By David H.
Could it really be? In a retail market so saturated with specialists, with athletes, with ninjas, with platoon leaders, with one-trick ponies, could a single knife really please every hand? Could every grandfather pick up this blade, scan its weathered edge with a weathered eye, and start to work on a whittling project? Could he gently hum, then whistle a tune he barely remembers on his old front porch so that his grandchildren tiptoe out, one by one, and surround him with an eagerness to whittle as well? Can a knife even do this? . . .
Could every tradesman reach back deep into his red toolbox and find this knife, half-rusted, half dirt clogged and gritty, and feel its warmth? Could he smile knowing the simple task is met ably by this simple knife again and again? Cutting cord, sometimes wire, envelopes with work orders, bags of Cheetos, apples (when the weather’s right), plastic strapping around another pallet of material – the material sure to thrill the customer when she sees the work he’s done. Can a knife do this?
Could every scout beam with pride at the sight of this blade? Could a chef order a superfine julienne when this knife is produced from his sous-chef’s kit? Could an artist’s imagination soar twice as high and broad when he knows this one blade is at his disposal?
Of course it can. It’s the knife we all own and hold dear already. Use it. Sharpen it. Lean on it. Trust in it. Beat it up a little. It’s not a trophy. It’s not perfect (just ask the maker). It’s yours. It’s not in a glossy magazine or a blogger’s dustproof case.
It’s in your pocket. Or sheath. Or holster. Can a single knife really please every hand?
Of course it can…