The Fragile Things We Carried
Updated: Sep 8
9/1/2026
Written by Lindsey Graser
The week before we left Rochester, we said goodbye in all the ways that mattered.
We had one last gathering with Charlie's family. One last bonfire with friends. When it was time to pack the car, those same friends showed up to help us cram our little life into it.
And somewhere in all of those goodbyes, I realized something.
This had become home.
I had the very best friends. People who had shown up for us over and over again. And maybe most importantly, I was finally able to receive that love. We weren't leaving broken or running away. We left in a really good place, surrounded by people we loved and knowing we were loved right back.
Before we pulled away, I gave our next-door neighbor a mobile that had hung in my grandmother's house.
Several years ago, when a tree fell on our house and left a giant hole in the roof, everything became a mad dash. I handed her that mobile and asked her to keep it safe while we scrambled to get everything out.
It was fragile.
But I trusted her with the most fragile things.
This is, after all, the same woman who got me to the hospital at three in the morning when I was having a panic attack, terrified I was losing Charlie.
This time, I told her to keep the mobile.
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From there, we went to my hometown. I sat on the porch with my mom and dad. We stopped to see extended family I’d not seen in years along the way, who prepared the most delicious meal and provided a comfortable bed. Charlie and Cousin Barb clicked right away and talked back and forth for hours.
And then we drove south.
Charlie was hooked up to his IV fluids in the car, the bag hanging from a hook behind him. I watched it drip while we drove, and I cried.
And cried.
Probably for three hours.
We must have looked ridiculous going down the highway.
But it wasn't just sadness. It was this enormous mixture of grief and gratitude and the purest kind of love. Leaving people I loved so much while knowing, maybe more clearly than I ever had before, just how lucky I was to have them.
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We arrived in Durham with three totes.
Two held kitchen things. One held personal belongings. We brought some pictures, art supplies, cards for writing notes, our wedding cards. Charlie brought his leather tools. I brought my sewing machine.
Two camping chairs.
An air mattress.
A safety security box.
That was about it.
And strangely, it felt like enough.
We have a swimming pool here. Hiking trails. A gym. Slowly, we've picked up what we need—some things used, a few things we've splurged on new. I shared with someone I met I was looking for flexible work and they hand-delivered me information about a lifeguarding job.
I'm far too small to be a bodyguard, but it turns out I'm pretty good at guarding lives.
And little by little, we've started building a life here.
We've also built something else.
C & L Mercantile is officially online, and we are selling our hand-crafted goods.
For decades, people have asked Charlie if he sells the things he makes.
“Nope. If there’s an expectation, I put too much pressure on myself.”
Apparently, marrying me changed his mind.
C & L gives us a chance to do something we both love while also taking care of each other. We can work and create side by side, building something that fits the life we want to live.
Charlie likes to joke that people asked him for years to sell his work and the answer was always no. Then again, four years ago I spent five days begging him to let me come see him in the hospital.
Eventually, I wore him down on that too. 😉
So, as Charlie would say, "now it’s time to pony up."
We originally brought inventory with us thinking we'd spend our time doing shows and markets. But shows require a lot of energy, and we're learning to be thoughtful about where ours goes. So we built an online shop instead. (I forgot to mention, I just spent a week with Covid, which solidified this decision.)
And I loved doing it.
I photographed Charlie's work. I built the website. And somewhere along the way, I felt my own connection to his work deepen. Every hole in the leather is punched by hand. Every stitch is made by hand. The leather is tooled and dyed by hand. There are hours of his life in these pieces—his patience, his creativity, his hands.
I know the person behind those hands. And now I get to help tell the story of what they create.
And, slowly by slowly, I get to create alongside him.
Yesterday, I bought my first canvas and brushes since moving here.
It felt good.
While I figure out how to navigate part-time work, we're setting up our little creative life. Leather on his side. Sewing machine on mine. Paintbrushes nearby. Making things is already what we do with our free time. We're just finally putting some of those things out into the world.
And maybe that's what C & L Mercantile is really about.
C&L can stand for many things. Charlie & Lindsey. Caring & Love. Came & Conquered. Committed & Loony. Came to Life.
C & L Mercantile is becoming.
A place for the things we make, the stories behind them, and the work of other makers we meet along the way.
If you've made something and aren't quite sure what to do with it, share it with us. Maybe it belongs here, too.
So that's where we are.
Three totes became a little home in Durham.
Leather and a sewing machine became a workspace.
An idea became a website.
And we're beginning again.
If you'd like to come along, follow our journey here and through C & L Mercantile. See what we're making, meet some of the people we meet along the way, and share what you're making, too.
We're here.
Let's see what we make of it.
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