Sometimes we, the afflicted of certain obsessions, just have to face the facts that as one of the afflicted ones, we'll never b e normal. I came to this somber conclusion after thinking over another post by a fellow forumite on his three knives. I'm down to a small handful, with a couple out front favorites of course, but I know as one of the afflicted I will never be a one knife man.
There, I said it with nobody holding a gun on me, or other intimidation. I love my damascus peanut, and my ever present classic, but I also love my chestnut bone peanut, my couple Opinels, my old Buck stockman and 303 cadet. Some of those have too much history with me to ever part with, some others have been gifts from long gone friends. Others have just to much practical appeal. Their like old friends that traveled a long way with me.
On the other hand, all my knives are users. Those that have great value because they are from a long gone friend are used gently, but still used id only to open mail or cut a piece of string or a slice of aged cheddar to go on a cracker.
As knife knuts, we are doomed to have a stable of cutlery on standby, if for no other reason that we like it. I don't need a dozen Peterson pipes on two racks, but I like them. Knives, pipes, doesn't matter, we humans are a funny lot and a little strange. My small obsession with peanuts is typical. My old yellow peanut was fine, but I had to have a chestnut bone 'nut. Then I got gifted a amber bone 'nut. Now the smooth chestnut bone is faintly calling my name. I can hear it like a little buzz in my ear. Of course theres the CV and stag rancher 'nut. Any of them by themselves would be a nice edc pocket knife, but the call of accumulation is like the light of the full moon to one bitten by the wolf. About once a month a flier arrives from Smoky Mountain Knifewrks. Even though I need another knife like I need a hole in the head, I open it to the Case pages, and carefully look over the offerings. Barnboard bone, yellow bone, stag, even mini copperheads. Though I love my 'nuts, every time I look at the mini copperhead I feel like a alcoholic sitting at a table with a bottle of whisky. It's so easy to reach over and pour a glass. Or not. The 'or not' seems so hard sometimes. I hate to see what happens if I see a CV wharnei mini copperhead.
But I think I've finally come to be at peace with knowing I will never be a one knife man.
Carl.
There, I said it with nobody holding a gun on me, or other intimidation. I love my damascus peanut, and my ever present classic, but I also love my chestnut bone peanut, my couple Opinels, my old Buck stockman and 303 cadet. Some of those have too much history with me to ever part with, some others have been gifts from long gone friends. Others have just to much practical appeal. Their like old friends that traveled a long way with me.
On the other hand, all my knives are users. Those that have great value because they are from a long gone friend are used gently, but still used id only to open mail or cut a piece of string or a slice of aged cheddar to go on a cracker.
As knife knuts, we are doomed to have a stable of cutlery on standby, if for no other reason that we like it. I don't need a dozen Peterson pipes on two racks, but I like them. Knives, pipes, doesn't matter, we humans are a funny lot and a little strange. My small obsession with peanuts is typical. My old yellow peanut was fine, but I had to have a chestnut bone 'nut. Then I got gifted a amber bone 'nut. Now the smooth chestnut bone is faintly calling my name. I can hear it like a little buzz in my ear. Of course theres the CV and stag rancher 'nut. Any of them by themselves would be a nice edc pocket knife, but the call of accumulation is like the light of the full moon to one bitten by the wolf. About once a month a flier arrives from Smoky Mountain Knifewrks. Even though I need another knife like I need a hole in the head, I open it to the Case pages, and carefully look over the offerings. Barnboard bone, yellow bone, stag, even mini copperheads. Though I love my 'nuts, every time I look at the mini copperhead I feel like a alcoholic sitting at a table with a bottle of whisky. It's so easy to reach over and pour a glass. Or not. The 'or not' seems so hard sometimes. I hate to see what happens if I see a CV wharnei mini copperhead.
But I think I've finally come to be at peace with knowing I will never be a one knife man.
Carl.
