It was called the "feed and seed" by the locals.
The big Purina feed and grain depot down the road was a huge place. They did most of the supply of the local chicken farms and corn growers on that part of Marylands eastern shore. Farmers would back thier truck up to the loading dock and hand the reciept to the man and they would put the right number of bags in you truck. especially if you stood there counting.
On the eastern shore there was only one of three things you did for a living. If you were right on the water and had a boat, you were a waterman. Crabs in the summer and oysters in the winter paid your bills. If you had some land inland, you raised corn. I think there was a law sometime someplace that on the eastern shore you had to raise corn. And not just any corn, it had to be the white Silver Queen corn. As a rotation crop soybeans were okay, but it was looked down on as second best.
About the 50's chicken farming started to become real popular. This was okay by Purina, because they supplied most of the chicken feed locally. Thus the name "feed and seed.
Since grandad and grandmom had a good sized corn patch, grandad would go down to the Purina place in the spring to get his seed. Apparently modern hybred corn does not reproduce, so every season you need to get more seed. I always looked forward to these trips because I could get a new beater knife. They had them on the counter in a big fishbowl.
They weren't much of a knife, but it made a 9 year old happy. They had just one, or sometimes two, blades of decent thin carbon steel, and those fake pearl plastic handles. They came with a bail and a little bead chain to attach it to a keychain I guess. In red letters was the name Purina and the icon that was thier logo. they gave them away in such numbers, almost every family on the eastern shore had a kitchen drawer full of them. I think it was the beater knife of the day.
I think this was the first time in my young life, I realized that there were some people out there that did not hold any special reverence for a pocket knife. Even if it was a cheap advertising knife. Enter Buddy Loomis.
His father, Bob, would drop in at the Jenkins Store once in a while to grab a cold one and grab a few things on the way to someplace or on the way back from someplace. He was a lean farmer guy with bib overalls, and a long country boy kind of face. Sometimes he had his son Buddy with him.
Tyrone and I first met Buddy by the old red Coke machine on the front porch of the Jenkins store. It was a hot summer day, and Tyrone and I had ridden in on our trusty Schwinn bikes to grab one of those 6 once bottles of cold Coke. Buddy was standing by the machine having one. We had seen him around, but had not made an acquatance yet for some reason. We made the usual southern shore greeting.
"Hey" I said.
"Hey" Buddy said back.
I don't know if it's a general southern thing, or a shore thing, but "Hey" covered alot of ground, greeting wise. It's pretty versitile depending on how ya say it.
Anyways we made friends, and soon Buddy was going fishing back in LaCompte Marsh with us. It was to be an eye opening experiance. At this point in time, me and tyrone were about 9 years old. Our first knife had been given to us, and since it was grandad who gave me mine, it was a Purina plastic pearl handle knife. the Imperial barlow gradad would buy me was till in the future. To me it was a treasure, and I practiced sharpening it on the carborundum stone on the Lady Anne. Tyrone had one advertising a marine battery company, but it seemed to be the same Colonial carbon steel plastic handle knife.
One morning we met at the Jenkins Store and Buddy was already there getting a Coke and a candy bar for provisions. We were ready to set out and Tyrone made some off hand comment on how he had his knife real sharp for cleaning all those fish he was sure we were going to get. This stopped Buddy, as if reminding him he had forgot something.
"Oh yeah, I need to sharpen my knife." he said.
Taking out his plastic pearl handle Purina knife, he stooped down by the cement curb, and started to strop his knife on the cement. This shocked Tyrone and me greatly.
"HEY MAN, WHAT ARE YA DO'IN" One of us yelled to be echoed immediatly by the other.
"Just sharpening my knife, what are ya yellin about?"
We then asked him why he was sharpening his knife in such a rude manner, and he told us that his dad does it that way. Buddy informs us that his father has so many of the advertising knives, he does not bother to carry any other knife, and just sharpens them on the steps to the house, or the edge of a combine blade out in the field. if a knife gets worn out or broken he just tosses it off in the weeds and takes out another one.
Tyrone and I lookk at each other in amazment. This is a revelation into another kind of life we can't quite fathom. Throw away knives. I don't really know if the scientists who first discovered the atom or the existance of black holes in space, were any more amazed that us.
"Sooo, Buddy, you say the guys down at the seed and feed give your dad handfulls of these things?" I asked him.
"Yeah, Everytime we go in he gets a handfull from the big fishbowl."
"Just how often do you go in there?" tyrone asks.
"About once a week or so. Hey, do you guys want any? Here I got extra ones." With that he opens the tool pouch in back of the bike seat, and takes out some Purina knives and gives Tyrone and me each a couple.
They say greed is an ugly thing, and that morning we got a glimpse of it. I wonder if the old conquestidores in search of the lost city of gold, had visions like Tyrone and I had there. We thought of a drawer someplace with so many of those teardrop jackknife keychain knives in it that it was overflowing with free knives. This was heady stuff for a 9 year old knife knut. Free knives.
That summer we managed to have Buddy come fishing with us many times. Each time we got a few knives out of it. Soon both Tyrone and myself had two pearl handled Colonial teardrop advertising knives in each pocket, with many more hidden away back home.
In time we would graduate to more respectable knives, but in those early days of being a little kid knife knut, those peanut size advertising knives from Purina did alot of real work for us. I don't know how many blue gills were gutted, sticks for hot dogs whittled, or moral support given on long explorations of the seemingly endless marshes, but they cut well with a thin little carbon steel blade.
And we never, ever sharpened them on concrete steps.
The big Purina feed and grain depot down the road was a huge place. They did most of the supply of the local chicken farms and corn growers on that part of Marylands eastern shore. Farmers would back thier truck up to the loading dock and hand the reciept to the man and they would put the right number of bags in you truck. especially if you stood there counting.
On the eastern shore there was only one of three things you did for a living. If you were right on the water and had a boat, you were a waterman. Crabs in the summer and oysters in the winter paid your bills. If you had some land inland, you raised corn. I think there was a law sometime someplace that on the eastern shore you had to raise corn. And not just any corn, it had to be the white Silver Queen corn. As a rotation crop soybeans were okay, but it was looked down on as second best.
About the 50's chicken farming started to become real popular. This was okay by Purina, because they supplied most of the chicken feed locally. Thus the name "feed and seed.
Since grandad and grandmom had a good sized corn patch, grandad would go down to the Purina place in the spring to get his seed. Apparently modern hybred corn does not reproduce, so every season you need to get more seed. I always looked forward to these trips because I could get a new beater knife. They had them on the counter in a big fishbowl.
They weren't much of a knife, but it made a 9 year old happy. They had just one, or sometimes two, blades of decent thin carbon steel, and those fake pearl plastic handles. They came with a bail and a little bead chain to attach it to a keychain I guess. In red letters was the name Purina and the icon that was thier logo. they gave them away in such numbers, almost every family on the eastern shore had a kitchen drawer full of them. I think it was the beater knife of the day.
I think this was the first time in my young life, I realized that there were some people out there that did not hold any special reverence for a pocket knife. Even if it was a cheap advertising knife. Enter Buddy Loomis.
His father, Bob, would drop in at the Jenkins Store once in a while to grab a cold one and grab a few things on the way to someplace or on the way back from someplace. He was a lean farmer guy with bib overalls, and a long country boy kind of face. Sometimes he had his son Buddy with him.
Tyrone and I first met Buddy by the old red Coke machine on the front porch of the Jenkins store. It was a hot summer day, and Tyrone and I had ridden in on our trusty Schwinn bikes to grab one of those 6 once bottles of cold Coke. Buddy was standing by the machine having one. We had seen him around, but had not made an acquatance yet for some reason. We made the usual southern shore greeting.
"Hey" I said.
"Hey" Buddy said back.
I don't know if it's a general southern thing, or a shore thing, but "Hey" covered alot of ground, greeting wise. It's pretty versitile depending on how ya say it.
Anyways we made friends, and soon Buddy was going fishing back in LaCompte Marsh with us. It was to be an eye opening experiance. At this point in time, me and tyrone were about 9 years old. Our first knife had been given to us, and since it was grandad who gave me mine, it was a Purina plastic pearl handle knife. the Imperial barlow gradad would buy me was till in the future. To me it was a treasure, and I practiced sharpening it on the carborundum stone on the Lady Anne. Tyrone had one advertising a marine battery company, but it seemed to be the same Colonial carbon steel plastic handle knife.
One morning we met at the Jenkins Store and Buddy was already there getting a Coke and a candy bar for provisions. We were ready to set out and Tyrone made some off hand comment on how he had his knife real sharp for cleaning all those fish he was sure we were going to get. This stopped Buddy, as if reminding him he had forgot something.
"Oh yeah, I need to sharpen my knife." he said.
Taking out his plastic pearl handle Purina knife, he stooped down by the cement curb, and started to strop his knife on the cement. This shocked Tyrone and me greatly.
"HEY MAN, WHAT ARE YA DO'IN" One of us yelled to be echoed immediatly by the other.
"Just sharpening my knife, what are ya yellin about?"
We then asked him why he was sharpening his knife in such a rude manner, and he told us that his dad does it that way. Buddy informs us that his father has so many of the advertising knives, he does not bother to carry any other knife, and just sharpens them on the steps to the house, or the edge of a combine blade out in the field. if a knife gets worn out or broken he just tosses it off in the weeds and takes out another one.
Tyrone and I lookk at each other in amazment. This is a revelation into another kind of life we can't quite fathom. Throw away knives. I don't really know if the scientists who first discovered the atom or the existance of black holes in space, were any more amazed that us.
"Sooo, Buddy, you say the guys down at the seed and feed give your dad handfulls of these things?" I asked him.
"Yeah, Everytime we go in he gets a handfull from the big fishbowl."
"Just how often do you go in there?" tyrone asks.
"About once a week or so. Hey, do you guys want any? Here I got extra ones." With that he opens the tool pouch in back of the bike seat, and takes out some Purina knives and gives Tyrone and me each a couple.
They say greed is an ugly thing, and that morning we got a glimpse of it. I wonder if the old conquestidores in search of the lost city of gold, had visions like Tyrone and I had there. We thought of a drawer someplace with so many of those teardrop jackknife keychain knives in it that it was overflowing with free knives. This was heady stuff for a 9 year old knife knut. Free knives.
That summer we managed to have Buddy come fishing with us many times. Each time we got a few knives out of it. Soon both Tyrone and myself had two pearl handled Colonial teardrop advertising knives in each pocket, with many more hidden away back home.
In time we would graduate to more respectable knives, but in those early days of being a little kid knife knut, those peanut size advertising knives from Purina did alot of real work for us. I don't know how many blue gills were gutted, sticks for hot dogs whittled, or moral support given on long explorations of the seemingly endless marshes, but they cut well with a thin little carbon steel blade.
And we never, ever sharpened them on concrete steps.
What a guy would have $ in a hand full of em now.
