Howdy traditional people! I thought I might share a little bit of what's been going on with me lately, since it pertains to nostalgia, family memories, and traditional knives.
I've been looking into buying my first running, driving vehicle (my true first car is a '64 VW that I was convinced I could get running, and which now sits in a field awaiting a restoration, having proved me wrong) and my search turned up several possibilities. Last Wednesday, my dad and I drove a few miles out of town to look at my top pick from the Craigslist ads: a fire engine red 1984 Ford Ranger. We got there, and man was she sweet! Short bed with a bed box, red vinyl bench seat, skinny steering wheel, and a 5 speed manual transmission with one of those long, curved sticks that look so much better than the little short throw shifters you see now. It instantly reminded me of my paternal grandfather's Rangers and S10s that he drove for years, and of my maternal great grandfather's red S10. I didn't spend hours in them or anything, but the smell of the interior, the look of the gauges, and the vent windows are a few things that have been burned into my memory. And this truck had all of them! I felt a little bit more a man, and a lot closer to my grandfather and great grandfather as I took it out for a test drive. Soon a deal was struck, and now she sits in my driveway, and I couldn't be happier.
After we got it home (limped it, actually, the carb was badly gunked up and maladjusted, which was starving the engine and making it stall left and right) I got under the hood and was adjusting the carb. While I was doin gthat, my dad came out and started talking about his own, identical Ranger, which I had completely forgotten about (he quit driving it before I was born). This was the truck that took him all around central Kentucky on all the various expeditions he took while he was a newspaper photographer there.
TRADITIONAL KNIFE CONTENT STARTS HERE
While he was working at the paper, another staff photographer who was a friend of his, convinced him to take a trip up to the big, blue-roofed place in Tennessee. He came back with an EZ-LAP sharpening stone and a brand new, yellow handled CASE Trapper. The date on it is 1990, the year he married my mother. This is always the one that was on top of the dresser that I could just barely see. It was always shiny, sometimes carried and never abused, and, when it was pulled down and handled it to me, I held it with a sort of reverence. It's kinda a childhood artifact for me
Flash forward to today- it's my parents 24th anniversary. I'm 17 and a knife and car nut, driving a truck identical to the one my dad drove 24 years ago, and his trapper has been passed on to me. I drive and carry them with pride, and my fingers are crossed that 24 years from now I'll be half the husband and father he's been.
Sorry to ramble on so long, I just got to thinking and the words kept coming.
Edan