It came to pass that one recent weekend, I was afforded the opportunity to take part in an introductory blacksmithing class at the Jackson County Green Energy Park in Dillsboro. Since the Green Energy Park opened about two years ago, there had been talk of incorporating artist studios into the methane gas recovery program. The park is built on the site of Jackson County’s landfill — closed for a decade — and makes use of the methane gas generated by decomposing trash to provide energy for a biodiesel refinery, blacksmithing operations, greenhouses and plans for classroom and conference space, a café, and a retail gallery.

Prior to the Green Energy Park’s inception, solid waste officials were venting off the methane— the gas must be released to reduce the risk of explosion. Harnessing the gas for fuel prevents 222 tons of methane from entering the atmosphere each year and offsets 550 tons of CO2 each year that would have been created by burning fossil fuels instead.

The park’s blacksmithing operation was completed in spring of 2007, and features the first and only blacksmith forges fueled by methane gas from a landfill recovery program. The forges were modified to burn the gas, hitting temperatures up to 2,300 degrees Fahrenheit.

Which is hot. Really amazingly, sweat-inducingly, skin-searingly hot. And it has to be in order to heat the steel to a workable temperature.

The concept is like that from basic science classes. Think of water — when very cold it becomes hardened ice and thereby it is difficult to form into a different shape; when water is warm it moves fluidly and can assume different shapes. When one works with steel, the hammering is a methodology to push hot and thereby more mobile molecules into the desired shape.

Within minutes of us arriving at the Green Energy Park donned in jeans, a long-sleeved cotton shirt and safety glasses, instructor William S. Rogers demonstrates the idea of pushing metal, laying hammer to steal with deft blows. Our task to get acquainted with the process is to make a nail. It harkens back to when blacksmithing was a necessity.

We take our quarter-inch thick rod of steel, heat it to a glowing red and begin to ping away, aiming to turn the end of the round rod square. The difficulty in making the nail lies largely in taking aim — to hit the steel also results in a reciprocal effort from the anvil, meaning that one essentially works two sides at once. So to make the square one should simply hammer, rotate the rod a quarter-turn, hammer, rotate back a quarter-turn.

And while Rogers, a member of the Southern Highland Craft Guild who was named a Master Smith by Virginia and his native state of Tennessee, has explained this I somehow miss out on the point of it all and instead turn my nail into a half-screw with an unintended spiral. He examines my work and with a friendly laugh, re-demonstrates the skill and hammers me back straight.

Once square, the tip of the nail must be tapered out to form a point. This takes me an inordinately long time and repeated firings as my hammering is cautious at best as I try to use the edge of the anvil to draw out the metal as shown. For about every three strokes on the metal I lay one on the anvil giving myself a reverberating shock.

Finally, with about an inch of nail formed, I score the rod about three-quarters of the way through and stick it back in the fire. The next step must be done quickly — I will pull the rod out of the fire, insert the pointed tip of the nail into a heading tool, twist the rod apart from the nail, put the nail and header over a small hole in the anvil, hammer the small amount of steel sticking out of the top of the header flat to form a nail head, douse the header and nail in water so that the nail doesn’t bind, and then give the nail a tap from the bottom so that it falls out. I must do this in about 10 to 15 seconds, as all the while the narrow metal is loosing heat — sucked out by the hammer, sucked out by the cool anvil, sucked out by the nail header.

It doesn’t go well. I’ve left too much steel to form the head, don’t hit the nail on its soon to be head squarely and instead make a tiny letter “L.”

At the end of the first day, after four hours, I head home with my letter “L,” two finishing nails — those without heads, also a mistake — and three nails that would suffice if none others were around. However, I am exceptionally proud of my three nails and take them home to show my husband.

The second and final day of the class, I head back to Dillsboro with slightly sore shoulders to take on a project I ambitiously outlined for myself at the end of yesterday’s class. My husband requested a coat rack and so I plan to make hooks that can be attached to the wall as such.

Despite my somewhat lackluster performance the day before, I am feeling more confident and optimistic. I’ve already burned myself — an incredibly dumb mistake of my own accord, as I rather forgot that even though the metal from the forge may loose its red glow it’s still hotter than all get out. And I’ve learned that if you screw up the piece you’re working on you can always re-heat and hammer away.

So Rogers helps me select some half-inch square steel and I get to work implementing a skill he showed us that involves twisting the metal to form tight spirals using a vice. I heat the end of the rod and insert it into the vice tightening the grip and using a wrench to twist the metal around. I re-fire, quench the already twisted portion of the rod, put it back in the anvil and twist the opposite direction, then repeat.

Now heating the twisted rod I prepare to form a curve, wrapping the metal up on itself. Through a combination of hammer, specially rounded pliers, and a fair amount of wacking with a two-by-four on a stump (a technique that shapes the metal, while not damaging the twist), I shape an S-hook, cut it from the rod and flatten out the end where it will attach to the wall. Leaving it to cool, I start on the second hook, which proves more difficult than the first if for no other reason than I am not free-handing the form — rather it must match the first.

While the second hook cools I return to the first and Rogers helps me to drill two holes into the hook’s end, and grind off the carbon residue that has collected on the hook — I should have used the wire brush more often to remove the oxide that is beaten out of the steel upon hammering. Running out of time, I hurriedly drill and brush the second hook and rub the two of them with oil to finish.

Tired but greatly pleased with my success I head home. As I carry my hooks in to the house my husband raises his eyebrows, “Did you make those?”

“Uh huh,” I say with a smile.

“Well, I see you got the learning curve,” he says.