Ararat Forge / Garry Kalajian
“There is hardly anything in the world that some man cannot make a little worse and sell a little cheaper, and the people who consider price only, are this man’s lawful prey.” – John Ruskin
Consider the craft of blacksmithing. What it actually takes to become proficient. The level of nuance and hidden detail is nothing short of eyebrow-raising. Not only is one attempting to create things of value from the act of striking hot metal with a hammer – but the sphere of intellect and precision that one must reside in while engaging with that action, is the reason we don’t know a lot of blacksmiths. They’re rare. It takes brain, brawn, and finesse.
The first time I met Garry Kalajian (two R’s, Kah-LAY-jzhee-an) was around 2016. I took an Intro To Blacksmithing course at Sanborn Mills Farm in Loudon, NH. I liked Garry before the end of our first handshake. Fast forward a few years, we come to this day.
I rekindled our acquaintanceship, having come across an anvil in need of repair. We got to chatting a couple times over the phone. Things blossomed and I thought some time with him would be a massive photographic opportunity. A craftsman, in his shop, surrounded by tools and experience; you’d have trouble coming away without a decent photo. Trouble is, he’s a moving target in low light. Couple that with the fact that all the lights are mixed, it’s a recipe for challenge. Let’s dance.
Garry is a man of distinguishment. He’s one of those people that is as smart as he looks. But he has the patience, grace, and curiosity, to let it organically reveal itself. He’s also a profound listener, you can see it on his face when conversating. The exact same thing happens when witnessing his strength. You generally assume he’s strong because he’s a blacksmith. Then you watch him load an anvil and it’s accompanying base onto a pickup truck, and realize he could probably break both of your hands by squeezing them with one of his. But he wouldn’t do that.
He’s been blacksmithing for about 30 years. Imagine the number of instances in which he’s lit the forge. He was just as giddy to light it on this day. Tickled about the smoke that comes out of the chimney when it first gets going; before the coal is white hot and burning clean. I took heed of his recommendation to witness the event and followed him outside. For only a few moments, like the contrails of a man’s thoughts, one continuous pillar of bone-dense smoke billowed out of the stack. The day begins.
The workspace is perfect. It’s industrial but doesn’t feel “hard.” It’s much larger than I thought. Roomy, actually. I learned very quickly that there is a lot of movement in his craft. He goes from the forge, to a foot-powered hammering device called a treadle hammer, to the vice, to the bench. Over and over. Heating and reheating. Checking and re-checking. Very rarely speaking, there’s a relaxed intensity to his workflow.
Being within the orbit of his timing, hand-eye coordination and overall command of the space was like being on stage during a moderately dangerous ballet. Choreographed but not sterile. Fluid but focused. Having seen him “work” at Sanborn was one thing; but he’s really invested into the teaching at those events. This time, he was actually working. Witnessing the skilled use their skill is always a delight.
Today Garry was putting some final touches on a slide bolt door latch. This type of bolt uses a long, flat spring to hold and release tension. These are finicky to make, but a joy to use. The sliding action and the feel of the spring has to be perfect. At one point he explained how he had been making them for decades, but only recently discovered something. The spring needs a very particular spacing to be set, as the metal cools. So he now uses a steel ruler to slide behind the spring as everything comes to temperature. We discussed the fact that he very well may be the only human being on earth to ever do that.
As the day progressed, something occurred to me. On the whole, people don’t value this. You may think you do, I may have thought I did. But the difference between admiration, and real value, become bone-jarringly apparent when you’re close enough to feel the heat. I admire Garry. I admire blacksmiths. I like the idea of being a blacksmith. But lack the specifically tuned, creative drive to become one at any level of note. I don’t actually own any hand wrought ironwork. Save for my two small decorative pieces from the intro class. They’re neat: but they were not made by a craftsman.
This is not a finger-wagging op-ed about “throw away society” or some sort of guilt-trip. I just want to take a moment to express, that whatever handcraft you value, it’s absolutely critical that you really consider the person behind it. And I don’t just mean their personality, being likable and capable. But to literally equate your dollars, and your lack of ability to create the thing, to their sweat-inducing, brow-furrowing, hand-gnarling work.
We talked about the “Youtube-ifciation” of craft. Which, let me make this very clear – is amazing. I’ve learned a lot, and tried a lot, from Youtube. But after being with Garry I realized not everything that you admire creatively, needs to be “DIY”. It is very likely that you live within a reasonable driving distance of someone who is shockingly skilled at the thing you want to try. And, they very likely want to share that skill with someone who wants to learn it. Get to know them, purchase their wares, support their work and their life. You are one conversation away from an heirloom, an incredible experience, and a new friend.
Garry makes things large and small. Gates, chandeliers, big decorative pieces, etc. All of it stunning. My personal favorites have to do with lifestyle. Door handles and hinges, kitchen utensils, candle holders, numbers and letters. Things you can pick up, things you will interact with daily. And, much more importantly – things that will literally last longer than you. Don’t think about “spending X on a spatula.” Think about the fact that you just purchased a spatula, for your life. As well as several other lifetimes. When viewed through that prism, these items simultaneously become less expensive, and immeasurably more valuable.
Lonesome Woods
If there is a single retail location which encapsulates New Hampshire like no other, it is Lonesome Woods in Bethlehem. Without rival in style or atmosphere, it is one of the most deliberate places I have ever been. It’s more than just an antique shop and apothecary: walking in there feels like you’ve been injected into the blood of the state.
Moose antlers, wool blankets, cast iron, axes, signage you’ve never seen, books you’ve never read, vintage skis and snowshoes, handmade soaps, candles, outdoor ephemera, records, stoves, kitchenware, longbows, patches… it’s dizzying.
Erica and I first stopped in around 2016. Driving through Bethlehem, it spoke to me from the car. I am deeply attracted to what makes other people tick, especially when it comes to their creative outlets. Seeing someone else’s “space” is always a treat. That’s why antique shops are so cool; you’re galivanting through someone’s canvas of thought. Immediately upon entering, I remember thinking “This is already worth stopping, and I bet the owner is awesome.”
For me, there are grades of antique shops. There’s the ones that are so poorly displayed and devoid of character, that you do one lap out of politeness, and quietly exit. Next up are the stand-bys. The solid players with damn good setups, great selection and eye candy. Places like Crawley Falls in Brentwood is a staple. Then there’s the top shelf, for bonkers-serious dealers and collectors. Like The New Hampshire Antique Co-Op in Milford. Big art, big furniture. Big prices.
Lonesome Woods is in a league of it’s own. It’s a place for something more than old hand planes or Wagner cast iron. Of which, they have both. Not too many shops make you think “Oh, this is different” before your second foot hits the floor. It’s like going to a museum. Yes, you probably have one painting in mind that you have to see. But, you’re going to look at all of them, and end up being blown away by something you had no idea was there.
Nick, the owner, has an incredible sense of style. It’s quite clear that he understands good design, color, shape, and flow-through. This space is inspired and wonderful. Most of the walls are covered, which is a look I love. But that look is so easy to screw up. Too much stuff in a room can easily look cluttered, and lack direction. Or worse: sterile, and wrung dry of it’s personality. Lonesome Woods feels full, but not splitting at the seams. Like a long meal with old friends. That day, we introduced ourselves, chatted a bit, bought a couple odds and ends and continued on our way. We knew we would be back.
Fast forward about a year later, and it was a point of interest for another road trip. This time, I was in need of a winter coat. And since I had seen the collection of vintage wool clothing during our first foray, hopes were high for finding a coat. My coat.
We exchanged pleasantries with Nick and I started thumbing through the rack. There were a bunch, but most of them were the standard black and red plaid. Nothing against that pattern, it’s a timeless classic. I’m just the type of guy who, on certain occasions, for particular items, must stand alone. There was a bright green and black one, which raised my eyebrows. Alas, too small. I really wanted something… rarely seen.
Nick noticed what I was doing and said “You lookin’ for a jacket?”
My attention now belonged to him: “I certainly am.”
He said “Well, I just had a guy drop off a box of those. The old Johnson Woolen Mills stuff. He had one that I really liked and I put aside for myself, but it’s a hair too big for me. Wanna see it?”
“Absolutely!” I replied, hopeful, but, tempering my expectations.
Nick proceeded to turn around. Behind the sprawling, live edge slabwood counter, gently folded over on an old steel stool, there it was. A pristine, original, 60’s era pattern. The femtosecond I laid eyes on it, I knew it had to be mine. I would describe the colors as a cross between peak autumn foliage and Christmas. With just enough black to keep it from being boisterous. Ah, but – does it fit? He handed it to me, and I put it on: it felt as though it had been custom tailored.
“Nick… I specifically came in here, in hopes of finding a vintage wool coat that spoke to me. I wanted something out of the ordinary. We drove over 2 hours with hopes of finding something half as good as this. And it fits like a farmer’s glove. And now there’s a whole story with it. This is unreal!”
“That’s awesome man, it’s yours if you want it!” I would have paid an unreasonable amount of money, but he sold it for an incredibly fair price. Erica bought some gorgeous Thank You cards, which I believe Nick’s wife paints. We chatted for a bit, wished each other well, and continued up the road.
About 3 years later, in late October 2022, we find ourselves in the little town of Bethlehem once again. It was a beautiful, crisp day, and I was wearing my coat.
Before I was fully within the threshold, Nick saw me entering and borderline-shouted “Dude! Nice jacket!”
Without a moment’s hesitation I gleefully replied “I bought it here, brother!”
We chatted and caught up a bit. After a couple laps around the store I thought to myself “I really need to get the camera in here.” I asked Nick if that was okay and he happily allowed it.
I perused and shot for a while. Decided on the items I wasn’t leaving without. Erica was walking the dog in an adjacent park, and we had to get back on the road. As I approached the counter with my goods, we had a pleasant exchange about the products I was buying.
Towards the end of the transaction, he said “Hey, ah, would you mind taking a few shots of me? I have a friend who’s always asking me for press shots. I’ll totally give you credit.”
Hopefully he didn’t get blinded by the whites of my eyes when I blurted “Sure!”
Nick grabbed his signature hat and began suggesting potential spots. I’m half drunk on photographic joy, stumbling around in shock, trying to keep my composure.
I said “Yeah let’s just sort of feel it out, check the lighting. Do your thing, we’ll get something.” Very casual, undirected. He eventually made his way behind the counter. Bingo.
I said “Well, I mean, you are the man behind the counter! I think that would be pretty cool. You know, get a shot of you, right in the spot, surrounded by all the stuff.” He happily obliged. I knew the shot was there as soon as I lined it up. But there is a large window right behind him. The midday sun was just too harsh to get the shot.
He said “Do you want me to pull this shade down?”
As if he was reading my thoughts, I said “Yes! That’ll be perfect!
That’s the man, that’s the place.
We exchanged a handshake, I told him we’ll be back, and I was on my way.
Guys and gals, young and old, locals and travelers; you’ll find something you like. Main Street in Bethlehem is really up and coming, overall. It’s bootstrapping the community in a way that is totally authentic. There’s a surprising amount of things and experiences available along such a tiny stretch in such a tiny spot. It gives you that feeling of knowing about a place that most people don’t know about. But, it’s simultaneously warm and welcoming. As the tagline for Lonesome Woods will tell you:
“You are a stranger here but once.”