From everyday tools to fantasy weapons, Chattanooga smiths are crafting items of use and beauty
As a new year dawns, New Year’s Resolutions approach even faster. Drinking more water and reading more are repeat list makers, but one that always gets crossed off yet I keep putting back on is “Be More Of A Tourist”.
It’s a cold day in December when I visit bladesmith MeLinda Brown at the forge under her house. As I ease down the long, muddy driveway, my heart flutters a bit. Having seen Brown craft a flail and a Joan of Arc-themed sword on Master of Arms in November, I’m apprehensive. On my computer monitor, she looked fierce.
“I don’t usually wait to have a space given to me,” she said, on the show, of women in smithcraft. “I prefer to take it.”
But as soon as we start to talk, I realize I have nothing to fear. Brown describes her craft with loving precision. And her motivations are the noblest—creating beautiful objects and empowering women to use them.
“I started messing around with knives when I was a little kid,” she tells me, explaining that she began with an inheritance from her uncles. Then she moved to making mini-knives (imagine a knife that would hang easily from a lanyard or, at the largest, fit comfortably in a woman’s palm).
Each knife is different and all are beautiful. Brown’s painstaking craftsmanship brings out the natural color within the wooden handles, the silky grains of the wicked sharp blades, and the contrasting textures of the spine. Many have been crafted into shapes reminiscent of natural creatures, such as leaves and birds.
Brown also has a social mission—she’s trying to make knife-carrying accessible and familiar for people, especially women, who aren’t always comfortable around blades.
“I don’t see women carrying knives anymore,” she tells me.
I’ve noticed it myself. It’s a change that’s pretty recent, I think. I certainly carried a pocketknife as a teenager, and so did many girls. But now, in the days of zero tolerance, it’s risky to hand out even pocketknives to kids who might accidentally drop them into a backpack. Or maybe there are other reasons.
Brown makes women’s knives versatile, functional tools; good for cutting fruit and vegetables, breaking down boxes, peeling potatoes, cutting pasta, shaving, paring nails, cleaning fish, popping bubble wrap, cutting carpet, and yes, defending oneself.
She lets me handle a knife that fits my skinny palm perfectly. With my first finger through a loop in the heel of the blade, it feels secure and almost alive.
Though she emphasizes the practical use of her knives as tools and perhaps defensive equipment, Brown’s knives are also works of art. Each is different. The natural colors of the wooden handles and leather sheaths enhance the sheen of the blade.
“When I’m creating, I make it so it’s functional,” she says. “But when I start hammering, it tends to change—like a character in a story.”
Under the house, Brown shows me her forge—a space half-open to the elements, containing a can of propane gas, an anvil, a quenching tank made from a length of pipe full of oil, and of course, the forge itself.
Next door, an enclosed workroom houses her woodworking and leatherworking spaces. Even small fragments of wood and scrap leather are preserved. Brown grew up learning to economize and repurpose—skills that serve her well.
A knife takes several days to make, Brown tells me. First, she has to knock a piece of steel down to size, “drawing out” the tang (the metal that extends through the handle) and shaping the blade. She might spend three to four hours on a blade, heat-treating it until it is particularly hard.
“You normalize the steel by bringing it to a critical temperature,” she explains. At that temperature, the bonds between the atoms are broken. “You do this a few times, depending on the type of metal. At a certain temperature, the steel loses its magnetic properties. This restabilizes it.”
Brown brings the blade to critical temperature one last time, then quenches or quickly cools it in the tank of oil.
“At that point, if you drop it, it would shatter like glass,” she says. “Then you hold it at a steady, lower temperature for a few hours.” And by lower, she means around 400 degrees Fahrenheit. So “lower” is a relative term.
“Now, it’s hard as it can be,” she says. “Then you can bevel it and work on the blade.”
There’s still plenty of work to do—creating the handle, finishing the knife, and making a sheath. But once it’s done, you have a tool for a lifetime. Caring for the knife is fairly simple, Brown tells me. You strop it occasionally and maybe once a year sharpen it and treat the handle with oil.
The Magic Factor
Despite Brown’s modesty, there’s no escaping the fact that what she does is difficult and yes, cool. Wayland Smith may be a small god and long-forgotten, but step close to his magic and you feel a tingle down your spine. Even as Brown starts to heat her forge, the steam escaping from the cold damp cinderblocks into the winter air hints at magic.
As much as Brown eschews “cosplay” weapons and reenactment pieces, she made a fangirl of me when she appeared in a November segment of Discovery Channel’s Master of Arms. The contestants had short timeframes to make a reproduction mace—the first test—and then a Joan of Arc-style sword.
“The experience was awesome,” Brown says. “I got a random email and thought it was spam. I thought, ‘This is really shitty for someone to mess with me emotionally.’”
Both a “cool experience” and “one of the most stressful things ever,” the show exposed Brown to equipment she fell in love with, such as an AmeriBrade belt grinder. What she most enjoys, though, are the people who have reached out to her since then, including a father who contacted her from Europe.
“He said he was watching the show with his daughters,” Brown says. “He wanted more images of strong women for them to see. I’ve gotten really, really positive responses to the show.”
The responses make up for skepticism Brown has encountered, often running along gender and class lines. A working-class woman, she’s found that blacksmithing, as an expensive hobby, most often taken up by upper-middle class white men. Although she’s a professional bladesmith rather than a hobbyist, Brown is still asserting her place in the wider world of smithcraft.
Learning the Trade
“Do you have to be strong to be a bladesmith?” I ask Brown.
“You get strong,” she tells me, assuring me any reasonably healthy adult can learn the craft.
To find a group of like-minded smiths in Chattanooga, one need look no further than Choo Choo Forge, a teaching and learning collaborative. Michael Brown, in his second year as president of Choo Choo Forge, took up smithing about fifteen years ago and hasn’t looked back.
“By trade I’m a diesel mechanic,” he says. “My hobby used to be old cars, but I’m a big history buff, too. I couldn’t afford to buy weapons for reenactments, so I have to reproduce them.”
A reproduction eighteenth-century tomahawk might cost several thousand dollars, but the time and materials to make his own might cost him about $300. But Choo Choo Forge teaches smiths to make many more items than just reproductions. Their students and masters have areas of specialization ranging from tools such as hammers and tongs to knives and intricate ironwork furniture
You can enter Choo Choo Forge, a member organization of the Appalachian Area Chapter of Blacksmiths, at any time and with any kind—or lack of—smithing background.
“We are a teaching organization,” Michael explains. “It’s our mission to continuously train new smiths and each other as we learn. If I learn a new skill, I go back to the group and teach it. Every other member does the same thing.”
About 100 strong, Choo Choo Forge members are just a tithe of the Appalachian Area blacksmiths. Membership in the Forge involves annual dues plus a yearly fee to use the shop; the initial training program costs $100 and takes between two or six months to complete. It’s completely self-paced, with advanced smiths teaching novices the basics. Early lessons include making hooks, punching metal and welding.
“You have to walk before you can run,” Michael says. “We teach you the basics, and after that you should have the skills to make anything. To be a good knife-maker, for example, you must be a good blacksmith first. You must know how the metal is going to act so that there are no surprises.”
Where to Find Them
If you’re looking for a MeLinda Brown knife, check out melindabrownknives.com, where you’ll find the artist’s philosophy and a selection of her work.
To learn more about Choo Choo Forge, visit facebook.com/choo.forge
And don’t be afraid of the fire or the steel. The magic is waiting for you to create.
Jenn Webster is a writer, dancer and choreographer who works in Chattanooga. Jenn specializes in marketing and technical writing. She's excited to learn and share more about Chattanooga and the innovative works we're creating together.
Photo by Ashley Hamilton