I got up this morning, a wee bit bleary eyed, a tiny bit of a headache from last nights family gathering. Without really thinking about it, I slipped my old Buck Stockman in my pocket.
That Buck and I have covered a lot of ground since 1967, and it's been a good trip. Lots of great memories in that little three blader. My oldest son saw it when I slit open a package in the kitchen, and grinned a possum type grin. I asked him "What?" and he just shook his head and said the darnedest thing.
"Dad, with all the knives you've had since I can remember, they all went and you always came back to that one or the Swiss Army job in the pouch. Why did you ever bother with all those others?"
I had to think about it, and I realized that John was right. I had tried lots of knives over the span of many years, but it took my son to pointout to me that I was always coming back to just a few. I went through a sak phase in the 70's, tried a huntsman, tinker, and a few others, but always came back to the old war horse Wenger SI. My sodbuster phase was in the 80's and I had soddies from Eye-Brand, Case, Herter, Klass, and a few others. My peanut phase was in the early 2000 to 20004 or 5 era, and then I still came back to my old favorties. Somehow, like a ship in a fog at sea, I kept coming back to the original course I set out on. Like some great internal compass needle bringing me back on course after a little fun playing around else where.
When I asked my daughter, Jessica, about it, she agreed with John.
"Dad, growing up, you were like one of the few dad's that always had a knife on you. Sometimes it was the banana knife, ( Jess called my yellow soddies by that name when she was a little girl) sometimes some other knife was your new favorite for a while, but I always remember you coming back to the black handle one or the metal one with the rope loop thingy on it."
Jess was speaking of the old SI with the nylon cord lanyard loop on it, and the black delrin handle Buck.
My son Matt arrived about an hour ago, and he was in the kitchen helping with the breakfast, Frying the bacon is his thing, because he really hates chewy bacon. If it's not crisp, he won't touch it. I asked him what he thought about all my changes of knives over the years. Of all my children, Matt is the closest to a cloned me there is. Matt just shook his head and looked at me.
"Dad! You're a sak guy. I can't imagine you carrying a knife that doesn't have a screw driver on it. When we were out in the middle of that big lake, and the trolling motor started to come apart, you fixed it with you Swiss army knife. When you put stuff together that came dis-assembled, you used your scout knife or the Swiss army knife."
Then Matt reached into his jeans and pulled out a familiar looking scout knife. It was the same scout knife that my dad had given me when I was 12, and just off to join the scout troop the church was starting, with a old retired marine for a scoutmaster. I'd given Matt the knife when he was a kid, and he still has it. Now and then, like on Christmas day and family gatherings, he still carries it. Camillus made a great knife when the rolled that one off the line. The spear blade is almost black now from age and use, but still has lots of service in it. The tools open smooth, as Matt keeps the joints oiled. In the 57 years since my dad gave me that knife, it's served two generations of my family, and now Matt is saving it for his son to be.
Being a lot closer to the end than the begining, and I wonder if something is now pulling me back to my roots. I find I love shooting the old Marlin .22 more than anything, and slipping the old stockman or Wenger in my pocket seems natural. It's like a feeling of being away from home and having an affair, and then after realizing that it's just not as good as what's waiting back home. Somewhere along the way, I've lost the desire for the new and improved, and feel like just going down the road with my old go-to choices from a long time ago. Like coming home from a black tie event and getting into jeans and casual wear.
The Chinese say a man travels a full circle in his life. I guess they may be right. After all is said and done, I'm back carrying a Buck stockman and my old Wenger SI.
Carl.
That Buck and I have covered a lot of ground since 1967, and it's been a good trip. Lots of great memories in that little three blader. My oldest son saw it when I slit open a package in the kitchen, and grinned a possum type grin. I asked him "What?" and he just shook his head and said the darnedest thing.
"Dad, with all the knives you've had since I can remember, they all went and you always came back to that one or the Swiss Army job in the pouch. Why did you ever bother with all those others?"
I had to think about it, and I realized that John was right. I had tried lots of knives over the span of many years, but it took my son to pointout to me that I was always coming back to just a few. I went through a sak phase in the 70's, tried a huntsman, tinker, and a few others, but always came back to the old war horse Wenger SI. My sodbuster phase was in the 80's and I had soddies from Eye-Brand, Case, Herter, Klass, and a few others. My peanut phase was in the early 2000 to 20004 or 5 era, and then I still came back to my old favorties. Somehow, like a ship in a fog at sea, I kept coming back to the original course I set out on. Like some great internal compass needle bringing me back on course after a little fun playing around else where.
When I asked my daughter, Jessica, about it, she agreed with John.
"Dad, growing up, you were like one of the few dad's that always had a knife on you. Sometimes it was the banana knife, ( Jess called my yellow soddies by that name when she was a little girl) sometimes some other knife was your new favorite for a while, but I always remember you coming back to the black handle one or the metal one with the rope loop thingy on it."
Jess was speaking of the old SI with the nylon cord lanyard loop on it, and the black delrin handle Buck.
My son Matt arrived about an hour ago, and he was in the kitchen helping with the breakfast, Frying the bacon is his thing, because he really hates chewy bacon. If it's not crisp, he won't touch it. I asked him what he thought about all my changes of knives over the years. Of all my children, Matt is the closest to a cloned me there is. Matt just shook his head and looked at me.
"Dad! You're a sak guy. I can't imagine you carrying a knife that doesn't have a screw driver on it. When we were out in the middle of that big lake, and the trolling motor started to come apart, you fixed it with you Swiss army knife. When you put stuff together that came dis-assembled, you used your scout knife or the Swiss army knife."
Then Matt reached into his jeans and pulled out a familiar looking scout knife. It was the same scout knife that my dad had given me when I was 12, and just off to join the scout troop the church was starting, with a old retired marine for a scoutmaster. I'd given Matt the knife when he was a kid, and he still has it. Now and then, like on Christmas day and family gatherings, he still carries it. Camillus made a great knife when the rolled that one off the line. The spear blade is almost black now from age and use, but still has lots of service in it. The tools open smooth, as Matt keeps the joints oiled. In the 57 years since my dad gave me that knife, it's served two generations of my family, and now Matt is saving it for his son to be.
Being a lot closer to the end than the begining, and I wonder if something is now pulling me back to my roots. I find I love shooting the old Marlin .22 more than anything, and slipping the old stockman or Wenger in my pocket seems natural. It's like a feeling of being away from home and having an affair, and then after realizing that it's just not as good as what's waiting back home. Somewhere along the way, I've lost the desire for the new and improved, and feel like just going down the road with my old go-to choices from a long time ago. Like coming home from a black tie event and getting into jeans and casual wear.
The Chinese say a man travels a full circle in his life. I guess they may be right. After all is said and done, I'm back carrying a Buck stockman and my old Wenger SI.
Carl.
Last edited:
