool for every job...."
Memories are timeless treasures of the heart.
OLD AND WORN...
These hammers were bought at a farm sale at some place south of Lethbridge, Alberta in the 1970’s. I think I probably paid about a dollar for them, so I figured it was a pretty good deal.
Somehow they seemed to be almost a set, like they belonged together. Some farmer must have had them in his workbench since who knows when. I just liked them – they look pretty solid, and they feel right in my hand.
I actually do use them, out in the yard. They seem to just work for whatever I need to do.
And I don’t worry about anyone stealing them, since they’re pretty “worn in”. Although they are my favorite tools, I don’t think there are many out there that would find them valuable.
I like having them around, for some reason. I sometimes wonder who the guy was who had these before me. What did he use them for? Where did he get them from? Why didn’t they get passed on through is family?
They may be old, they may be worn. Not exactly what you’d call pristine. But I sure do like them. And I’m sure glad I bought them.
Memories of our lives, of our works and our deeds
will continue in others.
Rosa Parks
CREDITS
Contributors:
Lady Mary Crawley
Lady Edith Crawley
Mrs. Hughes
Mr. Carson
Thomas Barrow
Daisy Mason
Henry Talbot
Earl of Grantham
Tom Branson
Production Editor:
Lyn Turnbull
Art Editor:
Sean Toffan
Video production:
Scarlet Rose Productions
Images:
Unsplash
Lyn Turnbull
