Sometimes, Pleasure Is Easy
In mid February, before going to Petra and Wadi Rum, I bought a new briefcase. This is always a momentous occasion for a writer—as important as your desk, but more vital in the details—and I decided to go all the way, to buy well, buy once, and never have to think about this kind of thing again.
So I bought a Filson.
The C.C. Filson company went into business in the late 1800s, making clothing for men headed for the Klondike gold rush. More than a hundred years later, they’re still in Seattle, still making cloth goods that you can plan on handing down to your grandchildren.
There is an essential joy in the zippers of the case, knowing they will never snag; and the cloth itself is tougher than a tank yet ages as well as the very best wine.
Everybody who travels has their gear that goes with them every trip. I wear a t-shirt of Tintin’s dog, Snowy, on all outbound flights; my Filson rain hat, which I bought four years ago in Alaska, has been in twenty or so countries now.
And now I have my case.
No, this isn’t an ad for Filson, just a minor expression of pleasure in something well made, perfectly suited to its purpose. In a disposable world, it’s a joy we have all too seldom.
What made me think of all this is an ad in the Filson catalog, where someone says, after a million miles of travel, the only wear his own Filson briefcase shows is a little scuffing.
So naturally, I wondered, how far has my case gone in the past six months, since I bought it? It still looks new enough I could probably send it back for a full refund (well, I could anyway; these people guarantee everything, and their motto is “Might as well have the best” for a reason).
At a rough estimate, the case has traveled not quite 53,000 miles. That’s better than twice around the earth at the equator, and it would be more, but I left the case behind a couple times, stored it in a closet in Old Crow, in an office in Fairbanks.
53,000 miles is a pretty good chunk of territory. The case—and of course, by extension, I along with it--has made three round trips across the Atlantic. It has twice crossed the Arctic Circle. And it’s gone to the photocopy place down the road.
A thing of beauty is not a thing to ignore.
Later today, I find out for sure where the case is going next.
So I bought a Filson.
The C.C. Filson company went into business in the late 1800s, making clothing for men headed for the Klondike gold rush. More than a hundred years later, they’re still in Seattle, still making cloth goods that you can plan on handing down to your grandchildren.
There is an essential joy in the zippers of the case, knowing they will never snag; and the cloth itself is tougher than a tank yet ages as well as the very best wine.
Everybody who travels has their gear that goes with them every trip. I wear a t-shirt of Tintin’s dog, Snowy, on all outbound flights; my Filson rain hat, which I bought four years ago in Alaska, has been in twenty or so countries now.
And now I have my case.
No, this isn’t an ad for Filson, just a minor expression of pleasure in something well made, perfectly suited to its purpose. In a disposable world, it’s a joy we have all too seldom.
What made me think of all this is an ad in the Filson catalog, where someone says, after a million miles of travel, the only wear his own Filson briefcase shows is a little scuffing.
So naturally, I wondered, how far has my case gone in the past six months, since I bought it? It still looks new enough I could probably send it back for a full refund (well, I could anyway; these people guarantee everything, and their motto is “Might as well have the best” for a reason).
At a rough estimate, the case has traveled not quite 53,000 miles. That’s better than twice around the earth at the equator, and it would be more, but I left the case behind a couple times, stored it in a closet in Old Crow, in an office in Fairbanks.
53,000 miles is a pretty good chunk of territory. The case—and of course, by extension, I along with it--has made three round trips across the Atlantic. It has twice crossed the Arctic Circle. And it’s gone to the photocopy place down the road.
A thing of beauty is not a thing to ignore.
Later today, I find out for sure where the case is going next.
posted by e. Readicker-Henderson at 12:08 AM
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