Karen came to me because she wanted to make some money—but more than that, she wanted to build something with her hands.
At the time, I was working as “Rustix.” Karen became “Bushstix.”
Same spirit, different hands.
She was already a craft woman. Her hands knew how to make things—fabric, wire, found objects, whatever was around. Her daughter followed along too, doing alternative crafts and selling alongside us at markets. It was a family rhythm, not a business plan.
When Karen touched woodcraft, she took to it fast. She didn’t need much teaching—just the basics. Once she understood the tools and the grain, she could run on her own. Very quickly, she was designing her own stick furniture. Not copying—creating.
She led from the front.
We went into the bush under licence and gathered sticks together. She organised her registration. She already had experience with markets, so Salamanca wasn’t a leap—it was a step. We built a shared market stall, side by side, until she didn’t need me anymore.
My role was never to own her work. It was to help her get strong enough to stand alone.
She learned what she needed, used what fit, and left the rest.
While I was involved, she focused on wood.
After that, she could choose anything.
This microenterprise wasn’t about scaling.
It was about independence.
Karen didn’t become successful because of a system.
She became successful because she already had the hands, the eye, and the will—she just needed space, tools, and someone who wouldn’t try to lead her life for her.
That’s what Bushstix really was.
Not a brand.
A woman learning how far her hands could take her.
More chapters about the microenterprise:
