It's been a good day.
First, its been great being on the receiveing end of all your well wishes. I want to give all of you a real heartfelt thank you.
Karen took me for lunch at my cousins place where I was treated to a out of this world briskett lunch. It was a little embarrasing when our waitress got the whole place to sing happy birthday to me, but I lived through it.
But the walk in the woods was the high point of the day. I took some knives for an outing. When I got up this morning I was in a reflective mood, and I thought alot about this aging thing, and about those who came before me. I'm not sure just why, but I put a few of the old knives in my pockets, knowing I was going to be out in nature.
It was afternon when Karen and I set out on a little hike in Black Hill Regional Park. It was a beautifull clear day with a blue sky, but cold in the high 30's with a stiff wind. The dense hardwood forest gave us good protection from the wind, and it was nice to hear the rushing of it in the tree tops. We hiked along the trail that dipped up and down in the hilly wooded terrain, and once in a while I would slip a hand in a pocket and feel the time worn smooth stag, or in another pocket the old time smoothed jigged bone. It was only Karen, me, and Pearl the wonder corgi, but in a strange sense I could feel dad and grandad. As I've aged I think more of them, and am very gratefull for having them as an influence in my life. When I got up this morning I looked at my face in the bathroom mirror, and I could see my dad looking back. Genes are a powerfull thing, theres no doubting that. Looking back over the last decade or two, I realize I've been acting more and more like dad. I now appretiate his practical approach to life. His low profile attitude.
We came to a small foot bridge over a creek that we've named Pearl's Crossing, because of Pearl's love of wading in the water. Funny as it is, a Cardigan Welsh Corgi was bread for hearding sheep and cattle, but they love water. Everytime we come to a creek Pearl loves to wad in up to her belly, but with her short legs thats not too deep. But its something in her instinct, even on a 30 something degree day. While she was enjoying the water and Karen was glassing the bare trees with her binoculars for owls, I picked up a stick to whittle a few curls. It was an oak branch, and the old carbon Hen and Rooster sliced a tight curl of wood like the oak was butter. For the zillionth time it occured to me our fathers and grandfathers knew how to pick out good equiptment. I guess they learned from their fathers. Not big, nor flashy, but effective at it's intended task.
Pearl finished with her wading so we moved on, and I thought about the heritage we leave our next generation. I wondered how many fathers these days take the time to go out on the back porch with their sons and teach them what a good pocket knife is, and how to use it safely? Or pick out that first airgun that will pave the way for the first .22 rifle under the tree. I feel a bit sad that there is a whole generation of kids growing up that have a father who does not hunt nor shoot nor fish nor camp. Kids have an instict for such things just as Pearl has a instinct for wading in the water or herding sheep at the Cardigan Corgi club meets. My nieghborhood has a play area with swings and jungle gym, but I see so many of the kids make for the woods.
I was taking Pearl for a walk not long ago, and I came across some young kids trying to make a fort. Now I know this an ancient thing for kids to do, we did it when I was young back in the iron age. But these kids had no idea how to go about it. I told Pearl to go chase some squirrels and I showed the kids how to gather some deadwood laying about that was at least as long as they were tall. We put one of them in a fork of a tree about 4 feet up, and made walls out of the rest. Then I had them gather up armloads of leaves and make a debris hut. They thought that was neet and as heck. Espcially the part where it was hard to see from a ways off. Kids and woods go together as well as kids and pocket knives.
I though about all this tonight at home when the family came over, and Karen made hot cider liberally spiked with Captain Morgans Spiced rum. It was a pleasent toddy to get buzzed on. And I realized how fortunate I have been in having had the chance to mentor two more generations in the things we hold dear on this folksy forum. My grandson supervised me when I rubbed down the old blades with a little mineral oil before putting them away. Being out in the cold and then comming inside, sometimes you get condensation on the steel. Ryan made sure I did a good job, and I think it was a good thing. He was the more sober of us.
Good night all, and again thank you for your well wishes.
First, its been great being on the receiveing end of all your well wishes. I want to give all of you a real heartfelt thank you.
Karen took me for lunch at my cousins place where I was treated to a out of this world briskett lunch. It was a little embarrasing when our waitress got the whole place to sing happy birthday to me, but I lived through it.
But the walk in the woods was the high point of the day. I took some knives for an outing. When I got up this morning I was in a reflective mood, and I thought alot about this aging thing, and about those who came before me. I'm not sure just why, but I put a few of the old knives in my pockets, knowing I was going to be out in nature.
It was afternon when Karen and I set out on a little hike in Black Hill Regional Park. It was a beautifull clear day with a blue sky, but cold in the high 30's with a stiff wind. The dense hardwood forest gave us good protection from the wind, and it was nice to hear the rushing of it in the tree tops. We hiked along the trail that dipped up and down in the hilly wooded terrain, and once in a while I would slip a hand in a pocket and feel the time worn smooth stag, or in another pocket the old time smoothed jigged bone. It was only Karen, me, and Pearl the wonder corgi, but in a strange sense I could feel dad and grandad. As I've aged I think more of them, and am very gratefull for having them as an influence in my life. When I got up this morning I looked at my face in the bathroom mirror, and I could see my dad looking back. Genes are a powerfull thing, theres no doubting that. Looking back over the last decade or two, I realize I've been acting more and more like dad. I now appretiate his practical approach to life. His low profile attitude.
We came to a small foot bridge over a creek that we've named Pearl's Crossing, because of Pearl's love of wading in the water. Funny as it is, a Cardigan Welsh Corgi was bread for hearding sheep and cattle, but they love water. Everytime we come to a creek Pearl loves to wad in up to her belly, but with her short legs thats not too deep. But its something in her instinct, even on a 30 something degree day. While she was enjoying the water and Karen was glassing the bare trees with her binoculars for owls, I picked up a stick to whittle a few curls. It was an oak branch, and the old carbon Hen and Rooster sliced a tight curl of wood like the oak was butter. For the zillionth time it occured to me our fathers and grandfathers knew how to pick out good equiptment. I guess they learned from their fathers. Not big, nor flashy, but effective at it's intended task.
Pearl finished with her wading so we moved on, and I thought about the heritage we leave our next generation. I wondered how many fathers these days take the time to go out on the back porch with their sons and teach them what a good pocket knife is, and how to use it safely? Or pick out that first airgun that will pave the way for the first .22 rifle under the tree. I feel a bit sad that there is a whole generation of kids growing up that have a father who does not hunt nor shoot nor fish nor camp. Kids have an instict for such things just as Pearl has a instinct for wading in the water or herding sheep at the Cardigan Corgi club meets. My nieghborhood has a play area with swings and jungle gym, but I see so many of the kids make for the woods.
I was taking Pearl for a walk not long ago, and I came across some young kids trying to make a fort. Now I know this an ancient thing for kids to do, we did it when I was young back in the iron age. But these kids had no idea how to go about it. I told Pearl to go chase some squirrels and I showed the kids how to gather some deadwood laying about that was at least as long as they were tall. We put one of them in a fork of a tree about 4 feet up, and made walls out of the rest. Then I had them gather up armloads of leaves and make a debris hut. They thought that was neet and as heck. Espcially the part where it was hard to see from a ways off. Kids and woods go together as well as kids and pocket knives.
I though about all this tonight at home when the family came over, and Karen made hot cider liberally spiked with Captain Morgans Spiced rum. It was a pleasent toddy to get buzzed on. And I realized how fortunate I have been in having had the chance to mentor two more generations in the things we hold dear on this folksy forum. My grandson supervised me when I rubbed down the old blades with a little mineral oil before putting them away. Being out in the cold and then comming inside, sometimes you get condensation on the steel. Ryan made sure I did a good job, and I think it was a good thing. He was the more sober of us.
Good night all, and again thank you for your well wishes.
But please don't tell my wife! 
