I Told You I Wasn’t Dead!

A lot happens in nearly two years and some information needs updated.

First, the post “Bye Bye Blacksmith?” In this post I vented about “getting fired” from the Colorado blacksmith booth. What actually happened was a supposed “misunderstanding.” See, I was the first of the shop workers to arrive at the faire that year and when Paradise, the faire owner, cornered me about the whereabouts of the blacksmith team. In order for the guys to not get into trouble, I went ahead and started setting up and quickly made some phone calls to get everyone on the pass list. Come to find out, the “new apprentice” was actually one of the guy’s wives; no one recognized her real name. This is the same guy that tried to “get me gone” and started the rumor. When he confirmed the pass list with the office gals, he still “forgot” to put me on. I had to triple-check the list, but the girls got me on. Later, I confronted him about it, and he denied ever suggesting such a rumor. Hmmm.

Suspecting some foul play in the future, I got a steady job at the kitchens and wound up becoming a valuable asset and proved myself in front of Paradise himself – as he owned the kitchen. I still worked the weekdays at the shop and sold my products through my master, who earned a 30% commission, as we agreed upon. This was a trial run on the commission and it worked so well that both my master and I profited. Of course, the same fool I mentioned above tried to take credit for the idea and later tried to implement it for his own “apprentice,” and later for the whole shop, but the idea crashed and burned each time. (Mostly because this fool was a lazy fellow who couldn’t clean up after himself, was prone to melodramatic tantrums, refused to take the time to make items that sold and over-charged for his inferior products.)

At that show, I proved I could not only make money for myself, but for the shop as well – without being there to sell on the weekend.

That Colorado was a dramatic one, one that hit me personally when one of the boy’s girlfriend got my own master into serious trouble. My anger was so great that I wanted to do her serious harm, but instead broke my bottom front teeth. After all, a dental bill is cheaper than bail for a physical assault charge.

The blacksmith drama only increased after that. In Pittsburgh of that year I was “banned” for nearly two weeks out of the shop so that the Fool could “work.” Of course, even though he stuffed the forge like aThanksgiving turkey, he mostly played around with his computer or threw tantrums when his poorly maintained equipment broke or he burned up all the propane before getting anything done. I wasn’t worried, because I already had plenty of stock made, and I’m very resourceful about how I get my product made.

One the last weekend, I proved what I could do by out-selling everyone in the booth put together, despite the work ban and by hardly doing any actual selling. In the meantime, in order to make up for his lack of product, the Fool upped the prices on his crappy products three times that weekend, hoping to make a bulk order deal, while everyone else in the faire dramatically slashed prices.

Oh, and not to mention the stress-demon he managed to conjure in his corner of the shop and the day he threatened physical harm to my family for his own baby sitter’s incompetence (of which I had nothing to do other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time). He apologized (sort of), but only after I had a buddy of his tip him off that he was about to get the “local law enforcement” calledon him.

This year I was not on the circuit. My hubby and I went to Texas to help a dear friend, because I promised, and we wound up getting stuck there for the entire season. I later heard the melodrama didn’t stop with me. My master quietly and wisely turned the shop over to the other boys after they brought in the above-mentioned girlfriend as their counter girl in TRF – a move that in my opinion, was downright cruel and disrespectful to my master, a “long time friend” of both of theirs. Without my master, none of those boys would have any of those shops! Later, a big fight broke out between the last two boys to work in Colorado (I am not including the other “apprentice,” who wisely kept himself completely distanced from the drama) and now the only one left whose name is on the contract is the Fool, and recent reports tell me he’s just as abusive and lazy as ever. Without the others to pay his way, I doubt he’ll make it into TRF, the big, money-making show.

My only hope is that the Fool will fall in his own puddle of deceit, laziness and dirty politics and that his “apprentice” will soar up out of the ashes. I hope that, if that happens, I can come back to reclaim the Pittsburgh booth, which has happy memories for me, despite the later drama. In the meantime, I’m glad all of THAT is behind me.

As for the rest of the chapter in this book of missing pages, while in Texas I learned to wield a chainsaw to make art, adopted two lovely Rott-mix puppies (that I sorely hope I can still keep), and am now awaiting the arrival of my first child, who is due in November of this year. I’m back at home near my folks, John just found employment, and we’re looking for a place to call home.

For now, the cross-country journey is over, but definitely not for long. As I’ve said to many of my “stable” friends – Once you get a taste of true mobility, it’s hard to let it go.

Peace, my dear friends and devoted readers!

A Word Makes it All Right

 

Composed on Wed., 7/25/12

 

I didn’t think I’d ever get over the whole “Mrs. Grouchy Pouty Emo-pants” mood I’d been in for most of this show. Apparently, all that confusion in my head lined up and stood in proper order at a simple explanation.

 

I felt shattered after 7th weekend, when my body crashed and took my brain along for the ride. I blame exhaustion, over-exertion, and improper diet as the culprits and who invited them into my house but myself? Things are pretty bad in my head when good Colorado cannabis fails to assuage my emotions. Egads! I had JOHN on the end of HIS patient rope.

 

So I didn’t show up Saturday to work, which irked me deeply and sent my brain into a frenzy of guilt and doubt. That, however, paled in comparison to the anxiety attack when I did go to work the next day. I had rudely – and totally unintentionally – interrupted one of the guy’s sales. I deserved the stout chewing out Squatch gave me, but since I hadn’t realized what I’d done, and since it was Squatch who delivered the chewing (it’s bad enough I feel like I personally stab the man each time I miss at striking and divet one of his knives), my brain snapped.

 

So the hamster in my head decided to jump in the wheel and work double-time. I dealt with some seriously high anxiety, to the point where the suicidal thoughts scared the shit out of me. All those old demons popped back up and decided to each take a chunk out of me, after thinking that I’d long killed and buried them. I was a wreck, and more than one person noticed.

 

A word took me out and a word brought me back.

 

I’m goofing around with Squatch in the forge a couple days later, drinking beer and polishing knives. Squatch said something in conversation that hit me hard and made me seriously think that I’d been wrong to take up blacksmithing, that I had no talent, no natural drive for the work, that I was wasting my time. I’ve had demanding physical jobs like this before and I always left them because I didn’t have the endurance. I will never be able to keep up with the boys. That brought tears to my eyes.

 

What he’d actually said didn’t bother me, but it was the words, “You’ll never be an apprentice…” that got to me. I really considered throwing in the towel and walking quietly away at that point. Squatch saw my watering eyes and backpedaled rapidly, “Oh! Oh, no, don’t start that shit! What’s wrong?” he said and I managed to rationally explain my feelings for once.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” he explained. “When I said ‘you’ll never be an apprentice,’ I meant you’ll never be a true apprentice with Ryan because he’s not a Master and you’re both trying to make a living. When I was an apprentice I always had three squares and a warm bed.” (But Squatch apprenticed under a traditional German blacksmith and didn’t touch an anvil for his whole first year.) “You are going to have to learn on your own. Work with other blacksmiths, learn things and take it back to Ryan.”

 

And my first thought was, Oh. Well. The title of my sketch diary is “Autodidact,” which means “Self-taught” or “Self-learner.” And my whole world snapped back into perspective. Like an epiphany (which I’ve had a lot of lately). With a simple explanation, Squatch yanked on the string of my incoherent thoughts and emotions and wrenched them back in line. In an instant, the Harpy of Guilt riding on my shoulders took to flight.

 

This morning my head is clear, my mind and body refreshed. My whole outlook has changed. Even my former resentment and anger has gone, vanished entirely. Skinny played the game of life, died, and her team mates revived her with a Super Phoenix Down.

 

Sometimes life just needs a restart.

 

Peace.

Hammering Myself Into the Ground

Composed on Wed. 7/4/12

 

I’m bent out of shape with all this drama surrounding my blacksmithing. I’ve woken up for the last week or so feeling angry, confused and dazed, and unless I have my morning bowl and several cigarettes, I start yelling and kicking things about and for the rest of the day I’m depressed and defensive. Nothing makes sense, everything sounds like a personal attack and I’m so depressed I’ll cry at the drop of a hat.

 

I found one of those “drop in a quarter and see your weight” machines in the women’s bathroom of the mall and tried it out for the first time. So did John. Unless the machine deliberately takes off some pounds for appeal, I weigh 115lbs and John stands at 152. In our clothing.

 

Ouch!

 

I suspected a few days ago I’d lost weight and I wasn’t getting enough good food in me, but this is ridiculous. At my height, I should be at 130lbs. John should be about 175lbs. We’ve both lost 15lbs. in less than a month! No wonder I’m tired, drained, depressed, and unable to focus or work long at anything in the shop.

 

Ryan (who caught me during my hell week of defensiveness) got ahold of me and asked why I was working in the shop so much and producing so little product. Why AM I working so long in the shop? And why do I find Squatch and myself taking on the brunt of the shop expenses? Why do I not have money – even a little bit per week – accumulating in my bank account? The shops should be making up to a grand a day!

 

Part of it IS because the crowds are tight-wads this year. No one hits over two hundred at our shop on any given day, and we’re lucky if we make that in a weekend.

 

I’m tired. I’m exhausted and I’m malnourished. I’m spending so much time in the shop that I haven’t really had the chance to wander down and visit with my friends from Louisiana, my original family. I feel estranged from them. Granted, we are hanging out with some lovely, lovely people, but it’s folks from Texas, whom I spent most of the year getting to know. My house is a disaster. If we’d had to evacuate last week, we’d’ve lost everything except Mona because nothing is ready to move in a hurry. There’s absolutely no good excuse for why that needs to happen.

 

I’m so backed up it’s not funny. Why is our house a mess? Why is our yard full of trash and bear bait? Why is it so damn hard to catch a ride into town to do laundry and buy some real food?

 

Yesterday John admitted that he’s tired, and just wants to pack it up and get out of here. We can. There’s nothing really stopping us except a destination – where would we go from here? Back home to live in my parents’ yard while we work at Waffle House and Sonic again? In the middle of the hot Midwestern summer?

 

I want more than anything to escape the road life for a few weeks – one day every now and again isn’t going to cut it by a long shot – quit smoking, quit drinking, some place where I can hermit for a while, sit and meditate and relax for real for once. Gain weight. I came out on the road to relax and enjoy my life, not work myself into the ground. After the business meeting with Ryan, I realized that I still have a lot of very old issues buried within me. They haven’t gone away. I showed Ryan a part of me I haven’t had to deal with in years (if you want to know what they’re like, read some of the posts from this blog’s first year).

 

It bothers me. A lot. It means I solved none of my life’s deepest problems. In ten more years, at this rate, I’ll wind up following the path of all the women along my mom’s side of the family… trapped in depression, paranoid, never leaving the house, a shell of my former self, swallowing a host of pills that do nothing at all for me except make me consider suicide more seriously.

 

I must manage my time more effectively. I shouldn’t spend more than four hours a day in there. I need better meals and my house needs to be CLEAN. (It’s really hard to relax in a house you stumble into.) I’m taking some weird meal-replacement shake in the mornings just to get a boost of nutrients into my system. So far that, and taking time out of the shop, is helping.

 

Peace.

Running Into Solid Ground

Yes, I am still alive. Two months ago our van broke down on us for the last time. Instead of spending close to a grand to maybe-maybe-not fix it, and running the risk of breaking down on the way to Colorado, we scraped it for $400 and jumped the bus with our buddies with all of our useless crap shoved in the back. Including a “new” bicycle! We went and camped up in the San Isabel National Forest for a couple days, ate massive amounts of beef (I’m sorry, but though the brisket was pretty good, those ribs were chewy, tough and over-soaked in mesquite…), shot some shotguns (got to hunt a squirrel, though a raven snatched it before I could skin and cook it up – the whole thing, right out of the chiller!), and went to see Bishop’s Castle.

We live outdoors in tents and cars and RV’s, here, and what do we do when we go on vacation? Camping. LOL!

I’m glad I’m out of Scarborough and out of Texas. Unfortunately, we’ve traded extreme humidity for extreme dry heat. You’ve heard about the fires in Colorado. Well, the one in Co. Springs is 20 miles south of us. The town of Larkspur is already prepared to evacuate at any moment. Most of the Rennies are pre-packed for a quick move (not us, we’re too lazy, grumble, grumble), there’s a helicopter and several heavy firetrucks camped out next to the town fire station. The city already has the evacuation route signs posted, covered, and the moment they’re uncovered they expect everyone to move.

We can see the smoke from the fires from Castle Rock, and we’ve all been watching the yellow smoke blowing directly over the Faire for days. Thankfully, for the last couple of days we’ve had rain. Not much, but the cooling temps, higher humidity and calmer winds have helped the fire fighters get that fire 70% contained by this morning. Those of us at the blacksmith shoppe are great pals with the local fire fighters, who often come up on the weekends in uniform and chill out with us. A lot of the news about the fires is conflicting and confusing, so I only trust what the fire fighters tell us.

We’re living in a tent now with all of our crap scattered all over the floor driving me nuts day in and day out. The tent’s okay, but we’re in a stupidly sunny spot and right on the edge of “bear country,” the edge of the camp were the bears come in from down the mountain. So long as everyone leaves them to the dumpsters we’ll all be fine. So far we’ve only seen the young little black bear (finally saw my first wild bear!), but we’re all waiting for that 600lb. brown to wander down and cause some real havoc.

I’m back in the swing of things, quite literally, in the shoppe, and it’s taken a massive toll on me. For the last three weeks I’ve been swinging a hammer for six days out of the week, including the weekends. I know I’m averaging 40 – 60 hours in the forge a week. Callouses and burns cover my hands and arms, and every single part of me hurts like none other, especially my fingers. My grip is, however, stronger than I think it’s ever been in my life. That’s about the only good thing going.

I’m stressed, I’m tired, and I’m on the edge of another breakdown. I’m on the borderline of burnt out. Already. For at least the last two or three weeks, we’ve been down to one regular meal a day and – if I can make myself eat it – a couple hand fulls of food. I’m so sick of noodles. Tasteless, slimy, nutrient-dry f-ing noodles. Normally, we love our noodle diet, but not when I wake up for days in a row shaking, totally drained, even though I sleep for at least 9 hours a night. I’m cranky, even after a couple of cigs.

I snapped pretty hard-core at John this morning, when I couldn’t find the tobacco in time. I’d already been up since the ass-crack of dawn and my thoughts were nasty and directed toward him. I can’t work in a blacksmith shoppe, keep the house, the yard and my rat clean, organize rides into town, cook food, and be expected to make decisions all by myself. I am overwhelmed, backed up and behind in everything. I haven’t showered in a week. And my boy wonders why in the hell I can’t relax.

This is the first time in weeks I’ve made it to get onto the internet to make a blog post and it’s a grouchy rant… lol, go figure.

On another note, our baby Mona’s transformed into about the best road rat EVER. She’s completed her first full year on the road and she’s 18 months old. In Scarborough we were wanting to breed her, but after careful consideration and talking to a couple other rat-moms, we decided not to. She’s too old, anyway, and by the end of Scarby she no longer had her little ratty “seasons.” She’s calmed down a lot, and she’s a habitual survivor. She’s earned our trust at this point enough so that we’ll let her out of her cage as soon as the sun hits the tent. She’ll clamor around awhile and then find a cool spot to wedge herself into and she’ll go to sleep. So long as she’s got access to her water in her cage, or there’s a half-frozen water bottle left in a tub that she can poke a hole into, she’s fine. She passes out like a brick, though, so we don’t really know how she is unless we either tear up the house, or wait for the evening when it cools down and she wakes up to play. She always makes it, one way or the other.

Mona had a brand-new cage this show. There was no way we were going to keep her in the horrible plastic storage tote that trapped in heat. Besides, she was so bored in that cage that she’d chew or groom holes into herself. Now that she has a great big tall bird cage with hammocks and ramps and a granite stone slab to lay on, she no longer picks at herself. She’s maintaining a great weight, and she’s re-honed her little muscles with all the climbing – her favorite pastime. At first, she didn’t care much for that hammock, but then she realized that she could fall on it and not get hurt. In no time, she learned how to do crazy acrobatics and catch herself in the hammock. LOL! When she wants back into her cage, she’ll climb up the side, catch the top bar of the door, swing in like a monkey and let go with perfect timing to plop into the middle of the hammock. THEN she will lean over the hammock and get a drink. ^.^

We wish we could have bred Mona. We want all of our ratties after her to pick up on her special survival techniques. So we’ve decided that after all this fire business passes, we’ll go to a pet store and adopt us two little girl ratties between four and six months old. Now that Mona’s hit mid-life, and since we’re not getting tiny babies, she’s more likely to tolerate some new ones to the family. We’re hoping to select a couple rats that will eventually bond with us and Mona and learn some of her good survival habits. When she gets into her golden years, we’re hoping the two babies will love and groom and take care of her. (Rats seem to need more attention the older they get… is that just me?)

The heat is making everyone in the campground cranky. The drama that reared it’s head in Scarby mutated and dropped on Colorado, despite the frequency in which everyone takes off to do other things off site.

Woes of A Blacksmith’s Apprentice

Written on Wednesday, Jan. 25th, 2012. Sherwood Forest, TX.

We’re here. I love the faire, love our campsite, but I could scream and pull my hair out! We have no forge. It’s back in Toon Town, waiting for us to load it up on the trailer and drag it up here. Why? Because I got tired of procrastinating and waiting on procrastinators.

We have a tow hitch we’ve lugged around the country for almost a year now and haven’t put it on yet because we had no good reason to. I just bought it because I figured it’d come in useful. Well, it could have come in extremely useful in the move here to Sherwood, as Ryan had to bring his pop-up. Seeing as he’s only one guy with one truck, we offered to tow his pop-up if he helped us put the tow hitch on. Then, we’d carry the pop-up and he’d tow the shop trailer.

We had our van packed up and ready to go by noon, and I even helped Lenore with dishes and took time to clean both the cooler and the camp stove (*shudders*). We were ready and available to help Ryan pack up the shop. Yet, he’s over there with his pop-up hooked up to his truck, dinkin’ around with the lights. The thing had no turn signals, yet that wasn’t greatly necessary considering we’d all be going in a caravan with the vehicle with working blinkers following up the rear, not to mention we’d be going slowly on rural highways.

We waited around until 2am, and when the shop still lay untouched, we caved and decided to stop waiting around and left. Now, I would have gladly taken the shop trailer, but considering our van is merely a 6-cylinder engine with a sketchy transmission, neither of us were willing to risk stranding ourselves and the shop in the middle of rural Texas.

Perhaps this was a rash decision. I want to be considerate and courteous. Yet, my tolerance for all the ADD – starting with my own – is at it’s end. I’m done running in fast circles getting a whole lot of nothing done and waiting on folks who do the same. It’s not like everyone is consciously doing this – it just seemed to be the trend among the Rennies for the last four months. End of a long and chaotic season, I suppose.

Now we have to come up with the money to get the shop up here. Ryan has the gas to get down, but not to get back up. We have 16 days (from the writing of this) before the show starts and we make any money and if we don’t at least have the shop to be productive in, it’ll drive us mad – exactly like how Ryan’s 16 days working fireworks without a shower or easy access to food and cigarettes drove him nuts. (Boy was a right mess when he made it back to camp!)

Oh, did I mention we’re broke? Yeah, didn’t really check our spending this winter… Well, not like we should have. I’ve got some pieces to work a few pipes or other things out of. Perhaps I can make enough this week to get our shop up here.

Peace.

Steel Not All Here

The following took place on Thursday, Jan. 19th, 2012. Toon Town, TX.

So the plan today is to go up and get some steel. At least that’s what we decided on yesterday after a huge meal of cornbread and chicken and potatoes, while hanging around the fire drinking beer and watching “Monty Python’s the Holy Grail.”  I’m all sorts of excited about getting some stock in, finally, but there is one small problem; we need a pair of square-stock tongs, like the ones Ryan busted. They’re an absolute necessity in order to punch out our sporks with any sense of efficiency. Yesterday we called the farrier’s supply company and they said they had a pair – for $68.

Ryan has no money to get these tongs. I have exactly $100 to spend on steel stock, and nothing more. If I bought the tongs, I could only perhaps buy one stick of the steel I need for my dice, or a couple of sticks of something cheaper, or about a half-dozen sticks of 3/8″ rebar. Now, I saved that money back to buy MY steel stock for the beginning of the year. Part of the agreement we made when I started this blacksmithing gig, was that I would sell what I made as my pay. That means I buy or find my own steel.

We do have quite a bit of stock to work with, but that’s really Ryan’s spork stock, and now he’s talking all kinds of crazy about dividing it up and making it into this, that, and the other product, which in my mind is wasting our time. We won’t be selling a thing until Colorado, so we have a good four months or so to make product in bulk. Personally, I’d rather go down the product list and make everything in bulk, one thing at a time. Or at least acquire and pre-cut all the stock we need.

Then again, Ryan may be thinking of internet sales as an option, to help keep us all floating and fed until we make it to our shows. There’s already a very good prospect for me to sell some dice. If that’s the case, I can see why having a little bit of everything on hand would be profitable.

Still, that doesn’t mean I want to spend the majority of my jealously coveted stock money on a pair of tongs that Ryan will use and abuse more often than I. Squatch would guide me in making a pair of tongs exactly like Ryan’s old ones and I could do it for the price of a couple hours labor and propane. Alas, Ryan’s got it in his head that tongs absolutely must be made of high-grade tool steel or spring steel and yadda yadda, blah, blah. If that’s the case, then how did the smiths of old make tools when all THEY had was pig iron of inconsistent quality?

Hell, if he wants to have tongs made of tool steel, I can afford one stick of that for a third of the price of the tongs themselves. And, hey, if I learn to make good tongs, at least I know I can sell them for around $70 a pop. Heh, heh. ^.^

I want to learn to make tongs and tools, anyway, more so than I want to make knives or swords or tomahawks. Weapons are just toys, I like to think that there is more skill and artistry involved in designing and making good tools. I’m not afraid to get in there and make things I need and use, and there’s a guy here to teach me how.

Time to go wake Ryan up with some intimate pounding – on the anvil! Heehee.

Peace.

Pineapple Twist

Today (Wed, Sept. 7th) is the first day the rain’s let up in two and a half days. A long storm system moving striaght up along the Appalachians ruined what should have been a great 3-day weekend. Instead, we had two okay days and one really crappy Labor Day. We showed up at the blacksmiths’ shop really only hoping to complete a bit of inventory and hopefully make enough to buy something warm to eat.

We wound up making a little bit of money – just enough to make the day worth it. I stayed nice and damp, despite the heat from the forge. Then, a bleak day turned into a really awesome day when a master blacksmith from the area (who, incidentally, used to be the blacksmith of the faire back in ’03) showed up, saw the patterns on our war hammers and figured out what we were actually trying to do.

You see, for some time we’ve been trying to make something called a “pineapple twist,” a complicated-looking twist that, when done correctly, comes out looking like a closed pinecone. It looks something like this: (Pic.)

Ryan saw this twist done once before, but since he didn’t do one himself shortly afterwards, couldn’t remember how it was done. We figured we’d have to go online and find a video demonstration. Hallelujah, we didn’t have to! Kurt – a local blacksmith – showed up and heartily offered to show us. Kurt fits the blacksmith stereotype as far as appearances go. Over six feet tall and barrel-chested, he stood tall and relaxed with his thick thumbs hooked into the loops of his shorts. His round, almost boyish face, thick black hair and full beard completed the outfit. I half expected him to put his hands on his hips, throw his head back and let loose with a belly-shaking guffaw.

Thank god he didn’t, because I think I might have freaked out a little…

I’ve noticed working with blacksmiths, that master blacksmiths in particular turn into giddy little children whenever they get a chance to crawl into someone else’s forge to “compare hammerblows,” so to speak. Anyway, I watched in rapt fascination as Kurt instructed and assisted Ryan in making a pineapple twist. He gave us plenty of great tips and reminders; showed me how not to fear the cross-pein hammer. (As a result, I pumped out a handful of throwing spikes today at the forge!)

Kurt was a great guy and we might have to swing by his shop someday to drink beer and swing a hammer. (Because beer and hot metal go together for the same reason pizza and beer and cigarettes and beer go so well together. By the time I left Colorado, I had written recipes for half a dozen “blacksmiths’ drinks.”)

Learning the pineapple twist made that rainy, slow, potentially crappy Labor Day Monday worth getting out of bed and suffering wet garb for. Ryan’s now using the pineapple twist whenever he can, and I’m eager to try it, too, once I get more stock to make throwing spikes.

And, for all the apprentices out there just like me that want to try this twist, too, here are the basic steps in how it’s done:

Steps in making a pineapple twist, labeled Fig. A - Fig. E, from left to right.

1. Mark a deep groove down the center of a piece of heated square stock. Make this mark on all four sides of the stock. (Fig. A)

2. Place in vice and make a 3/4 twist. (Fig. B)

3. Square all four sides on the anvil. (Fig. C)

4. Punch another groove down the center of each four sides, as in step 1. (Fig. D)

5. Untwist in vice 1/4 twist. Watch the twist to see if it looks right. True up on anvil with a wooden mallet. You now have a completed pineapple twist. (Fig. E)

Have fun with that! ❤

Peace.