Well, I feel pretty good. I just gave away my 18" 28 oz Villager to my friend Charlie. That means I have a new opening in my Khuk arsenal....
I met Charlie when we first moved to Montana. He rented a small place and I a large farmhouse on a working ranch/farm in Eastern Montana. It was a big outfit, and the owner was a relative of Maggie from the Dylan song. We'd laugh our heads off at every new stinginess from him. It was either laugh or move, I guess. (That guy was something. The kind who'd look for any excuse to deduct your 400 dollar deposit for the house while at the same time allowing a mis-built sewer system to flood the basement with excrement) Charlie is Nakota. I didn't know what to think of him. He's a big man, at least 300 pounds and an inch or two taller than I. I'd see him quietly going about his business by the trailer or his truck. One day I spoke to him in passing. From that a friendship sprang.
He showed me the ropes, how to get along, small town stuff, what was going on. And we drove all over the local Reservation. I could talk to Charlie, he was soft spoken and warm. Most importantly, he understood what I was saying, understood me despite our wide differences in upbringing. We had much in common, though, and that helped. We'd both given up the bottle. We both loved the outdoors. We knew the Great Heart.
My oldest son at that time was beneath 3, the brink of independence, and one fine afternoon he walked over to Charlie's place to visit. They had antelope heart and biscuits and watched TV while I looked anxiously around for my missing son. Standing in the hall of the house, suddenly it just came to me where Carter was, and I calmly walked to Charlie's to see how he was doing. Yep. Sitting in the Big Black Easy Chair wide eyed and happy, just taking it all in. We used to watch a lot of movies at Charlie's, films about the West or silly adventures.
I could go on and on, but getting back to the point, I had a new Villager a couple months ago that Yangdu personally selected for me. It was Bura feeling good, too; and the craftsmanship shined. A fallen tree around the corner of the cliffs from my house has been steadily 'chunkated' by the khuk. It swings free and bites hard. I liked the tool a lot. I kept thinking I'd have to get one like it for Charlie.
We've long since moved apart, Charlie and I, he in the River valley and me in the Prarrie hills, but he knows he still has squatters rights, and this morning he dropped by for food. The littlest just gaped at him, the word Buffalo coming to my mind now as I try to write this down for you to see. Those shoulders are broad.
"Hey Keith," I said, "When you get big, are you going to be as big as Charlie?"
No answer. Every other day it's; "when am I going to get big, Daddy?"
After breakfast we were sitting in the livingroom and I had an idea. "Wait right here," I said, "I want to get something."
I had in my mind to let him grip the Villager to see if he'd prefer a lighter model when I eventually found one for him. You know, later, in the future, when I was ready, when I had a little more money?
"The handle is good." He said, admiring the instrument. "Yeah. And the weight is just right. I mean, it's heavy at the end of course, but it holds well." I could tell by his voice he knew the khuk was gold.
"Here," I said, "It's yours."
The future is always here where it belongs.
munk
I met Charlie when we first moved to Montana. He rented a small place and I a large farmhouse on a working ranch/farm in Eastern Montana. It was a big outfit, and the owner was a relative of Maggie from the Dylan song. We'd laugh our heads off at every new stinginess from him. It was either laugh or move, I guess. (That guy was something. The kind who'd look for any excuse to deduct your 400 dollar deposit for the house while at the same time allowing a mis-built sewer system to flood the basement with excrement) Charlie is Nakota. I didn't know what to think of him. He's a big man, at least 300 pounds and an inch or two taller than I. I'd see him quietly going about his business by the trailer or his truck. One day I spoke to him in passing. From that a friendship sprang.
He showed me the ropes, how to get along, small town stuff, what was going on. And we drove all over the local Reservation. I could talk to Charlie, he was soft spoken and warm. Most importantly, he understood what I was saying, understood me despite our wide differences in upbringing. We had much in common, though, and that helped. We'd both given up the bottle. We both loved the outdoors. We knew the Great Heart.
My oldest son at that time was beneath 3, the brink of independence, and one fine afternoon he walked over to Charlie's place to visit. They had antelope heart and biscuits and watched TV while I looked anxiously around for my missing son. Standing in the hall of the house, suddenly it just came to me where Carter was, and I calmly walked to Charlie's to see how he was doing. Yep. Sitting in the Big Black Easy Chair wide eyed and happy, just taking it all in. We used to watch a lot of movies at Charlie's, films about the West or silly adventures.
I could go on and on, but getting back to the point, I had a new Villager a couple months ago that Yangdu personally selected for me. It was Bura feeling good, too; and the craftsmanship shined. A fallen tree around the corner of the cliffs from my house has been steadily 'chunkated' by the khuk. It swings free and bites hard. I liked the tool a lot. I kept thinking I'd have to get one like it for Charlie.
We've long since moved apart, Charlie and I, he in the River valley and me in the Prarrie hills, but he knows he still has squatters rights, and this morning he dropped by for food. The littlest just gaped at him, the word Buffalo coming to my mind now as I try to write this down for you to see. Those shoulders are broad.
"Hey Keith," I said, "When you get big, are you going to be as big as Charlie?"
No answer. Every other day it's; "when am I going to get big, Daddy?"
After breakfast we were sitting in the livingroom and I had an idea. "Wait right here," I said, "I want to get something."
I had in my mind to let him grip the Villager to see if he'd prefer a lighter model when I eventually found one for him. You know, later, in the future, when I was ready, when I had a little more money?
"The handle is good." He said, admiring the instrument. "Yeah. And the weight is just right. I mean, it's heavy at the end of course, but it holds well." I could tell by his voice he knew the khuk was gold.
"Here," I said, "It's yours."
The future is always here where it belongs.
munk
I can see the whole thing.
This one was no disappointment. Thanks, pal.