No offense to Barbara or Neil, but you can skip the real flowers. Bring me gelato shaped into rose petals and we’ll talk.
Cold, sweet decadence. One taste and you’re making the kind of sounds usually reserved for the bedroom. It’s that good.
If you see one of these winged cupids flying from a store front awning, count yourself blessed, and act accordingly.
If, like mine, your part of the world exists in the desert of Amorino deprivation, get on a plane, a train, a mule. Whatever it takes because Amorino artisanal gelato isn’t a dessert, it’s an experience.
I’d like to tell you that on a recent trip to New York, I spent all my time traipsing through places like the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Guggenheim, but I’d be lying.
I spent an obscene amount of time on the Upper West Side, making pilgrimages to Amorino for gelato and to Levain Bakery for cookies—but that’s another story 🙂
Sorry, not that. I’m talking blacksmithing. You know that hammer and metal thing you thought no one did anymore?
Some people are still doing it. In fact, the craft is enjoying a resurgence in Saskatchewan, as people look for something that doesn’t come from Walmart. Something not digital, something they can hold in their hands. Something they can make themselves.
Dustin Small and the Saskatchewan Blacksmith Guild host a hammer-in every month. Artisans, farriers, and crafters come together to share their knowledge, pound the iron, and pass the skill down to the younger generation.
Fourteen-year-old Jesse Porter prefers to do more with his hands than hold an iPad. Jesse, who has ADHD, attends hammer-ins and finds that working with metal helps him to concentrate.
For M. Craig Campbell, a blacksmith and sculptor, metal is just fun. “With the heat and fire, it’s a phenomenal material, a bit of a chameleon. At 2500 degrees Fahrenheit, it’s buttery soft, almost a liquid.”
As a species we’ve done our best to wipe each other out, wrecked whole continents of people because they weren’t like us. Didn’t look the same, didn’t think the same, didn’t speak our language.
And yet, despite our millennia of ignorance and arrogance and greed, we haven’t managed to destroy everything…not quite everything. Not yet.
Thanks to people like Katani Julian, a Mi’kmaq language teacher from Nova Scotia, indigenous languages live on.
In celebration of the UN’s International Year of Indigenous Languages, Julian took on the task of translating Paul McCartney’s Blackbird into Mi’kmaq feeling that lyrics like Take these broken wings, and learn to fly resonate with the indigenous experience in Canada. “It’s the type of gentle advice we get from our elders when we feel defeated, when we feel down.”
In the hope that we can learn to not break any more wings, here is Emma Stevens of Eskasoni, Nova Scotia singing Blackbird…