Artisans

Last week found Youngest Daughter, Youngest Son and I exploring the wonderful historic world of Jamestown, Yorktown and Williamsburg.  ::sigh::  Positively dreamy.  But next time, I'm going all by myself where I can sit and watch the glassblower work for hours on end, mesmerized by the glowing ball of molten glass that slowly shifts shapes until it becomes a vase.

Or listen to the shoemaker chatter on about the resoling of a shoe.

Maybe have the cooper explain again how he fits the slats of a bucket together most precisely so that no water can dribble out.

Or be taken in by the hypnotic movements of the weaving of a basket.

Because this is what fascinated me and drew me in in my visit.  The fabulous artisans that had taken the time to learn a craft passed down through the generations for hundreds of years.  Slowly, by hand, without the aid of any modern labor-saving devices.  It made me feel calm and connected.  Which is always a nice way to feel.

And even though I'd rather not shave my head and pick a wig made of yak, human, goat or horse hair, it still was lovely to watch someone so carefully ply their trade.

And earn the title of Artisan.