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     Born in Chandler AZ to a second-generation butcher and old-style cowgirl, knives were just a tool. In a small family-run meat packing plant, I watched my father,grandfather and a man I loved as much as a grandfather, cut domestic livestock and wild game from a very young age. Learning the pride a craftsman takes in his trade and the care in which he uses his tools, I saw as my dad used a knife to pay the bills. I heard stories how granddaddy raised seven kids with blade in hand. It would seem knives were a birthright for me.

 

      Rim Country Elk hunts have a special meaning for me. My first Elk was taken mid-morning and the clouds came in like an apocalypse scene from a movie, dropping heavy rain. Wet and tired, tent still up in the camper of daddy’s truck, we came down the hill with our Elk completely processed, wrapped and ready to be frozen. My father taught me about responsibility that day. We could be cold and wet but the meat and the respect for the animal always came first. I learned a lot about duty, ethics, and myself in those woods and without knowing it, I was learning about the knife.

 

     Now don’t think my family was remiss in teaching me the blade, on the contrary. I was taught very young what a blade was for, and I understood they weren’t toys. Growing up, I was around livestock quite a bit. My grandfather, on mommas’ side, raised beef and goats etc. I also grew up around people involved with livestock. Earnest true people, people who value a handshake over any document and when they said, “Holler if y’all need anything”, they meant just that. I learned family doesn’t stop with a bloodline, and a man’s word is sacred. All the while the blade was present, so common as to be overlooked.

 

     At a livestock auction, I heard a strange metallic ring. After finding the source, I would forever be changed. In between shoeing horses and other duties, this farrier would turn railroad spikes into knives. With the ringing of his hammer, it clicked. I know what the knife “IS” now. It’s a graduation present, a work of art, a heavily used tool and everything in between. For me, it was the idea of making a memory immortalized in the form of steel. A physical representation of a time I cannot get back.

 

     Opening day, my dad would give my brother and I new knives, rounding out our collection. I cherish those blades and cannot wait until I can repeat history with my children. I am hopeful they find like-minded memories hammered into the steel. The hammer and anvil has called to me a few times in my life, once as a fantasy, once as a pipe dream, and finally as a torrent of undeniable force. Who am I to disobey a third time? After all, I’m just a simple man trying to leave something behind.

 

                 -Trevor Smith.

 

                            Father, Husband, Journeyman Equipment Operator and Bladesmith