There's a spot in the workshop where I always sit when I'm working on a hide. It's not the most comfortable spot. It's not the best lit. But it's where I sit. Where I've always sat. Where the work happens.

I didn't choose it consciously. It just became the place. Over time. Through repetition. Through the slow accumulation of hours spent sitting there, working there, being there with the hide and the tools and the work.

That's what this essay is about. The places where we do our work. The spaces that hold us while we work. The way location becomes part of the practice itself, much like the tools that carry our craft.

The Geography of Work

Every workshop has its geography. The places where different kinds of work happen. The spots where tools are kept. The areas where materials are stored. The spaces where you sit, stand, move.

This geography isn't random. It develops over time, shaped by the work itself. By what's efficient. What's comfortable. What feels right. By the thousands of small decisions about where to put things, where to do things, where to be while doing them.

My spot in the workshop is part of that geography. It's where the scraping happens. Where the softening happens. Where I sit with a hide for hours, working it, learning it, becoming familiar with it. The relationship between space and craft is similar to how making transforms the maker.

What the Space Holds

That spot in the workshop holds more than just me and the hide. It holds all the times I've sat there before. All the hides I've worked on. All the hours I've spent. All the things I've learned while sitting there.

When I sit down in that spot now, I feel all of that. Not consciously—I'm not thinking about previous hides or previous hours. But my body knows. My hands know. The space itself seems to know. It's become a container for the work, holding not just the physical activity but the accumulated knowledge and experience, like what the blanket holds in its fibers.

That's what happens when you do the same work in the same place over and over. The place becomes part of the practice. It holds the work. It holds you. It becomes a kind of anchor—a physical location that connects you to all the times you've been there before.

The Ritual of Place

There's a ritual to sitting down in that spot. I don't think about it anymore—it just happens. I move the stool to the right position. I arrange the tools within reach. I drape the hide over the beam. I settle in.

These small actions are part of the work. They're how I transition from not-working to working. From being someone who's about to tan a hide to being someone who's tanning a hide. The place facilitates that transition. It makes it possible. Understanding proper care and storage is another ritual that honors the work.

I think that's why I always sit in the same spot. Not because it's the best spot, but because it's my spot. The place where the work happens. The place where I become the person who does this work.

What Changes, What Stays

The workshop has changed over the years. New tools have been added. Old ones have been replaced. The layout has shifted. But that spot—my spot—has stayed the same. It's the constant in a space that's always evolving.

I think we all need that. A place that stays the same while everything else changes. A spot that holds us while we do the work that changes us. A location that remains constant while we grow and learn and become different versions of ourselves, as explored in the hat you become.

That's what my spot in the workshop is. It's the place where I can always come back to. Where the work is always waiting. Where I can always sit down and pick up where I left off.

Where You Sit With It

The title of this essay is "Where You Sit With It." Not "where you work on it" or "where you do it." Where you sit with it. Because that's what the work really is—sitting with the hide. Being with it. Staying with it through all the hours it takes to transform it from raw material into something useful and beautiful.

The place where you do that matters. It becomes part of the work. Part of the practice. Part of you. It holds the work and holds you while you do it. This is the foundation of making things with purpose.

That's where you sit with it. Not just physically, but in every sense. That's where the work happens. That's where you become the person who can do the work. That's where the hide becomes what it's meant to become.

That's the place. Your place. The spot in the workshop where everything comes together—the tools, the materials, the knowledge, the hands, the hours. Where you sit with it. Where you do the work. Where you become.