Remembering the Forge

Not many people have childhood stories of playing in their grandfather’s forge. My sister and I do, and those early memories continue to teach me things about life.

I was probably a young adult before I realized what a unique treasure that blacksmith shop was. Though blacksmiths were an integral part of American history, by the last half of the 20th century, it was fast becoming a lost art.

In fact, according to Encyclopedia.com, a blacksmith was one of the 1607 Jamestown colonists. By 1810, the state of Pennsylvania alone boasted of over 2,500 blacksmiths and whitesmiths (smiths who only worked with light-colored metals). By the mid-1800s, 100,000 blacksmiths plied their trade across America. But by the time I was born in the 1960s, blacksmiths were a dying breed.

Back then, Papa’s place of business consisted of a forge for blacksmithing of every kind, as well as a grist mill. But for two preschool girls, it was simply fun to slam the front door of our house and follow the well-trodden grass path to our Papa’s shop. Each visit to that blacksmith shop held new adventures. There was no telling what we would see, do, or encounter.

I thought that shop was huge. But it was probably not much larger than a double-car garage. It was a rusty-tin-roofed, clapboard building with planks that had grown dark gray from age and exposure to years of smoky forge fires. The porch on the front of the shop had two large posts; I think they were hand-hewn cedar, but I’m not positive. That tin-covered porch ran the length of the shop, but it had no flooring other than ash-filled dirt. It did contain several cane-bottomed chairs and a few wooden crates used as stools.

Those chairs and stools were the heart of Papa’s shop; they were a wordless but intentional invitation for his customers to stop and visit. No matter if they had brought a horse to be reshoed, a shovel or pitchfork to be repaired, or even a load of corn to be turned into meal, the offer was always the same: Stop, pull up a chair, and sit a spell.

As they sat and talked together as men from one local community, their words provided me with some of the most profound yet simple lessons of my life.

What a blessing it was to learn early on to listen instead of talking, to be seen and not heard. For in those talks between overall-clad men who had lived hard lives, filled with little more than work and family, I learned what real men looked like. And from their laughter-filled tall tales and their solemn, even harsh, truth-filled stories, I realized that life was not always going to be fair or easy, but it could be joyous when shared with friends and community.

In fact, I think my ongoing love of community was probably forged in that forge. I saw what it meant to help, encourage, and even speak hard truths to friends. I also caught a glimpse of how we are all interconnected and how we need each other more than we care to admit.

But I also learned how to have fun during times of hard work.

When the local farmers gently coaxed their mules into backing wagonloads of corn up the handmade, dirt-packed ramp beside Papa’s shop, my sister and I loved watching those kernels of corn become huge bags of cornmeal. But even better than that, we knew that after the grinding, Papa would let us slide down the gravity-controlled corn chute from the top to the bottom. The chutes were just wide enough and tall enough for us to traverse, like our own private, giant slide.

We would have loved to slide every day, but Papa said that snakes sometimes slithered into the dark, covered chutes. He said the old serpents quickly made their way out when they felt and heard the wagons, the snorting mules, and the wooden slats being successively removed as the kernels of corn made their way down the chutes to the grinder.

Looking back, I imagine those snakes were an excuse for Papa to circumvent daily sliding adventures. But he also taught us to be wary of snakes in dark places, and it’s still a wise lesson to recall. Our enemy (that ol’ serpent) tends to avoid the Light of our Savior. So, we would do well to stick close to Jesus.

But I think my favorite lessons (and they are almost endless) that I garnered at Papa’s shop centered on the forge itself.

It was not large, but the fire never went out. Ever. Each morning, the coals came roaring back to life, with just a little tending from Papa. And wow, was that fire hot! I still marvel at how such a small fire could burn so intensely.

Consequently, my sister and I were never allowed close to the forge or its flames. It was just too dangerous. Papa tended his forge with care, and I never remember him getting burned. I’m sure he was burned at some point, or at many points in life, and I imagine those were some painful, lasting lessons on the power of fire.

To me, those lessons are both physical and symbolic, as evidenced by The Forge, a feature-length film released by the Kendrick Brothers in 2024. It’s the story of a young man whose purpose in life is discovered (and forged) through pain and prayer. I love this quote from the movie because it epitomizes what I think about when I remember my Papa’s forge: “Whoever wants the next generation the most will get them.”

And Papa wanted the next generation. (So, do I.)

Now, Papa was not an emotional man; he spoke few words. In fact, some people thought him callous, but perhaps those people missed the intent of his direct, purposeful actions. He knew what was important and focused on those things. Like a true blacksmith, he honed in on the imperfections of objects and used the heat of the fire to perfect and polish their impurities.

But Papa loved us enough to allow two little girls into his workshop, quietly, even wordlessly, letting us know our value and worth in that world filled with men. And all the while, he modeled how to let the fire of that forge be an integral, needed part of our daily lives.

So, here I sit, 60 years later, gratefully pondering the lessons learned in the forge of life, the times when my faith in God was tested, tried, and proved steadfast and true. And whenever I read 1 Peter 1:6-7, I am grateful for Papa’s forge that helped prepare me for those fiery tests:

In this you greatly rejoice, even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials, so that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold which is perishable, even though tested by fire, may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.