Ruth's Tine Copper Ring

Every piece I've made starts with the same intention: to be worn by someone whose body needs it.

Copper has been pressed against human skin for thousands of years — by Egyptian queens, by Roman soldiers, by every generation of women who came before us. Worn quietly, daily, against the skin. I've spent 40 years making these pieces by hand in Sedona, and I've watched people come back year after year.

What started as a craft became something I can only describe as a calling. But now, my granddaughters are growing up without me there — and for the first time in 40 years, something matters more than the work.

Every piece in this collection was made by my hands, one at a time. There are only so many I can make — and once they're gone, I won't be making more.

Never took it off. Not in the shower. Not when she slept. Not even at her wedding.
We called it superstition. She called it tradition.

She grew up wearing copper jewelry every day — the same way her mother did, and her mother before her.

"You stopped wearing copper and started wondering why everything feels harder."

I dismissed it for years. Until I turned 50 and started looking at her — really looking — and realized she had aged differently than every other woman I knew.

She had what I think modern women have lost: a thing she put on every morning that connected her to her mother, her grandmother, and every woman who came before them. A small daily ritual. Three thousand years old. No pills. No schedule. Nothing to remember.

Her copper bracelet is now on my wrist.

Too late to tell her she was right. But not too late for you.