Tidehammer Forge sits on a pier where the smell of hot iron and sea brine hangs together. Salt-streaked tools hang from the rafters and a slow-working bellows puffs to the rhythm of the tide. The forge's owner speaks in a low tide-roughened voice and hums old sea shanties while hammering. He offers sailors discounted repairs for a cask of good rum and keeps a jar of polished sea glass coins on the counter as both a tip jar and a memory jar. The shop's front plank sometimes creaks at odd hours as if telling the tide where to turn.