Patterns of Patina
I had flown home to be with my mother, who was in failing health. I didn't know it at the time—or perhaps I did, in the way that we push the obvious to the back of our minds. The next time I would be home would be for her funeral, three months later. Traveling from Dallas, Texas to Great Falls, Montana is not a quick skip through Denver on your way up; it's a full day of travel. Then, upon finally arriving at the Great Falls airport, there's another hour and a half drive northwest, 80 miles south of the Canadian border, to Augusta. It's a small town of (still) only 1,200 residents that sits on Highway 89, bursting at the seams during the summer with travelers on their way to Glacier Park, and perhaps further north to Lake Banff or on to Lake Louise. This was the town of my youth.
You could call it idyllic. The broad, silver-green leaves of the aspen shimmering in the summer breeze, while the cottonwood trees unleash their white, fuzzy seeds, resulting in billows of cotton-like clouds that cover the streets like winter snow. Everyone knew everyone and also knew all their business. You had no secrets in this town, but that's the way it is in the smallest of towns that you never hear about. Always, in the years before, during my visits, there would be a mention in the town's weekly newspaper, The Augusta Acantha, that I had made the trip home.
I was in a graduating class of 58, and the football coach was also my geometry teacher. But this view of Augusta looks back 50 years. Graduating at 18 and with college in my future, leaving Augusta couldn't come fast enough. It is enough to say that as the years passed, my perspective changed about this sleepy town that held me close those formative years. Years that taught me about the value of hard work and what it means to come from a place that shapes you - more than you could possibly know at the time.
I had returned to Dallas after a difficult week, easily falling back into my routines, yet my mother was never far from any of my thoughts. Amidst all this, I discovered an album titled ‘Patina’ by Peter Gregson. For a brief time, they were disconnected - as many things are at their beginning. Soon, however, they found themselves intertwined as the weft and warp on life’s loom - weaving our life’s tapestry into a mystery that can often be overlooked until time allows us to stand back and see the patterns of magic that have taken shape. If we allow ourselves to understand that this is the pattern we chose lifetimes ago, we find that there is healing in these threads, each one meticulously woven one by one, crossing precisely where it was always meant to.
As I sat and listened to this newly found album, reflecting on the idea of patina, I thought of how it is traditionally associated with the weathering of copper, wood, or leather. For copper, a distinctive green layer forms due to exposure to the elements. With time, wood grays and the grain becomes more pronounced, and leather develops its own sense of place. But here, patina represents more than just physical change—it embodies the depth and character gained through time.
Just as patina protects and beautifies metals, in life, our experiences layer upon us like a protective veneer, each moment weathering us into our fullest form. These layers, though born from exposure to life’s trials and joys, do not merely mark the passage of time; they enrich, adding a lustrous depth that tells the story of a life richly lived. The patina of our existence, much like that on cherished old leather or well-worn wood, becomes a testament to endurance and beauty, a visible manifestation of life's inevitable transformations. Patina aids in telling our story just as the beautifully weathered lines on my mothers face helped tell her story of personal growth and the legacy of experience.
In embracing the concept of patina, we see not just an aging process but a celebration of life's capacity to evolve beauty and complexity from simplicity. It invites us to view each wrinkle, each line, and every smooth curve of character not as a sign of old age, but as marks of distinction, much like the cherished imperfections in a vintage whisky that make it uniquely valuable and profoundly appreciated.
The patina on our lives reflects the richness of our experiences, the struggles and joys we have faced, and the lessons we have learned. Over time, just as the whiskey develops a richer, more intricate character, so too do we become more nuanced and multifaceted individuals. This developmental process is slow and often imperceptible in the moment, yet it yields a depth of character and a complexity that could not be achieved in any other way. Each element of our lives, each choice and every consequence, adds a new layer to our patina, enhancing the narrative that is uniquely ours.
A well-aged whiskey, forms gradually, layer upon layer. Each layer represents experiences that stain and strengthen us, shaping our characters much like the environment shapes the spirit within a barrel. In whiskey making, the concept of patina is not just a metaphor but a physical reality. As whiskey ages, its interaction with the oak barrel transforms the liquid, imbuing it with a complex array of flavors, colors, and textures. These changes are not merely chemical reactions but are, in essence, the whiskey’s experiences, captured and reflected in its evolving taste.
In whiskey, as in life, the beauty and richness of the patina come from not merely surviving the aging process but thriving within it, embracing the changes and challenges that contribute to its formation. This understanding offers not just a way to appreciate whiskey or to reflect on life but a perspective that can change how we approach our own maturation and development. Recognizing that each of us is in the process of developing our own patina, through experiences both bitter and sweet, can lead to a deeper appreciation of our journeys and, perhaps, a greater empathy for the paths others tread.
As we learn to appreciate the patina of our lives, we can also find healing in acknowledging that our patterns—like those in the greatest whiskeys—are not random but are part of a greater design, each element chosen with intention and purpose, each hardship and joy a necessary ingredient in the masterpiece that is our life.