This is Tony the knife guy. He sets up shop every summer at the local farmer’s market. Once a year I make my pilgrimage, knives in hand, and he takes good care of me.
Every year, as he’s handing them back to me, he says: “Those are good knives. You take care of them.” (And he’s right about that – they’re artisan knives and the first joint purchase I ever made with my sweetie – we split it down the middle. I cherish those knives.)
One year I brought by a lawnmower blade and when I returned to pick it up he said: “It had a nick. I gave you another one.” And he had – a better one. For which he only charged me the price of the sharpening. (I gave him a big tip.)
He’s also an incorrigible flirt, which makes me love him all the more.
His grandfather built his whetstone many years ago, and he powers it by peddling it like a bike. Conversations with Tony have a lovely cadence, flowing on the melody of his Italian accent, and metered out by the pumping of his feet.
I stop by just about every Saturday in the summertime to say hi.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
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