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- Feb 3, 2011
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When an old knife comes into your life, do you ever question how, or why? I do.
My family and I attended the Rendezcous in Titusville, Pa this month, we also attended the picnic held by the company, which was very nice. We had some time to kill between the shop closing up and the picnic starting, so we stopped at a few antique places in the little town The first place we stop at had a lot of charm to go along with it’s musty atmosphere. I looked over the many advertisement and TL-29s they had, but figured like always that would be it.
“Did you see the knife over in the corner?”, my dad asked as I was wondering towards the door. I did a quick about face and made my way over the uneven, wooden floor to a little corner in the back. There in a little display stand, locked away was an unmistakeable little knife.
A Case peanut knife in stag adorned with a little white price tag by a piece of clear tape. I talked to the shop owner and he happily let me inspect it before I handed him the reasonable price and slid the knife into my pocket.
The knife has some character to it, a crack here, a little piece of stag missing there and a walk and talk that would wake the dead. The stag is warm and worn smooth from years of carry, the blades have been sharpened down slightly, but obviously never abused.
I have to wonder why it was there waiting to be rescued.... Was it replaced thoughtfully one Christmas morning by an excited grandchild and suddenly took up too much room? Maybe it fell out of a hunting vest on an early morning squirrel hunt only to be picked up and turned in for a small profit? Did a loved one pass with no knife user to appreciate it?
I’ll never know the story behind it, only the ones I’ll make with it. I do wonder if I’ll be able to get my kids, grandkids, nephews, or nieces into knives, enough so that my cherished little blades don’t end up adorned with a little white price tag waiting to be rescued; left behind.

My family and I attended the Rendezcous in Titusville, Pa this month, we also attended the picnic held by the company, which was very nice. We had some time to kill between the shop closing up and the picnic starting, so we stopped at a few antique places in the little town The first place we stop at had a lot of charm to go along with it’s musty atmosphere. I looked over the many advertisement and TL-29s they had, but figured like always that would be it.
“Did you see the knife over in the corner?”, my dad asked as I was wondering towards the door. I did a quick about face and made my way over the uneven, wooden floor to a little corner in the back. There in a little display stand, locked away was an unmistakeable little knife.
A Case peanut knife in stag adorned with a little white price tag by a piece of clear tape. I talked to the shop owner and he happily let me inspect it before I handed him the reasonable price and slid the knife into my pocket.

The knife has some character to it, a crack here, a little piece of stag missing there and a walk and talk that would wake the dead. The stag is warm and worn smooth from years of carry, the blades have been sharpened down slightly, but obviously never abused.

I have to wonder why it was there waiting to be rescued.... Was it replaced thoughtfully one Christmas morning by an excited grandchild and suddenly took up too much room? Maybe it fell out of a hunting vest on an early morning squirrel hunt only to be picked up and turned in for a small profit? Did a loved one pass with no knife user to appreciate it?
I’ll never know the story behind it, only the ones I’ll make with it. I do wonder if I’ll be able to get my kids, grandkids, nephews, or nieces into knives, enough so that my cherished little blades don’t end up adorned with a little white price tag waiting to be rescued; left behind.
