Maximum minimalism.
Growing up with my dad was an ever continuing lesson in what we didn't really need. I guess being a depression era guy, dad didn't believe in spending money on things that were not absolutely needed for everyday life. He was one of those old time men who if he had 'A' gun, he didn't need another. Same thing with a drill, a fishing rod, a knife, whatever. This meant that I got a lot of good lessons in how to get something done with almost nothing.
And then I joined the boy scouts.
I don't know if Mr. Van and dad were related someplace far back down the line, but they had a lot of similar values. You could say, and not be wrong, that they had very spartan personalities. In another place and time, they would have put Robinson Crusoe to shame. Leave them on a deserted island with a pocket knife, and come back in a year, and they'd be sitting on the front porch of a nice bungalow with a drink in a coconut shell, and a dugout canoe in the lagoon for fishing. It was Mr. Van who influenced us, no that's putting it too mildly, ordered us to use just our scout knives for camp crafts. Any chairs, tables, cooking tripods, all were made with just that 2 1/2 inch blade of the issue scout knife. When we went on hikes, or camp-outs where it was a military forced march into the camp area, Mr. Van would personally inspect every scout's gear and pack before setting out. He'd toss out anything he deemed not really essential to the scouts survival. Mr. Van hated those nested silverware sets of spoon knife and fork. He's tell us, "You have a knife, what do you need another one for?" Same with the fork. He's have us whittle a wooden spoon for a camp craft, and that was our only dedicated eaten' tool. We'd hold down the whatever we were eating, and slice it with our trusty official scout knife, and chow down. Once Mr. Van was telling us, "Do ya'll think the mountain men carried nice little nested silver ware? Heck no, they had their Green River knives." Or "Do you think the Vikings set sail with forks?"
It was one of those times that Bobby Ryerson had to open his yap.
"Just think, if we were Chinese, we'd just use chopsticks!" he said.
Mr. Van stared at him for a moment, and we thought that Bobby was a doomed scout, but we had under estimated Mr. Van's dedication to maximum minimalism. He got a grin on his creased weathered face, and then told us that would be good practice for us. Everyone would make a set of chop sticks before dinner time. Of course there were muttered appeals, but once Mr. Van gave an order, it was chiseled in stone. So two dozen boy scouts combed the woods for likely sticks, and then sat and whittled what they thought would be good chop sticks. Subtle shaping with laps full of newsprint thin wood slivers, we used our spear point scout knives to make what we'd be eating with that night. It took a while, but by the time the evening campfires were going good, the ingredients of the hobo stew was in the coffee cans, we had what would be our evening dinner ware. Chop sticks. There were oak sticks, maple sticks, poplar sticks. One young scout tried pine, but complained at dinner that his stew tasted like turpentine. Dave Dougherty cheated a bit, making his chop sticks a bit pointy, so every time Mr. Van wasn't looking, he'd spear a piece of meat or potato and be chewing away when Mr. Van looked his way.
"Good work, Mr. Dougherty!" Mr. Van would tell him while we gave Dave dirty looks.
It wasn't just the knives that got minimalized, but all our gear. Flash lights. Mr. Van didn't want to see us show up with big D cell flashlights. He didn't even like C cell flashlights. No, we'd have the AA Ever Ready penlights. He'd point out that it gave us enough light to see a trail by, and was small enough that it would always be on our person. If we were going out on an overnighter, especially one that we had to hike into a more remote area, he'd make sure we were carrying a couple spare batteries. Again, the little AA cells were so small, they could be wrapped up in a spare bandana and go unnoticed in the pocket. According to Mr. Van's theory of things, if it didn't fit comfortably in the pocket, then it was too big to be useful. Looking back on it now, I have to admit that he had a point. All these decades later, I still find myself thinking about his minimalist theory. I still find myself carrying a tiny flashlight like a Fenix E01, and using a peanut size knife most of the time. And I still am carrying and using on a regular basis a Sear's 4-way screw driver like my dad carried. I don't think dad and Mr. Van had ever heard of the term edc, but they may have scorned it. They just knew what they knew from the hard times of the depression, and that there were just things you kept in your pockets to use in the job of living life.
I remember once asking dad in what very well may have been an annoying little boy way, why not carry this, or carry that too. Dad, in his ever patient way explained, that since you can't carry everything you need to deal with anything that may happen, you pick a few essentials, and go on with life having the faith that you will figure out something using what you have. Kind of like Teddy Roosevelt's quote about doing your best with what you have, where you are.
Small pocket knife, a few tools, and some careful thought, sometimes gets you pretty far. And a big stick is good too.
Growing up with my dad was an ever continuing lesson in what we didn't really need. I guess being a depression era guy, dad didn't believe in spending money on things that were not absolutely needed for everyday life. He was one of those old time men who if he had 'A' gun, he didn't need another. Same thing with a drill, a fishing rod, a knife, whatever. This meant that I got a lot of good lessons in how to get something done with almost nothing.
And then I joined the boy scouts.
I don't know if Mr. Van and dad were related someplace far back down the line, but they had a lot of similar values. You could say, and not be wrong, that they had very spartan personalities. In another place and time, they would have put Robinson Crusoe to shame. Leave them on a deserted island with a pocket knife, and come back in a year, and they'd be sitting on the front porch of a nice bungalow with a drink in a coconut shell, and a dugout canoe in the lagoon for fishing. It was Mr. Van who influenced us, no that's putting it too mildly, ordered us to use just our scout knives for camp crafts. Any chairs, tables, cooking tripods, all were made with just that 2 1/2 inch blade of the issue scout knife. When we went on hikes, or camp-outs where it was a military forced march into the camp area, Mr. Van would personally inspect every scout's gear and pack before setting out. He'd toss out anything he deemed not really essential to the scouts survival. Mr. Van hated those nested silverware sets of spoon knife and fork. He's tell us, "You have a knife, what do you need another one for?" Same with the fork. He's have us whittle a wooden spoon for a camp craft, and that was our only dedicated eaten' tool. We'd hold down the whatever we were eating, and slice it with our trusty official scout knife, and chow down. Once Mr. Van was telling us, "Do ya'll think the mountain men carried nice little nested silver ware? Heck no, they had their Green River knives." Or "Do you think the Vikings set sail with forks?"
It was one of those times that Bobby Ryerson had to open his yap.
"Just think, if we were Chinese, we'd just use chopsticks!" he said.
Mr. Van stared at him for a moment, and we thought that Bobby was a doomed scout, but we had under estimated Mr. Van's dedication to maximum minimalism. He got a grin on his creased weathered face, and then told us that would be good practice for us. Everyone would make a set of chop sticks before dinner time. Of course there were muttered appeals, but once Mr. Van gave an order, it was chiseled in stone. So two dozen boy scouts combed the woods for likely sticks, and then sat and whittled what they thought would be good chop sticks. Subtle shaping with laps full of newsprint thin wood slivers, we used our spear point scout knives to make what we'd be eating with that night. It took a while, but by the time the evening campfires were going good, the ingredients of the hobo stew was in the coffee cans, we had what would be our evening dinner ware. Chop sticks. There were oak sticks, maple sticks, poplar sticks. One young scout tried pine, but complained at dinner that his stew tasted like turpentine. Dave Dougherty cheated a bit, making his chop sticks a bit pointy, so every time Mr. Van wasn't looking, he'd spear a piece of meat or potato and be chewing away when Mr. Van looked his way.
"Good work, Mr. Dougherty!" Mr. Van would tell him while we gave Dave dirty looks.
It wasn't just the knives that got minimalized, but all our gear. Flash lights. Mr. Van didn't want to see us show up with big D cell flashlights. He didn't even like C cell flashlights. No, we'd have the AA Ever Ready penlights. He'd point out that it gave us enough light to see a trail by, and was small enough that it would always be on our person. If we were going out on an overnighter, especially one that we had to hike into a more remote area, he'd make sure we were carrying a couple spare batteries. Again, the little AA cells were so small, they could be wrapped up in a spare bandana and go unnoticed in the pocket. According to Mr. Van's theory of things, if it didn't fit comfortably in the pocket, then it was too big to be useful. Looking back on it now, I have to admit that he had a point. All these decades later, I still find myself thinking about his minimalist theory. I still find myself carrying a tiny flashlight like a Fenix E01, and using a peanut size knife most of the time. And I still am carrying and using on a regular basis a Sear's 4-way screw driver like my dad carried. I don't think dad and Mr. Van had ever heard of the term edc, but they may have scorned it. They just knew what they knew from the hard times of the depression, and that there were just things you kept in your pockets to use in the job of living life.
I remember once asking dad in what very well may have been an annoying little boy way, why not carry this, or carry that too. Dad, in his ever patient way explained, that since you can't carry everything you need to deal with anything that may happen, you pick a few essentials, and go on with life having the faith that you will figure out something using what you have. Kind of like Teddy Roosevelt's quote about doing your best with what you have, where you are.
Small pocket knife, a few tools, and some careful thought, sometimes gets you pretty far. And a big stick is good too.
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Maybe if you have a black belt in the art?
:foot:
You offer to furnish him a replacement and lay out a few for him to choose from: