Lost Arts

There are continually new differences emerging and setting apart established generations, and our volatile younger generations. While technology continues to advance and procure the instantaneous mindset that drives current society, there are numerous qualities, skills, and concepts that are sadly being left behind. Principles and discipline are being traded for signs demanding equality. Hard work, pride, and recognition are now challenged by theories that everyone who plays the game gets a medal. And sadly, responsibility and accountability are being exchanged for entitlement and indulgence.

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As a child, I have sweet memories of my grandmother’s kitchen. I loved watching (and eventually helping) her, my mother, and aunt can jams, jellies, peppers, pickles, and more. My grandfather grew the vegetables and my grandmother used them for her family. Kitchen shelves were stocked with colorful edibles in jars and strands of drying peppers adorned the kitchen like garland. Now as an adult, I enjoy getting out those glass jars and making preserves for my own family. Cracking those jars open to slather on my children’s toast makes me feel closer to my grandmother and proud that I can continue a family tradition. I wasn’t prepared for the wave of emotion that came over me recently when making our first batch of strawberry jam for the year with my daughter. It snuck up on me (as grief often does) being the first time since my grandmother’s recent passing that we did this. This was an activity I always shared with her, whether in person, or just updating her of the quest to always get that familiar taste of her jam. As my daughter peered over the counter remarking of how good the berries smelled as they simmered on the stove, it dawned on me of how the simple arts like this aren’t much appreciated anymore.

It is far easier to head to the grocery store and grab a jar of jam. You can buy whatever flavor, whatever consistency, choose the familiar label, or pay the high-end price for the all-natural free of everything bad claiming label. You can certainly do that in less time than it takes to make your own jam. And with all the pressure and bulging to-do lists, who really does want to go the other route? Well… me. You see… this jam we made takes longer. You know who picked the berries we used? My children. They picked each and every berry and placed it in their cute little baskets at the farm during my daughter’s pre-school field trip. They worked so hard to find the perfectly red, ripe, sweet berries, learning to leave the small, green, growing berries on the vine. They carried their own baskets, filled them to the brim, and beamed as they snuck a few on the way to the car. We brought them home, cleaned them, ate them, shared them, and then got to work making our jam as we always do this time of year. There’s no jar of jam in a store that can replace that tradition with my family, and you would probably be hard pressed to find a better tasting one too.

What else are we trading when we trade tradition for convenience? My grandfather worked his fingers to the bone every single day, he raised a family of 4 rambunctious boys, and he worked sun up to sun down providing for them. When he and my grandmother wanted to buy something, they saved for it. When they bought something, they expected it to last. Products weren’t made to be disposable as they are now. Appliances, cars, and electronics were made to last. Imagine that! The companies that produced these goods wanted to stand behind their name. Now… your iPad/tablet/phone/refrigerator etc., all has a shelf-life. Why make goods to last when you make them sub-par and customers have to replace them frequently to pad your pockets? Why take pride in your name when you can put a pretty new facade or feature on your product and charge people an added benjamin more for it the next year. Why take a product to be repaired, when the newer version can be bought online and shipped right to you?

Extended credit lines and keeping up with the Joneses make it so easy for everyone to live a lifestyle with the fanciest of gadgets, and a never ending interest bill, to replace goods that should just simply work, in my opinion. I’m not about things, I’m about time and memories with my family, hands down. I believe there’s beauty in the lost skills and arts of trade jobs that are sold out to machines and big business and I believe there’s freedom in living a life within your means. I believe there should be a replenishment of trade work and a revitalization of jobs that strive to repair and restore instead of replacing. When we lose these arts and skills, we lose pride, precision, and motivation. When a machine can do our job, what good is our skill? The fast-food mentality of our lives today saddens me. So many things become disposable that don’t have to be, even our values.

So I’ll make sure to value these small things. I’ll savor the arts of growing vegetables, making jam, sewing and repairing things, cultivating responsibility and hard work among my children, and build within them an appreciation for things that last instead of things that are flashy. I’ll keep spending summer evenings outside instead of everyone on their electronic devices, I’ll share stories of my grandparents and parents and the simpler life they lived. I’ll teach them the value of a dollar and the need for hard work, and I’ll hope that they don’t trade family traditions and principles for the plastic world that consumes us.

XOXO,

Kristy