There are some things that start out as a chance occurrence and then, before you know it, become a tradition. For us, that’s making walking sticks.
Whenever we go on a trip to Austria, the Ardennes, somewhere with woods, mountains or streams, or simply a woodland closer to home, everyone always has a pocket knife in their rucksack. Even our children do. Some are a bit simpler than others, of course. We’d all rather keep our fingers intact. But we do take a pocket knife with us. Swords, toys, batteries, gadgets with instruction manuals… those stay at home.
And somewhere along the way, it just happens: you spot a branch along a forest path that feels just right. Not too thick. Not too thin. Perfect. A stick with walking-stick potential.
We adjust the length. We neatly round off the ends so the wood doesn’t split. At the top, we drill a small hole through which a cord can be threaded, so that the walking stick becomes just as much a part of our kit on the go as the water bottle or the compass.
Then the real work begins: scraping, carving, thinking up names, adding symbols, making figures.
What fascinates us time and time again is how calm it makes our children. They rarely get calm, but making walking sticks certainly does the trick. And every time, I find myself thinking: just how simple can happiness actually be? Nobody asks them to take it a bit easier. Nobody tells them to be quiet and concentrate. They’re simply busy with their hands. Making something real.
A lot of work goes into making a good walking stick. They spend hours, sometimes days, on them. Whilst we’re cooking, they’re still working on their sticks. Over an aperitif under a small canopy in the rain. On a terrace in a mountain village where we’re lingering for a while. During a short break by a river.
The walking stick evolves as the journey progresses. Just like the stories. Every scratch takes on meaning. Every notch is linked to a place or a moment. Months later, that stick reappears and tells its story all over again.
“Mum, do you remember when Dad slipped in the mud on that mountain?” – and everyone’s in stitches all over again. Or: “Look, I made those marks when we were at place X.”
That stick turns out to be much more than just a piece of wood. It’s a memory, one you can pick up again every now and then.
We’ve made walking sticks at birthday parties before. A group of children together, with a pile of twigs and a few pocket knives. What I’d initially envisaged as a quick activity turned out to be the one nobody wanted to stop doing. Within an hour, this pile of twigs had transformed into a collection of unique works of art that everyone was incredibly proud of.
Perhaps that’s because, deep down, children still understand perfectly what we adults sometimes forget: that you don’t need entertainment to have a lovely day. And that a stick, a pocket knife and a bit of time are sometimes more than enough.
That’s also why we love it so much. Because a walking stick doesn’t come from a shop, but from an adventure.
There are no rules – and that’s perhaps the best thing about it. Every walking stick eventually becomes a small part of the adventure itself. And years later, when that walking stick is tucked away in a corner of the garage or is taken on another journey, all those scratches and nicks turn out to be worth far more than perfect toys or the latest gadgets.
The best memories aren’t bought. No, they’re made. With dirty hands, a pocket knife in your rucksack and a bit of time.
Stay Wild.
In our forest, you’re sure to find a branch that suits your adventure here. Make something beautiful out of it!
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