Creek Road Pottery Newsletter – March 29th 2026

The spring show marked ten years of Creek Road Pottery as a business. Ten years of selling pots, eight years of selling locally. I spent the weeks leading up to the show in a frenzy of making—throwing, trimming, glazing, firing. I ran two kiln loads through the updrafts, staying up until 3:00 AM to monitor temperatures, opening them less than twelve hours later because the cold weather sped the cooling. The pots came out better than expected. No cracks from thermal shock. The greens looked great, and I finally solved the pinhole problem in the blues by firing hotter.

The show itself was slower than hoped. Sundays on the trail used to bring steady traffic, but it seems fewer people are coming out each year. I sold enough to cover gas money and a little extra, which felt like a small victory. The bigger victory was getting all the work through the kilns on time, having inventory ready, and showing up. You always have to ask: compared to what? Compared to sitting on the couch doom scrolling and dreaming about making pots, I did far better. I made the work. I opened the shop. That’s enough.

Jack Troy’s Visit

On show day, a kiln builder and potter named Jack Troy drove all the way out to see my work and the wood kiln I’m building. I didn’t recognize him at first—I thought he was another customer. When he said his name, I was stunned. He’s been sending me books, advice, and encouragement for months. To have him actually visit felt like validation I didn’t know I needed.

We sat in the shop next to the Big Buddy heater and Jack went over the pots on the shelves, giving me feedback I hadn’t thought about. He made points about the work that opened up new directions to explore. Then we walked out to the wood kiln and reviewed the build together. He gave me pointers on the arch construction and the firebox roof. I now have a list of things to try that will change how the work looks overall. I’m grateful and humbled that he took the time. His visit reminded me I’m part of a community that stretches back generations—potters helping potters, passing knowledge down.

Reaching People Beyond the Trail

After the show I started thinking more seriously about how to reach people with the work. The trails here may have seen their heyday. Fewer people come out each year, and I can’t rely on local shows alone anymore. What I’d like to do is reach more people, and today we don’t need gatekeepers to pick us. We can pick ourselves. I have an online shop that sits mostly empty because maintaining it takes time away from making. I have an Etsy placeholder I barely use. I have options I’m exploring.

The next push will be putting more work into the website and making pots available for people outside the area. I’ve also been working on photographing the work better. I used to set up a makeshift photo area on the back porch with poster board, foam core, clip-on lights, and coffee filters over the bulbs. Now I have a light box, though I’m still terrible at this and still practicing. Getting photos of the pots is part of the work—it’s how you show people who care what you’ve made. Some of the best lifestyle photos have been on the porch on cloudy days. Natural light, simple background, done is better than perfect.

New Technique: Milk Glazing

I tried something new for the spring show: milk glazing with local materials. I bought whole milk from the farm up the road, maple syrup from Back Road Maple, and honey from Mountain Ridge. The idea was to throw rustic mugs and tea cups, fire them to cone 6 with only the insides glazed, then soak them in warm milk and refire to 600°F. The milk would create a golden brown surface, and I’d add design work with honey and syrup drips that would char and burn into the clay.

The process worked better than expected. I warmed the milk just below boiling, soaked the pots for fifteen minutes, loaded them in my little Amaco updraft, and fired to 600°F. I could see them browning through the exhaust hole. Once they were dark brown I pulled them out and let them cool. The cleanup involved steel wool to remove extra char and smooth the bottoms. Not all turned out like I hoped, but many did. The milk laid beautifully into the texture lines on the pots. The golden brown finish looked primitive and earthy—exactly what I wanted for the modern rustic aesthetic I’ve been developing. Using local materials from neighbors felt right. It’s the kind of self-reliance that makes sense.

A Series on Self-Reliance

I started a series on preparing for hardship in the studio. With everything happening in the world, I’ve been thinking about how to make pottery more sustainable, how to rely less on supply chains that might fail, how to keep making work even when things get difficult. The series isn’t about apocalypticism—it’s about practical steps any potter can take to be more resilient. Self-reliance, self-sufficiency, sustainability. Three words borrowed from my brother-in-law who used to run the Homestead Journey Podcast.

The first step was taking inventory of what I already have. I walked through the studio and wrote down every resource: 500 pounds of reclaim clay, enough glaze materials to mix batches for a year, scrap wood for firing, old electric kilns that could be converted. Then I listed skills: wedging clay by hand, mixing glazes from raw materials, firing with wood when gas gets expensive. I realized I’m more prepared than I thought. The grasshopper wasn’t unprepared because he didn’t have enough—he was unprepared because he didn’t know what he had or how to use it.

Streamlining and Simplifying

The next step was looking at space and materials differently. I have a pottery junk yard here—broken equipment, old clay, unused tools taking up room that could be workspace or income. Space costs money. Storing things you don’t use is money lost rather than space where people might pay you to teach classes. I don’t follow my own advice well on this, but I’m working on it. Freeing up space means only buying what you’ll actually use, not stockpiling for a future that never comes.

I also streamlined my materials. I use one clay body. One base glaze made from three raw ingredients plus oxides for color. That’s it. I can mix it quickly, I’m not storing materials I don’t use, and I’m not spending money on twelve different glazes. When I experiment, I buy small amounts first and only order bulk after testing. I limit how many projects run simultaneously. It gets costly having projects going that you lose interest in after spending time, money, and effort. Glazes don’t need to be like shoes—you don’t need one in every color.

When Hardship is Inside You

Not all hardship is external. Sometimes it’s not broken kilns or expensive materials—it’s the weight inside you that makes it impossible to get to the studio. I wrote about this because the series needed it. Self-reliance isn’t just about mixing your own glazes. It’s about having tools for when the hardship is a broken spirit, not just broken equipment.

Once when darkness overtook me and I couldn’t make it to the studio, I went and sat by the little creek each day and drew in my sketchbook. Not because drawing was productive—because the creek kept moving and I needed to remember that things keep moving even when you can’t. While you sit in hardship it helps to find one small way to show empathy for another who’s struggling. Make a list of things going well even if it’s short. Take little steps forward. The little steps add up over time. Creating makes hope, and hope makes a vision for tomorrow. The future is built day by day.

Starting with What You Have

You don’t need a large studio to make pottery. You don’t even need a kiln or wheel. You can start with a ball of clay and make pinch pots at your kitchen table. Way back in primitive times they did pit firings. When my wife and I lived in an apartment for ten years after university, I had no studio. At one point my landlady offered to rent me a shed. It would have been cold in winter but I could have used it three seasons. I said no because we were saving for a house. I think about that shed sometimes. What I could have made there.

Looking back I could have squeezed in a few hours of pottery per week even while working two part-time jobs and paying off student loans. I could have made something small. Anything is better than nothing. When you start making it might be the thing you need to give purpose in your life and create hope. There will always be hardship, strife, and suffering. Some days you’ll want to hide under the blankets. But in creating we create hope and purpose and vision for tomorrow. The future is built day by day. You just need to start.

Looking Ahead

I’m thinking about putting up a big mug wall in the studio. I have loads of mugs from other makers and friends. The idea is to put them all on display and pick one each day to have coffee with while I write. It would be like having coffee with someone else. When I use their mugs I’m reminded of them and make an attempt to reach out. Using what we make and what others make is an act of communication. Their thoughts and ideas pass through in how the mugs are created—the shape, trimming, glazing, handles, the foot. Their fingerprints are even there. They’ll be gone tomorrow and so will I.

The wood kiln still needs finishing. I’m waiting for warmer weather to work on the arch and construct the Tatami brick roof over the firebox. I need to make more Tatami bricks, 100 if possible. I’m also working out how to make the firebox function as a kiln when not being used for wood fire. If it fails as a kiln, I’ll still have a nice firebox. Either way, something gets built. The work continues whether everything goes as planned or not.

Thank you for following along and supporting Creek Road Pottery. Every comment, visit, and bit of encouragement makes the long hours worth it. I hope your spring is full of creativity, less snow, hot coffee, trying things that may not work, and the courage to make work that matters for the people who care.

Until next time,
Alford Wayman
Artist/ Owner

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