The Chelsea, Kansas Blacksmith Up 13 highway To the east of our Chelsea farm Lived a blacksmith by the name of Orlando Buchanan With a shop that was extremely warm. When Dad and I arrived at the shop You could hear the clanging of the hammer Hitting against the Anvil While he was molding Plowshares for some farmer. I marveled at this large man When I was just a kid His arms were big and muscled To do the work he did. He wore a blacksmith apron To keep the heat from creeping in To his burley body And not to burn his skin. 2 He had an array of tools Hammers, Anvil and tongs A barrel of brackish water To cool what he was working on. The blower he worked by hand It made a terrible racket As he heated up the forge To work on an iron bracket. He was always sweaty This working man There was no electricity Of course there was no fan. The shop doors were open on the East and the West To capture every breeze It was cool when the wind did blow But sometimes the wind would cease. Didn’t bother this big gentleman He worked on through it all To finish a job for some farmer To be ready when he’d call. 3 This mighty man would Heat the metal till it was just right Take the tongs and lay it on the anvil And beat it with all his might. Iron rims for wheels for wagons of grain Iron rims for the hayracks too Irons for the ends of single trees, and wagon tongues Molding Iron there’s nothing he couldn’t do. Metal bands for wooden Axles On the grain wagons he would make They fit perfect The farmers knew that they wouldn’t break. My Dad would take plowshares Sometimes he called them lays Mr. Buchanan could sharpen them Made it look like child’s play. He’d pound them out very thin Then work on the nose Making sure that the share was true And no problem it would pose. 4 My Dad broke a 6-foot metal bar Right smack in the center Took it to the blacksmith Into the shop my Dad did enter. There was no welding machine Or electric grinders you see This man put it back together With heat and hammer as true as could be. Many years later Dad was still using that bar For postholes he was digging. As I went off to war. The blacksmith is no longer there He passed on years ago With the Arc welders taking over his profession The Blacksmith’s age did go. I’ll bet he’s working for God Mending little things Making small attachments for The bindings of Angels wings. Monte L. Manka 06-03-2006
Posted on: Sun, 20 Jul 2014 05:39:03 +0000
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