Grit, Freedom, and Coming Home

There’s a moment I’ll never forget. I was 21 years old, just returning from a long stretch living in New Zealand. One of the most beautiful, welcoming, and wild places I’ve ever known. I had chased a snowboarding adventure halfway across the globe, hitch-hiked across the North and  South Island, met incredible people.

I lived in Wanaka, and to my knowledge, I was the only American in town. Kiwis had a nickname for Americans,“Seppos." Short for “Septic Tanks,” part of their rhyming slang. I never missed a chance to stand up for the United States. I was constantly backing where I came from, reminding people what made it special. Eventually, the locals started calling me “USAChuck.” That name stuck.

But when I landed back in Los Angeles, walked off that plane, and made my way through customs, a U.S. border agent handed me back my passport, looked me in the eye, and said: “Welcome home.” That hit different.

As great as New Zealand was, nothing compares to being back on American soil. The feeling of possibility. The grit in the culture. The sheer freedom to make your own way.

From that day forward, I’ve never stopped appreciating this country for what it is: imperfect, yes... but unmatched in what it offers. Opportunity. Drive. Space to fail. And the freedom to get back up and try again.

That’s the spirit I carry into Grit Knives. Not just making tools, but building something from the ground up—no shortcuts, no silver spoon, just sweat, ideas, and belief.

This Fourth of July, I’m proud to fly the flag and honor everything it stands for. Not as a slogan, but as a lived experience. We’ve got work to do, always. But there’s no place I’d rather call home.

Happy Independence Day. Carry grit.

Chuck