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I used to go into the woods and imagine that I was the first to walk on a piece of ground and my footprints were the first to leave their mark. I was drawn to the idea of pristine wilderness. My imagination was romanced by the possibility that I was the first human to walk or paddle a place. I would see footprints from a past hiker and feel somehow disappointed or… Read More

The first knife I ever received as a gift has a broken tip, is completely dull, slightly rusted, and opens and closes with a distinct little grind that I imagine is from sand grains having worked their way into the locking mechanism over the years. I haven’t even tried to cut anything with it in probably 10 years. But I still have it.