Tag Archives: Stories and Essays

Enjoying a Personal Moment of Liberty on Liberty Island

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Blog by Steve Laug

I just finished writing this reflection that I wanted to share here. As I am a resident of Canada my views may be skewed by my culture but I don’t think so… thanks for reading. I look forward to your responses.

The alarm went off at 6:00am – far too early that morning considering the short time we had spent in bed after enjoying the city the night before. My wife and I and two friends had rented a room at Hephzibah House, a restored brownstone retreat centre near Central Park in Manhattan. It was a dark and chilly November morning. I woke my wife; dressed and headed down for some coffee in the parlour to bring up to encourage her waking and getting ready. We were due to meet our friends downstairs to start the day of touring together. We needed the internal warmth and caffeine before we headed out to the subway so we took a second cup with us. We had bundled up in scarves, toques and winter coats because it was a chilly morning and we knew that we would be cold riding the ferry to Liberty Island and on to Ellis Island. I carried a satchel on my shoulder and in it along with the map, ferry tickets, and Metrocard subway passes was my pipe pouch, some 10 year old 5100, a lighter and tamper. I was intent on carrying out my plan – to smoke my pipe on Liberty Island in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty.

We walked the 4 blocks to the subway. Using the Metrocard we went down the stairs to the subway and quickly boarded the train. We exited the subway near Trinity Church and Wall Street and walked through Battery Park to join the line of those waiting to clear security and board the ferry. By 8am we were on the ferry ready for a 20 minute ride to the island. We found seats on the top deck and hunkered down into our warm coats ready to take pictures. The wind off the water was cold but we did not want to miss the full view of the city behind us and Liberty Island and Ellis Island ahead on the journey across the water. I took pictures as we left Manhattan and continued as we approached the island. Once the boat docked, we made our way along the walkway to a coffee shop and bought a hot coffee to sip while we walked around to a spot where we could sit and look at the Lady. She is far more massive than pictures can communicate. She weighs 450,000 pounds and stands 151 feet tall from the tips of her crown to the broken shackles at her feet. She is truly an amazing sight to behold.

We made our way to a place on the walkway where we could look up into her face and see the glory of the statue. We took some photos and just enjoyed the view. I decided that now was the time to fire up my pipe. The spot was perfect and the setting could not have been better. I sat down on the low wall out of the wind, opened my satchel and took out my pipe pouch. I unzipped it and took out my chosen pipe. I opened the pouch of aged 5100 and packed the pipe. I was savouring the moment as I packed it and checked it. I set it on fire with my lighter and puffed on the pipe to get things going. Once it was burning well I sat back and sipped the smoke. It was quiet even though there were a lot of people on the sidewalks. It is a place that seemed to evoke silence. I looked across at the Manhattan skyline taking in the tall buildings and the textures of the city. As I smoked my pipe it became obvious to me that the setting was a great place for reflection and introspection so I virtually disappeared into the smoke. My wife and the other couple who were with us were out of mind as I savoured this pipe moment. I love it when the pipe and smoke take me for a quiet trip outside of the event to a place deep within my own soul. I find it restful and exhilarating at the same time.

My wife and our friends continued to take pictures and walk around the area while I sat and enjoyed my pipe. I was content to just sit and smoke while I looked up at the statue and out across the water to the gap left by the Twin Towers. The sunshine took a bit of the chill out of the air and warmed me. The warm bowl of tobacco in my hand kept my hands warm as well. What a great place to enjoy a pipe. The day was perfect and the air was clear. The view on the horizon and on the island itself was stellar. It could not get much better.

My reflection led me to thinking long and hard about the freedom that I so often take for granted as a citizen of the west and that I also so easily abandon passively without voicing a complaint or concern. For example, the right to sit and smoke my pipe in public is dramatically changing. It is being taken away piece by piece with precision by the vocal anti-smoking advocates. They have declared their role to act as my conscience and defined my pleasure a vice. They argue emphatically that it should not be allowed for anyone anywhere at any time to smoke in public. In Vancouver, British Columbia, where I live, just a few years ago they made all pubs and public places non-smoking. This was quickly followed by declaring outdoor patios at restaurants and pubs also non-smoking citing safety concerns for wait staff regarding second hand smoke. Soon it became illegal to smoke anywhere near a door or air intake vent, removing most of the places that smokers gathered outside their workplaces. The next blow came last year when they made it illegal to smoke in outdoor public space such as parks and beaches. They cinched the knot even tighter for smokers when they declared it illegal to smoke in a car when there are children present. They are systematically working to make my home city “smoke-free”.

All of this went through my mind as I sat under the shadow of Lady Liberty that morning. My wife says I am being paranoid when I share with her about such things, but I find myself unable to not feel a bit paranoid about them. We tend to suffer from the “frog in the kettle” syndrome. Like the frog in the pan of water on the stove, we do not notice that the heat is gradually being increased and we sit passively while we slowly are being cooked. The gradual erosion of our freedom takes us further into a nanny state that decides what is lawful for us. I find it frustratingly hard to know what to do with this issue. I write and protest but the law marches on. I now personally am employing a more passive aggressive approach and purposefully, publicly smoking my pipe in each place it is not allowed. Hopefully I will get caught and get to speak my mind. Anyway, back to NYC.

It was only I later that I found out that New York City was moving in the same direction. We found no pubs or restaurants that allowed smoking. I am also quite certain that I was breaking some law about smoking a pipe in public when I enjoyed the pipe on Liberty Island. But I savoured the moment knowing that it would probably never happen again for me. I sat on the wall and enjoyed my pipe for probably a half an hour and then continued to puff on it as I wandered around the park taking in the trees that cold, clear and sunny New York morning. It was just about perfect. You know, the amazing thing to me was that no one commented on my pipe. No one expressed either negative or positive sentiments. No one walked by holding their noses or rolling their eyes with disgust at my “filthy” habit and no one commenting on memories of dear ones who used to smoke a pipe in times gone by. It was as if I was invisible to them for the time or maybe I was just oblivious to their responses as I lived in the solitary moment delivered by a good pipe and tobacco to the pipeman whenever he lights the fragrant leaf for a settled bowl.

Memories of that first pipe

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I still remember the day when I first started smoking a pipe. I was 16 years old and had friends who smoked cigarettes all the time. But those never interested me the way a pipe did. I was employed as a waiter at a local hotel and restaurant. Each shift we were given break times where everyone grabbed a drink and a smoke in the hallway away from the customers. Those were the days where employers provided a place for their staff to smoke. It even had a big black ashtray and nice chairs to sit and rest a bit. It was a perfect time and place for a young man to learn to smoke a pipe.

I had a regular customer I waited on who smoked a pipe after each meal I served him. I can see him to this day, pushing back his chair and packing his pipe and then lighting it with a silver Dunhill lighter as I cleared his table. He would sit and enjoy the smoke and order a scotch to complete his dinner. I can still smell the smoke in my memory and the smells were delightful. His pipe smoking brought to mind my uncle Gene and his pipe. I loved my uncle and I loved the smell of his pipe. So the time, the place, the tutors all combined to open the world of pipe smoking for me.

I remember leaving work on my dinner break that evening and driving across the river to a Rexall Drugstore on Shoup and A Street to pick up my first pipe, a lighter and some tobacco. I took my time looking at the pipes on display and chose a nice Medico briar – a matte finish straight Dublin, no shiny flashy pipe for me. I believe that it was actually sandblasted and stained an oxblood colour (it is gone now and how that happened is a story for another time). The lighter was a disposable Bic and the tobacco was Borkum Riff Whiskey Soaked. I carried my new treasures back to the car and sat fondling them for quite awhile before heading back to work.

I served my customer their meals and drinks and waited with growing anticipation for my first break. I would not say I was patient because actually I was not. I wanted to try break out my new pipe and try it now! When the break time finally came I went back to the smoking hallway, opened the packaging of the new pipe and blew air through it and enjoyed the feel and weight of it in my hand and mouth. I peeled the tape off the pouch of Borkum Riff and opened it. I inhaled the fresh smells and felt very “adult”. I stuffed the bowl of the pipe with tobacco to the brim. I had no clue what I was doing and I packed it so tight there was not much draw. But hey, what did I know. I tried to light the thing but could not keep it going. It was like sucking air through a coffee stirrer. I spent most of that break trying to light my new pipe. I ended up not smoking a bowl at all that time around. I emptied the tobacco out and tried it again… still too tight. Break was over, I had not smoked my pipe yet and I was a frustrated.

The later dinner crowd came in and my pipe smoking customer arrived. I served him his meal and he ate a leisurely dinner. He ordered his scotch and while he was waiting pulled out his pipe and a tin of tobacco. My eyes lit up as I watched him. Maybe I could ask him for help; at the very least I could watch how he went about packing his pipe and learn that way. The dinner hour was over and the restaurant was pretty empty. I watched as he loaded his pipe but could no help but politely interrupt him to ask for his help with my new pipe. He took my pipe his hands like it was a precious thing. Looking back I realize how kind he was. He smoked Dunhill pipes and Dunhill tobacco, but he never batted an eye at my “cheap” pipe and drugstore tobacco. He handed it back to me and agreed to help me out. He took out his pipe and had me hold mine then we both packed them at the same time. He had a great teaching method. He had me put the amount of tobacco needed for a bowl on a paper napkin. We each took the same amount of tobacco. Then he showed me how to pack the bowl in thirds with each one packed a bit more firmly. We lit our lighters and we gave it what he called a charring light and then tamped and did a second light. I saw that I needed to pick up a tamper, but even as I thought about it, he reached into his pocket and handed me a pipe nail. He pulled out a chair and had me join him. He told me to suck gently and take my time so as not to singe my tongue. I tried and succeeded in at least smoking the whole bowl with him. Many lights and relights later, my bowl was finished far before his was. I thanked him profusely for teaching me how to pack a pipe. He laughed and encouraged me to keep practicing.

As I cleared his last dinner items away I remember that he winked at me and told me not to drink any alcohol or carbonated beverages as it would cause me a bit of pain. He seemed to know that I had singed my tongue and was suffering a good case of tongue bite. He recommended apple juice or a cup of tea as a soothing drink to ease the discomfort. I thanked him again. I finished my shift for the night and sat down for a second bowl in my pipe. I packed it right this time first try. I fired it up and used his nail to tamp it. It burned my tongue like the dickens. My tongue felt like raw meat. I wanted to lay the pipe down but persevered until the bowl was finished. I may not have been the brightest young pipeman but I was committed. Over the next days I worked with that pipe and practiced smoking slowly. The tongue bite healed and lessened. I was well on the road to being a pipe smoker, not a small feat when you consider what I was smoking!

I have never forgotten that old gentleman who initiated me into the art of being a pipeman. The memory of his kindness is what keeps me passing on the same to other new pipe smokers. I do so with care packages of refurbished pipes and samples of tobacco as well as lessons on how to pack that first bowl. The pipe nail he gifted me is still in my cabinet… I think(I say I “think” because over the years I have handed out dozens of them and may well have given away the original). I continued to smoke that Medico for the next couple of years and it became a well seasoned pipe. I soon added several other pipes to my bag and I was on my way to building a collection. Somehow though, during university years my pipes lay idle. I have no real idea why that was as I look back. There was no real reason for it. Maybe as I think about it something will trigger my memory and later it could be the reason for another story. But I do know that I did not pick them up again until the morning my first daughter was born some seven or eight years later. I have no idea what happened to that old Medico and the other pipes. It may well be sitting in a cupboard in my parents’ house. However, the lessons learned from my old friend made the next time I picked up the pipe much more enjoyable.

Good hunting – estate pipes

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I wrote this about one of my walk about hunts for estate pipes. Thought I would share it here.

It was a beautiful sunny autumn day in Southern Alberta. It was fall, crisp and clear. The fall colours were in full glory. Leaves crunched under foot and swirled on the breeze as I walked down the sidewalks. In the city of Lethbridge, Alberta (city is a bit of overstatement) I sat at the local Tim Horton’s shop (a donut and coffee shop for those who are not Canadians). I sat looking out the window enjoying the morning. A couple of antique shops had caught my eye earlier that morning when I had taken a meandering stroll with a pipe. It was still early and they would not open for awhile yet, so I leisurely sipped my coffee and dreamed of what I might find behind the windows and locked doors of those shops. I had scoped them out with my nose pressed against the glass. I had seen in one of them a pipe rack or two on a shelf near the door. The other was a bit more mysterious and less organized. They both looked hopeful to me. I wondered what treasures I would find once they opened. Would there be some Dunhill’s, some Larson’s, old Comoy’s or GBDs? Always the hunt and the wait are things that leave me budding with optimistic (and I suppose naive) hope that a real treasure would await me. Would I find a new lighter or some tampers to add to the collection at home? It is always fun to travel through the shops in my mind before actually going through the door.

Ahhh. Coffee is finished and the first shop is opening its doors. I am off for the hunt! I go through the door and wind through the shop. I walk down the aisles to eliminate any hidden finds before I check the ones by the door. There is nothing here so far. I know there is a rack or two by the door but I want to finish the back first and then work through that rack. I find some cracked and sad old Grabows, a beat up old Yellow Bowl, some pipe reamers, a few dilapidated pipe cleaners and some old racks that do not grab my attention. I move through the rest of the shop and come on the racks by the door. I work through the pipes in the rack and check out the finds there. There is nothing that grabs me or begs to be taken home jumping from the racks. There are some older Grabows, pretty sad shape. There is an older GBD that is really caked and damaged with a crack bowl and shank. I look at the prices and am amazed at the nerve of a seller to ask the kind of money they want for these poor old fellows. I ask the clerk for the best price and find they are willing to knock off $5. The remaining $25 per pipe mark is still far too pricey for what the pipes are, so I walk away. I leave the shop and head next door to the second shop. It is still closed so I wander down the street wondering if the day is going to be a bust in terms of pipe finds. I visit a couple of used furniture shops and thrift shops and find nothing.

Finally I make my way back to the other antique shop. The door is open and the owner is outside having a smoke. Hmmm, that could be promising maybe there will be something here. At least they are not antis! I wander in and immediately come upon a rack with three pipes. Nothing stunning but very interesting just the same. One is an older SC Pipe, made in Canada by the Paradis Bros. in Montreal. The second one is no name Italian in pretty rough shape and the third is an old Brigham two dot. As I am checking out the stems, shanks, bowls etc. for viability the owner comes up and we strike up a conversation. He asks me what I am doing with old pipes. I tell him of my hobby of cleaning, restoring and smoking the old timers. He is pretty interested. He calls his wife over and asks her whether she remembers where he had put some other pipes from the shop. He asked her if they were here or at their home. She sends him to the back room and I go back to work through the threesome in this rack.

I hear the owner in the back room and shortly he comes out carrying a large bucket of pipes. I feel a wave of excitement move over me as I look at his bucket. I leave the pipe rack and make my way to a table where he puts the bucket and pours out his loot. Wow. There are a lot of pipes there – probably about 50 of them – really an amazing lot. Mostly junk by the looks of the pile but worth the time. This is the joy of the hunt that I so love. To me there is nothing like just digging through old briar, looking at the stampings and shapes, getting a feel for the haul and separating them into piles that demand further attention and those that are disposable. I love the task of digging through the pile of old clutter, dirty pipes, various pieces and stems and bowls and seeing what I can salvage. Sure enough I find quite a few. I am working through the first sort and feeling the excitement rise in me. I put the ones for a third look in a pile and return the rejects to the bucket. These rejects just do not catch my eye or interest. They might have some cracks in the shanks or bowls and just are not worth this cut. The remaining lot is five pipes – a Comoy’s Guildhall pipe, SC Bent egg, a GBD Billiard, a Old Pal pot, a Golden Arrow London Pipe Lumberman made by Comoys. They were filthy and grimy. Grain was relatively invisible. An utter mess, which made me realize that I was probably in for a good deal.

I worked through the five that I had set aside a second time in the light. I wet my finger and highlighted the grain to see what was under the grime. I checked the shanks and rims for char and burn. I looked for gnawing at the mouthpiece and cracks in them as well. I wondered about the prices and what I could get the lot for. I called the owner over. He smiled as he saw my work. His first words were to offer the whole lot. A bucket of pipes for $50 cash would make the bucket mine. I have to tell you, at first the joy of the hunt caught me, I wanted it all – a price of $50, Canadian no less, for the lot had my wallet virtually leaping out of my pocket. I thought about it. Oh the stories that these pipes could tell and that I could make them tell. The mysteries that lay beneath the grime. I wanted them all for sure. Then my more rational and logical side kicked in as I realized I would never get the lot on the airplane and carried home. I envisioned explaining to airport security why I was carrying a bucket of pipes on their plane. It was tough to work through this process. I argued with myself and finally asked the fellow about the price for the five of them. He scratched his scrubby beard (I can say that because I have a long one). He looked at me and asked if I was sure I did not want the lot. I hemmed and hahed then said no and he said the price was $5 each… I quickly settled up before the price changed. I made my way outdoors with my treasures and headed to the airport.

Since then I have had all kinds of thoughts about the ones I left in the bucket. I think of creative ways I could have gotten them home. I thought of shipping them to myself, of bussing them to my home by Greyhound. I even thought of calling my friend in Lethbridge and having him pick them up and ship them to me. But the fact is that the bucket of pipes is still sitting in that little shop in Lethbridge, Alberta. Maybe they will be there the next time I visit. Or maybe one of you will stumble upon the shop there and have the same joy of discovery as you gingerly and excitedly paw through the lot. If you get there and pick up the lot be sure to let us know…. some of us are interested!

Chillin with a pipe

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This is another piece I wrote. It was born during a stressful time in my life. The pipe is a necessary piece of the solace I find in times like this.

Over the past days I have had multiple reasons to reflect on the necessity of just “chillin”, stopping and not allowing the franticness of others and the problems that they so often seem to put on me get the best of me. I am reminded of the importance of just taking time to pick up my pipe and relax. Too often these days it seems to me, I let others move or manipulate me with their urgency, to get frustrated or anxious, or angry; to take up defence or offense and speak out; to get sucked into the schemes or plans whose ends are somehow assumed to be hidden. It is in those moments that I remember why I am a pipe smoker.

I take out my pouch or tin; quietly and slowly load a bowl. I say slowly because you cannot do it quickly and get it done well. You have to work a nice knot of tobacco into the bowl in such a way as to enable a good burn. Even that process slows the pace and makes you breathe a bit more slowly. I take a deep breath and slowly inhale, letting the magic of the moment, the stuffing of the bowl, the feel or look of the pipe in hand, the feel of tobacco whatever its cut, its unlit smell, the pungency of a good Virginia pouring out of the tin, just take over. My breathing becomes more relaxed and measured, my vision and thoughts more focused as I pack the bowl of the pipe I have picked from my rack.

I don’t understand how, but it is a fact that the issues and troubles come into perspective as I quietly work over them a bit removed from their urgency. I am able by the pipe, to slowly turn them in my mind instead of just reacting in knee jerk fashion. Ahhh, the wonder of the reflective time taken in packing a bowl, the anticipation of the smoke and then finally the smoke itself. From the strike of the first match and the initial flame that passes over the tobacco, from the feel of the first rush of flavour in my mouth and on my tongue to seeing the gentle smoke blow across the porch or room, I can step away for a brief respite from whatever others put on me or whatever I choose to take on and remember that it too will pass. Things really are all right with my world.

When I forget this magic of my pipe, I am quickly and thoughtlessly sucked into the urgency of others complaints and concerns. I cease to be any help at all as their issues rapidly escalate into my own. A long time ago on the streets I learned from an old friend a piece of wisdom that too readily slips away. He said something like this: “I like helping folks with problems, so in the course of our relationship if ever I allow your issues, problems or concerns to become mine, I can no longer help you — because now you don’t have a problem anymore…. it is now mine.”

For me the pipe gives me the freedom to keep remembering the wisdom of my old friend. As I light my bowl I am given the space to keep my distance from issues and not personalize them. When I do this I am given the rare privilege of standing apart from the problem or issue of my life and viewing it as a casual observer for a bit. I get to take time to mull over thoughts with a pipe and bowl. I can be thoughtful and less prone to jump to conclusions and take offence. That is the wonder of the pipe for me. It is a means of separating myself from my life and its constant influences and turbulence. It creates a zone of space where I can turn things over slowly in my head and look at it dispassionately just for a bit… perhaps as it has happened many times in the past, a solution will walk out of the smoke for me. Time for a bowl… cheers

Choosing a Blend of Tobacco

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I wrote this about a year ago and it was published in the Pipe Collector. I was just rereading it and thought I would add it to the mix here.

As a member of several online pipe smoking forums and a member of the North American Society of Pipe Collectors (NASPC), I find I am exposed to an endless stream of potential tobaccos that I can read about and try. There are so many reviews of tobaccos on the Forums and also in the NASPC newsletter – consider Lou Zisholz’ articles alone and you are left with a boatload of options to try. I rarely see a review of a tobacco that says, “This is awful so don’t smoke it”. So how does one go about making choices that work and don’t just leave you with a pile of tobaccos that you did not like? How do you wade through all the reviews and all the “sounds good” propaganda and make intelligent choices? I for one don’t want to buy a tin of something I will “maybe like”. I am particular about what I like and don’t like and with a large family that I am still paying to raise I am careful about what I pick up to try. I would like some relative certainty that the tobacco I choose to try will be a keeper for me and not one that will soon be on the forums for trade. I know that the process can never be boiled down to absolute certainty but I think it can be worked into a system that actually minimizes the blends that I have piled up that I don’t like.

Some pipe smokers I have spoken with put a lot of weight on the reviews they read on various websites to help them in the process. I too have read those reviews and found that they cover the spectrum from like to dislike. I don’t particularly find that helpful and now find I rarely turn to the review pages until later in the process. Often the reviews wax eloquent about the flavour of the smoke being creamy and buttery. In fact I have written those kinds of reviews myself. I read of a tobacco being rich and smooth. This too is not altogether clear to me as to what the writer means. I think I understand what is being said but I am never really sure. What I want is something, whether a written process or a mental one, or a combination of both, that provides a measure of clarity for me in my choices. I want a process by which I can make a decision that has some relative degree of certainty. Of course there will always be exceptions to the process but at least there will be some method for a guy like me who does not have the time, energy or desire to just take the risk to buy something and just give it a try.

With that purpose in my mind, and being somewhat of a systems guy, I decided to try to put together a method for future tobacco purchases. I asked pipe smokers on two of the Pipe smoking forums I frequent how they go about choosing a tobacco. Their responses ranged from those who say “I try everything” to a very structured method with simple steps. I read all of the responses and thought through my own method of choosing tobaccos to purchase. After reading the responses from others I decided to write down my approach as to how I have chosen and tried tobaccos throughout the past 10+ years. I chose that time frame because I know that for the 20+ years before that I was much more random in my approach. If the tin looked interesting or the pouch was nice I would grab it. My cabinet was filled with all kinds of tins and bags that had a mere one pipe load smoked from them. It was truly a motley assortment of tobaccos with no real rhyme or reason to them. Around 10 years ago that changed for me. I became focused on Virginias and found that they became my go to smoke. As time went on I gave away or dumped the partial tins and bags into a jar of scrap tobaccos that I labelled “Hoover Blend”. I still have several of these mixtures jarred and sitting in the cupboard. Other aromatics I had, I gave away. The English samples I had, I also gave away. I focused my purchases on Virginias. From that settled place throughout the past 10 years I have branched out to try some Virginia Perique blends with good success and have added them to my cellar. In the past two years I have also begun to explore Balkan and lighter English blends. My cellar has a growing representation of them in the inventory.

Here is my process. I decided that my starting point would be to use my go to tobaccos as a base and to look at the components of each of those blends. I have smoked a pipe long enough to know what I like and don’t like. Thus my favourites would provide a place to start as I consider adding other blends. Once I have clarity on what each of my favourites is composed of then I have a mean by which to look at other potential blends. For me that meant creating what would act as a base tobacco in each of the following tobacco types: Virginias, Virginia/Perique, Balkan and English. I would know what tobaccos each of my go to blends was composed of and that would provide a basis for a comparison with the composition of potential blends. This is not something that I slavishly write out or list as it really is a small base – 1 of each blend that for me is the mean. Actually this is quite simple for me as the make up of those blends is easily committed to memory.

Once I had the baseline in place I took my wish list of potential tobaccos to try, those tobaccos that have piqued my interest from what I read and hear through my pipe smoking connections both real time and online. I divided the list into the categories above as I was able. There are always variants to the categories so I have added a category to my list that I label “other” for those that just do not fit into the main headings. My list is always in flux as I add and subtract tobaccos that catch my interest. I find that it has been helpful for me to categorize them by tobacco type as it helps me to keep in mind what it was about them that caught my eye. I don’t know if it is my “old-timers” setting in or what but I seem to easily forget why I put them on the list in the first place. This at least can serve to jog the memory a bit. It also is a help in the ordering process to match tobaccos to my palate at the given moment as well as plan for different seasons where I know I will smoke different tobaccos.

Under each tobacco type in my list I have begun to group tobaccos that I want to try by blender or company. For instance under the category of Virginia Perique blends I have subdivided the different blends into those done by McClellands, S. Gawith, Gawith & Hoggarth, Solani, Friborg & Treyer, Shop blenders, etc. you get the idea. The same is true for just Virginia blends, though there I make a distinction between flakes and rubbed out blends. Balkans and English also have categories. In terms of the few aromatics that interest me, I smoke them so infrequently that I have one blanket category for them. For me this helps me to focus an order to stock up my cellar on what I have been smoking. I can also do the order pretty quickly as I have found that some of the e-tailers I use arrange their sites by blenders. So use it if you like, but it works for me.

Periodically I go through my new tobaccos and visit the blender’s site or Tobacco Reviews and get info on the makeup of each blend. This helps me refine my list a bit and discard the ones that upon looking at them more closely don’t fit what I am interested in smoking and for some reason just don’t intrigue me enough to risk a try. I am not particularly interested in reading the PR hype regarding a blend from the maker or the reviews unless it is a blend with which I am totally unfamiliar. If I look at the reviews at all it is to see if the few reviewers that I have come to trust are weighing in on this one. For me the reviews generally come down to a matter of personal taste and that is a hard one to match for any of us. We have all loved tobaccos that others hate and vice versa. Once I have cleaned up my wish list, I note the ones that interest me in order of priority for ordering.

With my focused list, I go to my favourite web e-tailers and see what they carry in terms of these tobaccos. I read any write ups they may have (knowing that they are generally sales pitches, though some are better than others). I check the prices and availability of the blends. This also helps me to categorize what I will try next. Often I pick the top two or three blends on my list for my order. I usually take one tin of each before I have tried them. I am conservative in that I don’t want a pile of tins of tobacco around based on another person’s likes or dislikes. I want to have a cellar filled with stuff I enjoy. So after I have tried the sample tin – I find it takes me a full tin of tobacco before I can make an informed decision – then I will order some for the cellar. I find this way I rarely have stuff to get rid of by sale or trade and I always am smoking what I enjoy. If for some reason it falls out of favour I can put it aside in a jar and let it sit for awhile. For me one of the beauties of pipe smoking is the fact that my tastes are always in process. What I like today my change, but then again the circle turns and I may like it once more.

All of that may seem like a cumbersome process, but it really is not. It has become second nature and for me it has truly focused what I try and what I order. The one thing it does not take into account is the samples of tobacco that I receive from other pipe smokers and from some of the e-tailers. Those require a few adjustments but the method still works.

A Perfect Alignment of 54s

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I wrote this one on my birthday a few years ago now. I love the alignment of events and items that made that a special day for me. I wanted to share it here as well.

It is funny how it takes me some time to finally get around to writing some things down. But today I decided it was time to sit down and write about a special event in my life. I celebrated my fifty fourth birthday December 7, 2008. Periodically I find myself going back and reflecting on all the individual pieces that came together for a perfect smoke that day. It was a combination of planning and serendipitous discoveries that made the event work out better than I could have ever imagined.

I spent the previous year gathering the actors for the event – each of them would play a major role in making the day memorable. Each of them came with its own unique story to contribute to the day. In almost every case their past was shrouded with a bit of mystery and certainly a lack of definitive information about their existence before finding me.

The first character I went looking to recruit was a pipe for the occasion. Not just any pipe would do as I wanted one that really fit my birthday in a special way. The more I thought about it the more I wanted to have a pipe that was as old as me. It would be great to smoke a pipe from 1954 on my 54th birthday. So I began the hunt for just such a pipe. My decision imposed limitations on me to just a few makers. The only ones that I know that can be dated to 1954 with any degree of certainty are those made by Dunhill and Peterson. There may well be others that bear a silver hallmarked band, but in my experience the banded ones I have seen were all made in the late 19th or early 20th Century. That gave me a focus for my hunt – an older Dunhill and/or a Peterson pipe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I emailed Mike Hagley to see if he had a 1954 in his collection of Dunhill pipes that he might be willing to part with. Of course as is often the case in my experience, Mike had several from other years but not a 1954. We ended our correspondence with a promise that he would keep his eyes open for one. I cannot remember the details but eventually Mike emailed me an eBay link to a 1954 Dunhill Shell Briar in a Canadian shape. It was in decent shape but had a replacement stem that had been poorly made. The stem was not seated properly in the shank and appeared to be at an angle. I decided to bid on the pipe and see what I could do. I entered my highest bid and let it sit. I was surprised to see that I was the only bidder. The pictures were rough so it did not give a clear idea of the condition of the pipe. The short and long of it was that when the auction closed and the pipe was mine.

Two weeks went by and Canada Post finally delivered my birth year Dunhill. Upon inspection it appeared to be in very good shape. The finish and the condition of the rim and shank were very good. The reason for the misfit stem turned out to be an angled tenon and not a misdrilled shank done during the repair. What a relief. I cleaned and polished the bowl and shank and re-bent the tenon to straighten it out. (Though even with this work it still did not fit flush to the shank.) As I held it in my hands I began to wonder about getting a new stem made for it. I contacted Dr. Dave at Walker Briar Works to see if he was interested in making a new stem for me. He was up for the challenge and I sent it off to him. He researched what a 1954 Dunhill Canadian stem looked like, took an old Dunhill stem he had in stock and cut it to fit. This allowed for a properly sized white spot for a ’54. He also was able to match the taper on the stem to the original. Once it was finished he shipped it back to me and I was pleased both with his work and to have the first character for my celebration in place.

My attention shifted to the next character I needed to have in place for the day – the tobacco I would smoke in the 1954 Dunnie on my 54th birthday. I looked through my stash of tobacco and I set aside several potential favourites that I could open. But nothing struck me as the right one. I still had time to work on that so I put the search aside for awhile. I knew something would come up and be just right for the occasion.

While I was on holidays in the US, visiting family in Idaho, I decided to check out an old junk shop/antique mall that I always shop at when I am there. I have frequently found some good pipes to refurbish and some other unique tobaciana items. I walked through the many booths of things for sale – three floors worth – and picked up endless old pipes to check out and old tins that on handling proved to be empty. I did find a one pound tin of old Prince Albert that was unopened and added it to my pile but still nothing that fit the bill for what I was looking for in a birthday smoke. I carried my “treasures” to the cash register by the front door on the first floor to settle up and leave. Just as I was taking my cash out of my pocket I happened to glance over my shoulder at a shelf by the door. A small round tin on the middle shelf caught my eye. I put my money back in my pocket, left everything on the counter and went to check it out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I got closer I saw that it was a small round tin. It looked like the older 3/4 ounce tins that were available a long time ago. I could see that it was silver with some green squares. I moved the clutter away that made it hard to see and lifted the tin out to have a better look. It was clearly an old one. It had the label Dobies Four Square Mixture. It was full of tobacco and the seal and the tax stamp were still intact. I examined it carefully and found that there was no rust on the outside. The tobacco on the inside did not rattle around as I shook it. All of these are good signs when buying old tobacco. I then inspected the tobacco tax stamp and found that it was dated 1954! I could not believe my eyes. I took it to the counter and immediately added it to the haul and paid for it. I might have found my birthday tobacco to smoke in my 1954 pipe – I just needed to verify its age. I did a web search on the blend and on the importer that had its sticker on the back. The way the address and zip code were set up it pointed to a date of the 50’s. As best as I could determine I had a tin of tobacco from 1954!

The two major players were in place for the birthday celebration – a 1954 pipe and a 1954 tobacco. All that was left was for my 54th birthday to arrive, or so I thought. It was only a few months until my birthday. I had no idea of what lay ahead for me in the drama of my life. I had no clue as to how the third player in my celebration (me) was to be prepared.

In May of 2008 I was greeted at 2AM one morning with a crackling of fire and the flare of light that comes from flames illuminating my bedroom. I looked out the window to see the three houses next door to us on fire. I woke the kids and fled the house. And yes I left the Dunhill and the tobacco in the house. By 8am that morning we were back in the house and found that with all the soaking of fire hoses our basement had 3 inches of black water in it. Everything was in ruins. This time I dug out my favourite pipes and some tobacco to keep as I knew we were in for a long haul with restoration. I had the foresight to pick up the Dunhill and the Dobies Four Square Mixture. This would turn out to be a smart move in the long run.

In July my position at work was closed and I was declared redundant. I was out of work with our house being an unsellable mess. The restoration company was hard at work contacting contractors to do the restoration. I ended up being the general contractor for the repairs and was in charge of coordinating all of the trades. Those were hard days for me but my pipes helped lend moments of sanity to an otherwise insane time in my life. By the end of November we were allowed back into our basement and settled back into the routine of our lives. Only a few days before my 54th birthday we were able to finally get back to some sense of normalcy.

On December 7, 2008 – my 54th birthday I woke up early in morning and made a cup of strong Ethiopian coffee. I picked up one of my favourite books and settled on my front porch with the 54 Dunhill and the 54 Dobies in my 54 year old hands. The sun was shining and it was relatively warm in Vancouver – not something to be taken lightly in December. I popped the old tin of tobacco with a 1954 dime (I thought that would be a nice dramatic touch), removed the paper disc that was on top of the tobacco and which verbally guaranteed a great smoke or my money back and lifted the open tin to my nose. What an amazing aroma! The pungent smell of well aged Virginias and the tantalizing sourness of Orientals came together in what smell like a delightful mixture.

I pinched together a wad of tobacco and packed the pipe. I loaded it as I usually do and checked the draw to make sure it was the way I liked it. I used an old Zippo to light the pipe and drew the smoke into my mouth. Wow what a smoke! The alignment of 54s was complete! I had the 54 Dunhill loaded with a 54 Dobies tobacco and smoked in my 54 year old mouth. What a perfect way to begin the day of the celebration. What ever happened next would be bonus and I would end the day the way I began it – another bowl for this 54 year old in the old 54.

 

A surprise gift awaited me at the door

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I was just going through some files on my hard drive and came across this one and relived the event that I had written about. Do you ever have those moments when the event you are recalling comes alive again and you can see the people, hear the sounds and smell the scents yet again? That is what happened to me. I was up with my dogs early this morning as our alarm went off with a malfunction. Instead of going back to bed I decided to look over some older files and see what could be deleted. I came upon this one and just sat and relived the moment again. I remember very clearly getting a call from my daughter saying “Dad, Don dropped by a box for you. He says it is pipe tobacco that a friend gave him. Since he does not smoke a pipe he wanted you to have it.” Throughout the day I kept thinking about what could possibly be in that box. You will see why I wondered about it, beyond just curiosity when you read the rest of this tale. Here is what I wrote that afternoon when I got home and opened the box from Don.

…Over the past four years my family has been saving bottles for a homeless fellow who dumpster dives across from our house. He has an organized route through the lanes in our area searching for bottles. He pushes a grocery cart with his dog attached by a tether. He climbs into the rubbish bins and ferrets out empty returnables. He makes enough on them to provide for himself and his dog, Spaz, a little wiry terrier cross that looks a lot like Don. Over the years as I was walking by I would talk with Don. Over time we have become friends. He has been in our home for dinners on many occasions and a guest at Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter. My wife will often make him a sack lunch and leave it on the step when we are not here. Don has become part of the family. He stops by almost weekly for a visit and a cup of tea or water. He brings his dog for a visit as well.

This morning he came by to deliver a package for me while I was at work. Some buddy of his was given a big express post package of pipe tobacco and he knew I smoked a pipe so he thought of me. My wife and girls called me to let me know. I spent the day wondering what he would have found. I also wondered about the reality of the story and if I was not just getting some of the fruit of his dumpster diving. The girls would not give me any hints other than it was a fairly large box. They certainly know how to wreck my concentration. When the day was over I packed my bag and headed home with expectation for what awaited me on the dining room table. What was it that Don brought me?

I got home and my wife and the girls were sitting on the porch with Don and Spaz. They were sipping tea and just visiting. Don had that twinkle in his eye that I had come to learn meant mischief and I really wondered what he had brought me. I grabbed a chair next to him on the porch and in front of it waiting for me just like a Christmas present on Christmas morning was a large box. It was a little worse for wear from the ride in his shopping cart. I fully expected it to be full of some tins of Amphora or something of a similar ilk. I opened the box and found a large bag inside. That bag was tied shut. I untied it and inside, double and triple bagged were these baccies. I was flabbergasted. I could tell by the look on Don’s face that he was enjoying my surprise and wonderment at his gift.

The Pease Classic Collection: (Sample 1 ounce bags)
Charing Cross
Abingdon
Blackpoint
Kennsington
Piccadilly
Stratford

The Pease Top 5 (Sample 1 ounce bags)
Barbary Coast
Haddos Delight
Cairo
Cumberland
Robusto

Aromatic sampler (1 ounce sample bags)
McClellands M55 Georgian Cream
Peter Stokkebye PS31 Optimum
Peter Stokkebye PS38 Highland Whiskey
Lane Hazelnut
McClellands 715 Raspberry and Cream

Dunhill (2 4 ounce Sample bags)
Dunhill A2000 Toasted Cavendish
Dunhill A3000 Black Cavendish

I opened my work bag and took out a pipe. I opened some Charing Cross and loaded the pipe. Don fired up a cigarette from his own makings and we sat and drank iced tea and enjoyed the beauty of the day. These were blends that I had not tried and were on the list to get. If I was to put together a list of baccies that I wanted to smoke it would have included many of these blends. I was grateful to my friend for this opportunity. I will never forget his kindness to me. One who had little in terms of the goods of this earth gifting me like this was incredibly moving. I just publicly want to acknowledge his gift to me! Thanks Don!

When I look back at that moment and the gift Don brought me I am still blown away by his generosity. Many of these tobaccos I had never had before. The Dunhill Tobaccos were ones that I was not familiar with and the aromatics were not ones I had tried before. The Pease samples were the first to go under the flame and I enjoyed them all. About a year ago now Don disappeared. I don’t know if he moved on or if he died. He struggled with major health issues and was literally wasting away. I will never forget him or his kindness to me. It was good to relive this moment today.

Why I Buy Old Estate Pipes

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Blog by Steve Laug

For some the idea of putting someone else’s pipe in their mouth is repugnant and therefore something they would never do. For others the building of their own story around a specific pipe is what keeps them from buying previously owned pipes. For me both of those thoughts do not negate the pleasure I get from estate pipes.

I too enjoy buying a new pipe and then choosing the tobacco to christen it with as I work on my own story with this pipe. Though some do not like the process of breaking in a pipe, I find that I like the virgin first smoke in a new piece of briar. I love building the stories of when and how and with whom I smoked the pipe. I love thinking through why I purchased this one pipe and what it was that drew me to it. I enjoy the process of working with the carver or artisan as the pipe is born. The events and the place add dimensions to the smoke for me. It is not just a disconnected piece of wood for me. It comes dressed in a story.

The same can be said of an estate pipe. The reason I buy estates is not just for the good deal on old briar but because of the stories that are associated with them. As I smoke this pipe after it is cleaned the place and the time I found the old pipe is a part of the thinking in my mind. I remember what it was that drew me to it and where I was when I bought it. I remember who was with me and what we were doing. I always try to research as much information and the story attached to the pipe as I can. That information may be merely some data on a previous owner, or maybe just a time period. But sometimes I get the full blown story from the seller. I find out who used to own it and what they were like. I find out their tobacco likes and dislikes, not only form the story but from the ghosts in the old pipe. I can tell a lot about the pipe by the state it is in when I bought it. If it tarred and thickly caked and the stem is discoloured and has few bite marks I can see that the previous owner loved this pipe and obviously it smoked well enough to make them keep coming back to it. Often there is a bit of tobacco still in the bowl as if the person laid it down for a moment and never got back to it – kind of like I do sometimes when I get called away after just loading a pipe. There is much more that can be learned just by looking at the pipe as you handle it and clean it.

When I have exhausted the information that is available to me through the seller and through my observations I am still not finished with the story of the estate pipe in my hands. Then I use my imagination to help me put the pipe in its time and in the hands of the person who bought it. I picture their smoke as they pack the pipe with the chosen tobacco. I picture the setting of the smoke and even try to imagine what they were thinking when they chose the pipe for the first time in the shop. I know this is esoteric stuff but it is the stuff of a good story for me. It adds colour to the object in my hand. After all, this pipe comes to me with a history and to some degree I want to honour that history and enjoy it in the process.

To this data, real and imagined, this story I add my own new stories. I join a line of folks who have held this pipe and cherished it over the years. I know full well and appreciate that someone will follow me in that line and add their own stories to the ongoing life of this briar. As it has outlived its first owner I know it will outlive me. I wish at times that the old pipe could talk and tell me the stories it knows and holds. I wish it could speak of the quiet conversations with its previous owner. I wish that I could travel back and have a smoke with the previous owner and listen to their full stories. I wish also that I could jump ahead and give that info to the person who gets the pipe from me. All of that contributes to the joy of the old pipe for me. The hunt for the perfect estate pipe is good. The restoration and resurrection of old briar is good. The rekindling of fire to the tobacco in the old bowl is good. The patina and feel of old wood is good. But it is the story of the pipe, the mystery and the history that grabs me and keeps me on the hunt.

As I close these thoughts I want to use one of my finds, one of the old ones I got on the hunt. It is an Altesse Genuine Briar (with a real amber stem). I know the pipe comes from the era of the 30’s. It rests in a snake skin case that is in pretty good shape. The pipe bowl is out of round yet the overall care taken of this pipe speaks a wealth to me. Its previous owner loved this pipe. It is well smoked and well cared for. When I bought it from the antique dealer it still had a bowl load of tobacco in it. It was unsmoked tobacco so I imagine the owner loaded the bowl and somehow never got back to it. His heirs sold the pipe to a traveling antique dealer who sold it to the one I bought it from. Nowhere in the process did the bowl get dumped. It was hardened and dried out tobacco to be sure… but what must have happened to that old fellow who cherished this pipe that he did not light that bowl?? The thought of it makes me wonder. So when I cleaned it up and reloaded the bowl I raised it in his honour and said cheers old fellow. Here’s to the bowl you did not get to finish!! Enjoy the smell of your pipe as the smoke wafts your direction.

…. I know this sounds cheesy but hey… cheesy is my prerogative! Just an example of what draws me to preowned briar! Here’s to your pipes! Cheers

A Pipeful of reflection

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Yesterday I had an appointment with the old Doctor for some problems I am having with blood pressure. I have this inordinate white coat syndrome that sends my blood pressure soaring when I go to see him. So when I woke up and throughout the morning wait for the doc I was reflecting on all of the things I was “sure” he would tell me to give up in light of the impending visit. I don’t know about you, but when I am in those settings I always jump to the worst possible scenario and my mind works overtime on what is “certainly” going to happen. Not the best strategy for high blood pressure folks to be sure, but it is my way. After deleting wine and beer, red meat, adding more exercise, I was certain my pipes would have to go according to the new regimen he was going to give me. That caused me to pause and reflect for moment on my pipes and pipe smoking. I gave it some thought as to whether he would tell me to say good bye to this piece of my life in which I have come to take a lot of delight. As I thought about the possibility of quitting, I asked myself what my pipes and pipe smoking do for me. I mused for awhile and then I wrote this:

My racks of pipes are in the cabinet next to my desk in my study and a few on top of the desk and behind me. I can with a quick glance look at and enjoy them all. From my desk I can swivel my chair and look through my pipes for the one that is going to take the tobacco choice of the moment. It hit me that this for me is the point when the actual pleasure of a smoke begins. It doesn’t wait for the fire to hit the tobacco or the first puff. The entirety of the process is pleasurable and my particular restful time. The tactile experience of handling the pipes, moving through my racks and choosing just the one for the moment is a big part of the pleasure. Once the pipe is chosen I pick up a soft pipe cleaner, another tactile pleasure and run it through the stem and then place the stem between my teeth and blow any dust or fuzz from the bowl. The sounds of the air through the bowl, the slick feel of the stem, the smooth or rough or blast of the briar, all combine for a fine moment of quiet and pleasure. Often before I fill the pipe and put the match or lighter to it I just sit with the bowl in hand and reflect.

Then the tobacco of the moment is cracked open – the jar or the tin – I run the tobacco through my fingers and enjoy the feel of the flake or the ribbon or the cube cut as it drops between my fingers. As the tobacco is picked up there is a sweet aroma that slips into the room around my desk – the scent of fine Virginias, the aroma of a clean but smoked pipe. All of these combine in the moment before I pack the pipe. The tobacco goes into the bowl pinched between the fingers or rubbed out on a paper on the desk. The tobacco springs in the bowl, the feel of just the right pack, the quick flick of the flint on the steel or the match across the striker to get the light, the momentary spark and then the flame as it licks the tobacco and then the first puff of smoke. All these intersect with the just the right place to take my mind off of my troubles or my work and transport to a tranquil zone.

The amazing thing to me is that all of this occurs for me before the smoke begins to calm my soul. Before the bowl begins to warm to the touch as the fire in its belly consumes the tobacco the earnest smoke has begun. The rhythm of the puff and the exhalation of the smoke all build on the previous time to add to the pleasure of the restful thing we call pipe smoking. As the tobacco continues to burn and the smoke is blowing and snaking upward, the room fills with an aroma that surrounds the pipe and me. The aroma is sweet and satisfying. The cloud of smoke that fills the room adds to the mystique of the moment. I close my eyes and enjoy the quiet that this alone time brings to me. I guess at heart I am a solitary, an introvert and I need the retreat and the quiet to rejuvenate me in order to take on the rest of the day’s work.

The tamper and the lighter work together to bring the bowl to its maximum pack and burn. Just a bit of a tamp around the outer edge of the bowl, tilting the tamper just so to leave a crown in the center of the bowl, are part of the mystique of the smoke. Another light, with match or lighter, and the renewed cloud of smoke after the initial light has died down. The fiddling with the bowl to get it just so is part of the ritual for me that disengages my brain from all other concerns and sends me to a quiet spot. The tools of the piper are just as much a part of the ritual of the smoke as the pipe itself. It is no wonder that over the years I have collected an odd assortment of tampers, from the ordinary and utilitarian shape of the pipe nail to some beautiful sculpted tampers by a variety of tamper makers. For me the fussing with the pipe is all part of the process of the enjoyment.

When the smoke comes to an end, the pleasure continues for a bit. The taste of the tobacco is still on the lips and gums. The room note still lingers with memories of the taste in my mouth. The bowl of the pipe smells of it as well. The pipe itself is warm to the touch and worth a few minutes extra in the hand. The ash is tapped into the ash tray, or if I am on the porch into one of my plants. A pipe cleaner plunges into the bowl through the button and down the stem and shank and takes care of any ash or moisture in the airway. Folded in half it works well to swab out the bowl of any remaining ash or bits of tobacco. All of this ritual is still part of the pleasure. Once cleaned and wiped off the pipe is returned to the rack and I sit.

What is it about pipes and pipe smoking that relaxes me? The entirety of the ritual from the choice of pipe through the smoke itself and to the restoration of the pipe to its place on the rack is all part of the restfulness of the pipe to me. From start to finish and everything in between all are part of the pleasure.

Oh and the good news… the doc told me that he does not even consider me a smoker and that the pipe was not a problem for my BP… All my fretting was for nothing… or was it? At least I got to think about why I like my pipes! Now I am off to fire up another bowl, sip a good glass of red wine, and enjoy a good steak!

The Solitary Pipe Smoker

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I know, a lot of pipe smokers love the comradeship of a gathering of pipe smokers who sit together and jaw away time as they chat about their hobby and the solve the crises of the world from the comfort of a wreath of smoke. But me, I need the quiet reflective time of being by myself. The rest of my life is full of people around me all the time making demands either implicitly or explicitly on my time and attention. I come home each evening tired of people and the demands of a day of work. To me at that moment the last thing I need is to sit and talk with anyone… pipe smoker or not. What I long for and seek is a quiet solace that is created by my pipe and a bit of time to disconnect from the day that has past.

I find a corner in the house, on the porch or under a tree in the yard whose only requirement is that it must be quiet – maybe the hum of passing traffic, maybe a dog barking or some other external noise that is non human is present as ambient noise, a white noise. That kind of noise is acceptable and a welcome addition to help quiet the noise in my head. In that quiet space I settle into a comfortable chair from which I can observe the life of the neighbourhood around me. The twittering of birds, the squabbles of the squirrels over the walnuts in my yard are a pleasant change. I take out a trusted and well broken in pipe and handle it carefully. I rub it down and feel the gentle curves and the variety of textures that make up stem and bowl. I sniff the warm memories of bowls that had been smoked in the past and just take time to savour the moment. Life is good. There is no rush to pack the bowl. No frantic need to get to the point. No sense of having to pack the bowl and smoke pressing upon me. I can move at my own pace in my own time with no one defining the time.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly and just enjoy the pleasure of being for a moment. Far removed by time, space and mental thought from the demands of doing. I take out my pouch or tin of a good tobacco that I know will deliver a good smoke and begin the process. I remove a couple of flakes of sweet smelling Virginia and smell the sweet grassiness of the tobacco. I rub them out to the texture I love or I roll them into a ball in my palms and enjoy the feel of the tobacco as it is readied for packing. This ritual in itself is a moment of solitude that is hard to find in the norm of my life. Once the tobacco is just right I begin to load the bowl of my pipe. I want to make sure it is loaded just right, but I am not anal about it – that would wreck the moment. I take the tobacco and begin to tamp it into the bowl. I feel the springiness beneath my fingers and know from the years of the process that it is just right. I put the pipe in my mouth and feel the draw. While doing that I clean up the remnants of tobacco and roll the pouch or close the tin and set it aside. I sit like that for an immeasurable moment and just taste the tobacco – unlit in my pipe. There is freshness and expectancy in the taste. There is a promise of good flavour that will be released by fire. But I want to just take the time to enjoy the moment before striking the fire.

Then without knowing why, the moment of fire has arrived. I take my Zippo or a match – no reason for the choice, just what happens to be at hand. I circle the bowl with the flame drawing deeply on the pipe as the fire is drawn into the tobacco. I can feel the warmth in my mouth as it begins to catch fire. The tobacco begins to smoulder and the smoke curls out of the top of bowl and around the edges of my mouth. Ah the tastes and the sensations of that moment as the smoke rises from the bowl and I gaze at the world through the haze of a good smoke. I cannot quite explain the sensation of the moment for you – you just have to be there. There is no one talking. There is no demand on the time. There is no pressure to converse or respond to the need of another. There is no pressure from inside or outside to act. It is just the quiet moment of solitary time when my pipe delivers me to that place where I can be alone and unencumbered by anything or anyone. That is what I love about time with my pipe. It is time I cannot get in a group of pipe smokers. It is time I cannot get with another piper next to me. It is that sweet alone time that slows my life down and gives me renewed perspective to enter into the next moments of my life.

All too soon the embers smoulder out and the bowl is finished. The pipe is warm to the touch and the air around me is full of the smell of the smoke. Time begins to once again move forward. I can hear my wife and daughters moving around in the house working on dinner. I can hear their laughter and their bickering that is all a part of my life and I chuckle to myself. It is good! I can now fully enter into that piece of my life and be engaged with them. I have been able to lay aside the encumbrances of my day and become free to re-enter my family and enjoy them. Those private moments, those solitary times give me the space to disconnect from one moment and enter the next more fully. This is not to say I don’t enjoy the energy of a group of pipers together but it is these moments that energize me and keep me smoking my pipes. They have an uncanny ability to calm me and grant me serenity.