Hayden’s Story

"Thank you for being patient enough to hear our past — and even more, for taking the time to truly understand the hands and hearts behind these creations."

I wasn't supposed to be here.

When I was a kid, I thought my life would be about movement — running, climbing, building — anything fast, anything wild. But at nineteen, a motorcycle accident stole that world away from me. I lost most of the use of my right hand and spent nearly two years learning how to tie my shoelaces again, let alone carve, stitch, or hammer.

At first, I didn't want to create anymore.
Everything felt too slow, too broken. The things I made didn't match the images I carried in my mind. And there were days, long ones, where it seemed easier to let go of dreams than to keep disappointing myself.

But small things saved me.
The sound of a blade slicing clean through leather.
The way a worn piece of hide could be coaxed into something strong and beautiful.
The quiet satisfaction of making something — anything — real.

I started over, teaching myself to work with what I had left.
No shortcuts, no self-pity. Just patience, stubbornness, and a love for the old ways of doing things by hand.
I made things slowly. Badly, at first. I ruined a lot more than I finished.

But somewhere along the way, the brokenness became part of the craft — not something to hide, but something that made the work more honest.

Today, I still make everything slowly. Carefully. Honestly.
I believe in scars. In imperfection. In the beauty of something that took real time, real hands, real mistakes to exist.

You won't find my name on every piece.
But if you look closely —
in the stitching that's not perfectly straight,
in the edge that's been burnished a hundred times to feel just right,
in the leather that warms to your touch —
you'll find a small, stubborn part of me there, still trying, still loving this work.

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Thank you for listening to my story.
It matters more than you know.

— Hayden