When I was little, and shoes were so hard to find (and hard to "try on", as soon as they were put on by our constantly running feet), there was a great craftsman in our village, Acatrina's grandmother, without whom we couldn't imagine getting out of certain extreme situations. I can easily go back in time and see myself climbing the hill (at speed) to his house, with a bag full of shoes (or my mother's clunky shoes and clogs) that needed some special "treatment", before going to a camp or in view of the start of the school year. It seems strange to the younger ones, but we would change the laces, buckles, paint the leather, in places, because it was an adventure to find shoes. Nea Acatrina had a shorter leg and a tall, strange and chunky boot, which helped him walk quite confidently, although swaying and sluggish, anyway, unmistakable. I could tell he was coming back from work, watching his silhouette through the slats of his grandparents' fence. I must have marveled at how he looked, at one point, like any child, and I had received the answers I needed. Otherwise he was a decent man, extremely modest, who loved to tell me about what he did. His workshop smelled of smoke (of Carpathian cigarettes and wood), of boot polish, of paint and all kinds of glue solutions. I liked to ask about each operation separately and, each time (as if it were the first time), I was interested in whether his (knotty and blunt) fingers hurt or not when he gripped nails or hit himself with that special hammer. During one of the "visits", I saw his special shoe on a shelf, a brand new one and, of course, because I couldn't contain my curiosity, I found out that he knew not only how to repair but also how to make a shoe from A to Z. I already knew how two hands could carve a piece of wood, paint, mold clay, sew, play an instrument, but I didn't know much about shoes, except that...they were hard to find and had to be kept, maintained and, when they were too small, given to others. Maybe I am and have been for as long as I can remember, (too) attentive to details or a little more sensitive to small things. But I so many lived experiences to tell... Because I can't imagine what it's like to go through life without asking yourself questions, without being moved by the people who make things, their looks, when they talk about what they do, their hard-working hands, their feats. In the century of ever-increasing and dizzying speed, shoes (along with thousands of other things) are made by complicated machines. Impeccably, flawlessly. And... without a story, without a soul, without a smile. Just by pressing some buttons. No one tells you anymore about how important it is to carefully go through dozens of operations, until the perfect shoe. There's no one left to tell you about serging, about how the vipușca is sewn, about the importance of hammers and rollers (large and small), about the precision with which the soles are applied and the correct formula of the adhesives. How could you think that a shoe passes through dozens of hands, until... it is put on a foot. Could you guess that it "walks" slowly through a tunnel and that it withstands hundreds of degrees? One by one, the pieces of leather, thread, lining, etc. and the joining (carefully and scientifically) of the component parts, in a clear algorithm, begin to take shape. It is downright fascinating to watch how some "ingredients" are mixed, according to known and sacredly preserved formulas, and rubber is born. Naturally. I watched the birth of the first Sipet de sadef sports shoe as if it were a miracle. With amazement, respect and a feeling of boundless tenderness for the people who became attached to my soul in a few hours. When we were approaching the end, when the shoe had almost everything it needed, looking at the long route I had traveled to live another unique experience, only good to tell, I realized how lucky I am, to be able to hold one of the perfect, warm and fragrant shoes in my hand. Which, every time, will remind me of Oana, of the two Lilianes, of Dorela, of Doinița, of the great boys with dust-white hair, who hold the secrets of rubber. Whenever you find a Sipet de sadef shoe (and there will be quite a few!), know that it has stories and good thoughts inside, from those through whose hands it passed and from us, those who firmly believe in things made by people...for people. And, it's no small feat, a shoe made by true craftsmen from Romania (probably the last generation), for those...from everywhere. Because...we care.