When we abandoned the gold standard, we lost more than money, we lost weight. Aredhall argues that value must be restored in our money, our work, and our dignity.
Machines can make things fast, there’s no denying that. And to be clear, I’m not against using them. Rejecting technology entirely would be like trying to build our own Amish village from scratch. The problem isn’t the tools; it’s how quickly we abandoned the knowledge and culture that once guided our way to the creation of those tools. We embraced efficiency before we understood what it would cost. We went to work without our pants on, so to speak.
The word of the age became productivity. We learned to make a chair in an hour instead of a week, and somehow ended up busier than ever. If technology has given us so much efficiency, why are we still working more to achieve less? Maybe our aims have changed. Maybe what we call “progress” is just motion without direction.
That’s the first part of the conversation. The second is about human needs. When those needs go unmet; the need for purpose, for visible results, for community. All of our accomplishments start to feel hollow. And we have to ask: how much of what we build today actually serves those needs? How much of our technology was ever meant to?
We can spend forever trying to blame someone for this mess; greed, corporations, complacency, or the generation before us. But in truth, we’re here now. The question is what to do with the deck we’ve been dealt. At Aredhall, our answer is simple: build something resilient, profitable, and satisfying to the human soul.
To be profitable, a community must eventually produce more than it consumes. To be sustainable, it must at least hold balance and be able to expand when opportunity allows and tighten when necessary. It must be adaptable.
In Shop Class as Soulcraft, Matthew Crawford writes, “The tradesman’s self-respect comes from the visible connection between what he does and what he makes.” That connection is what modern work has lost. The assembly line, once confined to a single factory, now spans continents. Most people never see the end of what they start. Meaning drains away when nothing we do has a visible finish line, and what we do see at the end of our day gets chopped up for the "greater good", which while its phrased that way, doesn't mean its actually true.
Aredhall exists to restore that connection. Whether it’s a wall framed square, a loaf baked with care, or a garden that feeds a family, real work should leave a mark that can be seen and named. We don’t chase convenience for its own sake; we build so that our hands, and the hands beside us, matter again.
That leads to the heart of it: how can people return to craftsmanship when their entire day is spent trying to pay for housing and food? We live inside a capitalist system that once rewarded skill but now punishes slowness. Housing and basic necessities eat the hours that could have gone toward mastery.
Aredhall’s goal is to remove that pressure. To produce housing that inspires maintenance instead of neglect. To build systems where the cost of living falls as community effort rises. A place where contribution is more valuable than currency. There will always be friction between our parallel economy and the conventional one, but that’s a challenge we can solve with good systems, a bit of technology, and honest production.
There’s nothing romantic about slow work. It’s tiring, repetitive, often unseen. But it’s how communities stay alive. You can trust a town where people still fix things. You can trust a man who knows how to mend his own roof. The work shapes the worker. It always has.
Human needs are the materials the craftsman builds with; meaning, stability, recognition, purpose. Entire nations have tried to legislate those needs into existence, and failed. But a craftsman doesn’t legislate; he builds.
Aredhall stands for that kind of builder, the person who signs their work quietly, not for applause but with honesty. In a world of shortcuts, their patience is rebellion. It may be the last true wealth we still understand.
We stand for the craftsman, and for a new American standard: one built not on slogans or convenience, but on competence, discipline, and care. If we can hold to that, if we can help people reclaim the time and dignity to make real things again, then maybe Aredhall can leave its mark as more than an organization. Maybe it can help restore the forgotten culture that once made this place strong.
We are all survivors of something. Once we remember that, we can set our burdens down and get back to doing something that’s actually worth our time.
Notes to self - Stuff I didn't discuss but thought about:
What people actually need to feel whole (purpose, belonging, creation) versus what the system tells them to want.
How a parallel economy could function beside the dollar system, and where the tension between them comes from.
How to rebuild a cultural standard for work that values skill, reliability, and honesty over speed or status.
How freeing people from basic survival pressures (rent, food) gives them back the time and focus to create. Without demotivating.
What it means to be both sustainable and profitable without losing integrity or purpose. The focus being on existing, rather than a pure growth model.
How to use technology responsibly as a tool that serves human goals, not as a replacement for them.
Why tradespeople, builders, and craftsmen are vital to community stability and moral grounding.
When we abandoned the gold standard, we lost more than money, we lost weight. Aredhall argues that value must be restored in our money, our work, and our dignity.
We treat life like a game, “just start over tomorrow.” But tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. Seriousness is how we reclaim agency, focus, and meaning in a world that’s forgotten how.
Trying to build a website without much coding experience feels a bit like wiring a house with the lights off. There’s trial, error, and the occasional spark, but that’s the point. Aredhall is being built in the open, one imperfect step at a time.
