This is a peculiar phrase that I heard often used by my mother. As in, “Have mercy, that was a close call.” Or “Mercy boy, what were you thinking.” I have learned that this phrase has become an integrated part of my own language. Until I thought about it, I didn’t realize how often I use it.

For example, when I dig into a peach cobbler that is remarkedly good and is, in fact, so good that I have no words to describe it, I might say to the universe in general and to no one in particular, “Have mercy.” By this I mean that the taste in my mouth and the absolute pleasure I find in consuming the perfect and delicate blends of sugar, butter, flour, and peaches is beyond human description. In order to express my thanks and gratitude I find it necessary to call upon the heavenly outpouring of mercy. These two words express both the thankfulness felt in my stomach and the wonder I hold for the one who made it possible.

Just last week while wandering through the hills and shops of the Amish in Holmes County, Ohio I had ample opportunity to call upon my expressions of mercy. We followed GPS routes part of the time and some of the time we simply took a turn to see where the road would take us. The homesteads were gorgeous seen from a distance. I’m sure, up close, there was manure and mud holes and a broken gate or two. But the overall effect of the landscape of corn and alfalfa and barns and horse teams was breathtaking.

Everywhere I turned I said it again and again. “Have mercy, would you look over there.” “Mercy, did you see that?” “Mercy sakes, I can’t believe this view.”

Mercy. Mercy. Mercy.

One of our stops was at the Colonial Homestead Hardware Store. From the outside it might appear as just another Amish tourist stop. A chance for some country bumpkin from Georgia to buy scented candles and homemade jelly and a make-believe corn cob pipe. The Amish are smart when it comes to eco-tourism. They know that the English will buy almost anything if they put a label on it that says, “made by authentic Amish in funny hats.”

We had done a little homework on the Amish website for Colonial Homestead. This was not a trinket shop. This was serious hardware for sale. And by serious, I mean woodworking hand tools from the early part of the 19th century and beyond. Moxen vises. Block planes and milling planes. Trim chisels and framing chisels. Draw knives and spoke shaves.

There was almost no tool in this hardware store for sale that was younger than 100 years old. Walking the aisles, I couldn’t help but notice the wooden handles, shaped and worn by calloused hands married to the work of turning a formless piece of wood into something useful in the house or on the farm. They worked with wood out of necessity more than pleasure. Theirs was a work of practicality before art. Yet, the artistic beauty would always find its way into the joinery and carvings they produced with these tools.

As soon as I stepped inside the front door, I knew I had found a place kindred to my spirit. If you ever like looking at the old tools on the wall at Cracker Barrel, then just multiply that feeling of wonder by ten times over. And these tools are not for looking at. They are for sale, to be taken home and put to use.

The truth is, I am intimidated by these tools. A few of them make sense to me but many of them are like a mystery to be figured out. What is this for, I wonder? How was this used? What the heck do you suppose they did with this funny looking thing? These are the questions that run through my mind.

The proprietor of the store came over to meet up with us. It was the middle of the morning, and we were the only customers in the store. We were moving slowly from table to table, taking our time looking over every item on each shelf. Touching and handling each piece. He could tell we just didn’t stumble in here by accident.

“Goot morning. Ya, you like the tools, I see.”

I’ll call him Levi. Levi was a young man with the traditional Amish beard that follows the jaw line and chin, no whiskers around his mouth or under his nose. He was maybe 40, a little salt and pepper look to his beard and to the dark curly hair that sat tight to his head. Round glasses with wire rims tucked behind his ears.

“We do like the tools. We both love working with wood, and the old tools intrigue us. Not sure we know how to use them, but we like them.

“Vell, it may be that you need a 16 by 24 post and beam, timber frame shop for all your tools. Yah?”

Levi wasted no time demonstrating his grasp of the English capitalistic spirit.

“I just built a new shop a few years ago. I’m set for quite a while.”

Levi was not discouraged. “One never has too much shop.”

He really does understand how the English think.

“We drill all the dowel holes and set all the notches. We put it on a trailer and ship it to Georgia. All you have to do is put it together.”

I liked Levi. He knew how to keep it light without acting like a sleezy car salesman. He left us alone and didn’t hover over us while we walked the store. Marion was interested in the blacksmith forges and anvils and tools. She has taken a couple of classes from a local blacksmith. I was looking for chisels.

I’m starting to get interested in more types of joinery that require chisels for cleaning up the edges. This is my retirement dream. To handmake joints the old fashion way. More accurately, because I still intend to use my table saw and my electric router, my dream is to use old fashioned joints made with modern tools. Modern except for the chisels because there are some things upon which modern tools cannot improve.

I find a table with sets of chisels. Each set is cleaned up and sharpened. They are matching sets. Mercy, Levi wants $500 for a set of six.

“Levi. Where are the cheaper chisels? Something I can clean and sharpen myself.”

He points me to five or six racks on wheels near the far wall. These are like school cafeteria racks with metal trays slid into each slot, and every tray is full of used chisels, each tray marked by size. ¼” up to 3” wide. All makes. All styles. All kinds just thrown together.

Mercy sakes, I love this store. I picked through and found 10 that suited me.

“Yah,” says Levi. “You made some goot choices.”

Made me feel good. Not bad for an English.

FOOTNOTE:
Book #2 from Georgia Bred is named “Have Mercy” and will go live on Amazon within the next two weeks. I’ll be making a Facebook announcement soon.