My name is Patricia. And I'll be honest — I almost didn't write this page.

I'm not much for talking about myself. In fifty years of making copper jewelry out of my little workshop in Coalgate, Oklahoma, I never ran a single ad, never had a website, never asked anyone to pay attention to me. Word got around the way it does in small towns. That was always enough.

But my granddaughter sat me down last year and said the people who need these pieces most have never heard of me. So here I am.

It started with my Aunt Clara.

I was nineteen, sitting in her kitchen watching her roll pie dough. Her hands moved like a woman half her age. I asked if they ever hurt. She laughed and held up her wrist — a wide copper cuff, dark with decades of wear.

"Haven't taken it off in twenty years," she said.

A few weeks later I found a scrap of copper pipe in my father's garage. Three hours and a lot of mistakes later, I had something I could slide onto my wrist. It looked terrible. I wore it anyway. That was 1974. I never really stopped.

For fifty years, I made these pieces one at a time.

No machines. No plating. No shortcuts. Solid 99.9% pure copper, shaped by hand, for anyone whose body needed a little quiet support. Neighbors. Friends. Strangers who found me through someone who found me the same way. I never advertised. I never needed to.

Twice, large companies approached me about licensing my designs. Twice I said no. I wasn't willing to put my name on something I hadn't made with my own hands.