Learning from 1st principles. The right way.

A practical example from chatting with a blacksmith at a medieval fair.

Over the summer, there was a small medieval fair here in town. And I was hoping to see a blacksmith there. As we walked toward the town square, I was not disappointed when I saw and smelled the smoke of coal rise up from afar. With impatience—after taking a photo of us with a knight in heavy armor—I dragged my wife and kids along to see the smith at work.

You see, I’m something of a blacksmith myself…

Seriously though, I have a 600-pound piece of proof in my backyard.

Side note: that moonlighting as a blacksmith thing? That was eight or so years ago—before my eldest was born—and it was mostly an amateur/hobby thing. Now I am merely an enjoyer of the work of others (but one day, I hope I find the time again to indulge in this).

Ok, back to the story.

There’s a small crowd around the smith, all looking at his work and watching him work his handmade bellows, hammer, and anvil with awe. After a while, I start conversing with the smith and ask him a few questions about his tools and process. I ask about the bellows—as I’ve never seen that specific kind—and notice the smith’s hands are trembling, and his voice is slightly stuttering.

He tells me about how he made the bellows, which he made in a particular manner. And while he tells me so, he grabs a picture from his leather apron and shows it to me.

The picture is of a medieval mural from the 1300s. It depicts a very—like, very, VERY—simplified bellows behind two smiths doing some smithing work.

I’m not 100% sure this was the mural or picture, but you get the picture (hehe).

The smith tells me he made the bellows, that’s right next to us, based on the picture he has in his hand. Then, in confused-stuttering wording, he tries to explain that he made it using the tools they had at hand in those ancient times. To try and replicate it in such a way as they made it in that era.

I immediately understand what he means and nod with excitement.

“You mean you want to learn how they built it by actually making it yourself?” I ask.

He responds by eagerly nodding and starts explaining the details of how he figured out the working of the 1300s bellows.

He explains that he made the bellows in the picture not because he wants to know how a bellows is made now but because he wants to understand how a bellows was made in that era (which we didn’t know).

So to figure it out, he took the mural picture's end vision and tried to recreate a working version of the bellows using only the tools they had at the time.

Two key points here are one, “working,” because a mockup is not a representation of reality at that time. And two, do it by using solely the tools & materials of that time. (Else, you’d skip steps or do something different and never get to the problems they had to solve in that era.)

He says he needed multiple iterations because some shapes and methods worked out well while some didn’t. (That’s where the magic of actually doing the work happened.)

And now, through his empirical way of crafting, he figured out how things were made in that era and transported this knowledge from 700 years ago into the present.

Amazing, right? A new piece of knowledge is unlocked for us!

I notice he’s relaxed and not stuttering or trembling anymore. And as we finish our conversation, he gives me his number on a scrap piece of paper—something he says he hasn’t done before—telling me to call him if I ever wanna see his blacksmith shop. “No promises though, cause sometimes I don’t like people around.”

I smile and shake his hand, thanking him for the invitation, his time, and his explanation. As I give him one last compliment on his craft, I’m reminded of the fact that I came here with my wife and kids…

I look around, but they’re nowhere to be seen. “Guess I’ll go and look at the fire spitters. I’m sure my boy is hanging out around there.”

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Thanks for reading; I loved recollecting this story.

Have a good weekend!

Jibran