That's the thing with handmade items.
They still have the person's mark on them,
and when you hold them, you feel less alone.
Those words. They're perfect. They resonate strongly with me. It's the reason, I think, that I drag home old furniture. The reason I search out pillow cases with wobbly stitches at thrift stores. It's why cakes from bake sales taste better than the store's... why cuttings from a neighbor's yard take root as nursery plants wither... and why uneven, thick bars of hand-poured soap clean better than bargain brands.
It's why I like to keep knitted and sewn and stitched and carved and painted things around me: they are real. Someone made them. They have a life that other things don't have. When you turn them over in your hands, you see soul. Not MADE IN CHINA.
I live in a community where handmade hasn't quite taken hold. There are no CSAs here. No one's going off grid or urban gardening or championing the small guys. The big box stores are crowding in by the dozens and folks are thrilled. And yet, the undercurrent of real still grabs some of us and pulls us down into the vast, deeply connected world where people make, grow and create.
Pull, current, pull.
Here's to handmade. Here's to all who create, and to all who support those who do. Here's to filling our lives and home and hearts with things that are real. -Brin