Ben Connolly

I am a city carpenter. I work in a Cooper’s shop. There are shelves of different hand made crafts. There is an anvil for making metal bands. I have an apprentice in the back of the shop, making the bands. There are three walls. There isn’t a fourth wall so customers can walk in and observe. It also gives me more space to work. There is a cobbleway street, with different shops down and across the street. There is always the faint smell of horse poop, and the hammer hitting down on the anvil from the blacksmith down the block. My shop smells of oak and pine wood. The smoke billows from the flame we have to heat up the metal.

I am the only Cooper in the city, so business is always very good. I am a Irish immigrant who converted to Protestant when I came over from Ireland. I have a wife named Sarah, a Protestant women, who came over as an indentured servant, and was freed years ago, and son named Kayden, who helps me in shop. I am a middling citizen in our city. My son doesn’t have a tutor, for I don’t have the money for it. He spends more time in my shop, and it feels like a second apprentice, which has been making work much faster, and much easier. Knowing my legacy will live on when I am gone is the best feeling a Cooper can have. My apprentice is in his last year of apprenticeship, for the contract we made said five years of service. He will go to off to be his own Cooper with a Joiner.

I wake up in my bed. I hop out on the the creaky wooden floor. In the room adjacent to mine, my wife is cooking breakfast. My son, Kayden, is still sleeping, so I go and wake him up to get him ready for a day of carpentry. He wakes up. “Good morning dad.” He gets out of bed and go’s to get his breakfast. By the time we are done with our bread, my wife is already finished making our beds. We walk out of the creaky, wooden door, and the cool fall breeze hits our faces. “Dad, can we go to the bakery for lunch?” “Sure,” I respond. By the time we arrive at my shop, my apprentice, Amos, is already hard at work in the shop. He has a room up stairs where he sleeps. He’s been my apprentice for three years, and has two more years with me. “Amos!” I yell over the sound of him using the anvil to make metal bands. The clanking stops and he looks at me. “Morning Mr. Connolly,” he responds. “And how do you do Kayden.” “Good,” he says back. Amos looks back at me. “We have some spades ready for joining.” “Thanks, we’ll get to work.” I walk over the curved wooden planks. I start joining the spades while Kayden pushes metal bands onto the barrels that are already joined. This process goes on for three hours. I hear there’s going to be a voyage, to where I don’t know, but some gentry people came and ask for hundreds of barrels. Our clock struck noon so we all took a break and went to the baker to roads down. We have some sweet goods and head back to our shop. Making barrels can take it out of a person. When we arrive, to my surprise we find a few customers who I assume are  just waiting. “Hello there,” I say. They look back and say “Hello.” “What do you good people need today?” “We need five mugs.” I show them the variety of mugs we have in shop. They pick their mugs and pay. “If you want we can make custom mugs, but they will take a few days,” I say before they leave. “They are the same price and better quality.” They deny the offer because they don’t have a few days they say. After they leave we go back to work. Barrel after barrel, band after band. By the time we leave the shop, it’s already dark out. As we make our way back, we see other people closing up shop as well. When we make it back home, I can smell the stew and meat in the kitchen, waiting for us. We walk in and so is my wife. “Welcome back,” she says cheerfully. “How was your day?” “It was great!” Kayden said.