Talismans for the Modern Soul
A little fire, a little leaf, a vessel to hold it, a billow of aromatic smoke.
A pipe is the same as it has always been. An object of ritual, a centering moment amongst the chaos.
Fertile, dusty, and beautiful.
The mountains use the valley to take the rain, and slowly give it back to the valley over time, each drop growing something useful.
Between the Pacific ocean and the Sierra Nevada lies a valley.
That’s where these pipes are born.
I can see Sequoia National Park from my shop door, I can smell the walnut harvest in the fall, all the storms come in off the sea.
