It was early in the evening, but the sun set early at that time of year. I’d gone to stay with my grandfather Kai while my parents were away for the weekend. He lived in a weathered old cabin nestled in the woods that was a fair drive from home.
My mum had always described Grandpa Kai as a distant man, yet she’d also referred to him on occasion as an ‘interesting character’, whatever that meant. I meanwhile had since learned that the key to connecting with him was finding the right topic. It helped that we both had a fascination with nature and history, but Kai’s biggest passion was his hobbies in wood, stone, metal, and leather working.
As often as I’d come to stay with him, his home had always been unlike anything I was used to. It felt as though it was from another time, much like the stories he’d sometimes tell if given the right prompt. Sometimes it felt like the home, the man, and the landscape were extensions of each other.
His sense of style was present in every little corner; the painted wood carvings on the windowsill, the bowl of polished stones on the table, the smell of leather and iron in the workshop where he spent much of his time, and the paintings of landscapes he’d hung here and there that of course were his own work.
That evening seemed typical of most that I’d spent there. Kai sat in his rocking chair by the fireplace, while I sat closer to it on my knees, warming my hands. Despite still being a child, I’d split this wood and built this fire all by myself, yet these were skills I’d only had the chance to learn from the weekends with my grandfather.
“Kai,” I asked, thinking about something he’d said earlier that day. “What did you mean before about non-living things having character?”
He smiled affectionately at my question. “Think about that rug you’re sitting on,” he began. “What does it make you think of? Does it remind you of anything, or give you a certain feeling?”
“I guess,” I said tentatively. “I suppose I think of it the same as everything else in your house.” He did seem to have a point, but I didn’t quite feel confident enough in putting my feelings into words. There was a rustic and old-fashioned charm to it all though. Even if Kai wasn’t here, his home would tell a person an enormous amount about the kind of man he was.
“Everything has a certain… personality to it,” Kai went on. “An energy or a style, you could say. If you look closely, it all tells a story. Take that old fishing rod over in the corner for example, or the collection of books over on my shelf. If you look out that window, you’ll see the setting sun peeking through the trees. You’ll see how dense they are, how long they’ve been growing there, all the creatures they’re home to. Everything has its little traces and marks attached to it.”
I raised an eyebrow curiously. “But what was that thing you said before about the eye of the beholder? You said that was important too.”
“I did,” he replied with a knowing nod. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder; the person who’s doing the looking. Not everyone sees the world the same way, but we’re all able to take pleasure or inspiration from things or places. How we connect with the world around us says a lot about us as well.”
I looked around the cabin again, taking in the mood it conjured within me. There was indeed a character to it all, almost as if Kai’s own spirit was infused within it. The home he’d made told a story of the influence he’d left.
“But what about everything in nature?” I asked. “People don’t control what it does. How can a rock or a tree have a personality just on its own?”
Kai leaned back in his chair, his eyelids narrowing as he peered toward the fire. “It’s a bit like this,” he said. “Think of that fire there. Consider what it does but also what it can do. It gives us warmth and casts dancing shadows on the wall, but it can also be destructive if left to run wild. We might be able to tame it, but it will always obey its own rules; rules we have to respect.”
My eyes lit up in amazement. I knew that fire wasn’t alive, and yet Kai talked about it as though it was. A wild animal almost; powerful yet dangerous.
“There’s also those stones in the bowl over there,” he continued. “I found them in a dry riverbed, but even before I polished them, it took millions of years for them to form and be worn down again. In all that time, the world has passed by around them, leaving its mark. The stones have their own history, just as people do.”
As the night went on, Kai continued to share stories from his past, some even going back to when he’d been my age. He talked of roaming the woods, fishing streams, exploring caves, and climbing mountains, yet he always spoke of each of these places as if they were cherished friends. Everything he described was connected, all of it possessing a motion and energy.
“Does you heart beat because you tell it to?” he boldly added at one point.
“No. It’s automatic,” I replied sharply.
“Exactly,” Kai answered. “It’s a natural process, just like so many other things. The world around us is alive in its own way. It moves, it breathes, it sings, and it touches. Sometimes it’s beautiful, and other times terrifying. Sometimes it showers us with gifts, and other times it hammers us with its wrath. No one can know for certain if there is a conscious intent behind it all, but the earth does indeed have a pulse if you know how to listen.”
At that moment the fire let out a loud crack with a flurry of sparks, causing me to jump at the surprise.
“See?” Kai smiled amusedly. “Had we lived in a less modern time, one might have said that fire had a mischievous spirit to it. You could even say it was taunting you.”
“Yes,” I said, rubbing my chin with a smirk. “Now that you mention it, there have been times where it felt like there was a gremlin inside an object I was using.”
“I understand that,” said Kai. “But do you also own anything that you think of as a lucky charm? A favourite shirt, hat, or pair of shoes?” Tilting his gaze upward for a brief moment with a thoughtful face, he stood up, walked over to the table, and took one of the polished stones from the bowl, handing it to me before sitting back down.
I turned the stone over in my hands. It wasn’t much bigger than a marble, but just a smooth and almost as round, being coloured with ripples of blue. “Is this stone lucky?” I asked.
“That’s within your own imagination,” he answered. “It may have its own story, but a big part of its character is what you give it. Whatever it brings to mind for you is ultimately your choice. Whenever you touch it, it can serve as a reminder of these thoughts and feelings; luck, happiness, courage, or whatever else you so choose.”
“But it’s still just a stone though, right?” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well yes,” said Kai, briefly looking down with a tilt of his head. “If we weren’t here to view it as anything other than, that’s all it would ever be. But just as it stirs a certain feeling in us, so too do we give it a character simply by perceiving it. It’s the same with everything else. We give life to the universe by viewing and interacting with it, just as it gives life to us through the matter we’re made of and the energy we run on. As I said before, everything is interconnected, but also interdependent in one way or another. You might say the universe has its own eyes, ears, hands, thoughts, and voice in the form of every living being within it.”
What he was saying made me feel very small and not quite smart enough to fully comprehend it, yet I still smiled in spite of this, not entirely understanding, but still appreciating the wisdom of his words. “Thank you, Kai,” I answered, holding up the stone in the fire’s light before putting it into my pocket. “I think I get what you mean. I guess there really is an energy, a character, and a spirit to everything, like you say.”
Kai smiled knowingly. “Indeed,” he finished.
It’s since been many years since that night, but I still keep that stone in my pocket, taking it out every time I wonder what grandpa Kai would say in one situation or another. It might just be a stone, but It’s also a reminder of the many other parts of him that I still carry with me; the stories he told, the skills he taught me, and the way of seeing the world that he imparted.
Benjamin Kirkby 