- Joined
- Mar 28, 2001
- Messages
- 2,491
It has been a while since I have been around the forums much, but I still love knives, and have been in the notion of posting a little more.
Here is a knife I recently acquired, and it has kind of a cool story to go with it.
In the picture I included my GEC Yellw Rose in order to give you a little idea of the size of the knife.
Hopefully somebody might enjoy it.
There is something about a knife with a story that has always captivated my attention. And this particular Bowie has a story behind it that makes it very special to me.
My great granddaddy was a country blacksmith down in the Oklahoma hills where I was raised.
He had a shop down on Spring Creek near a little place called Rocky Ford in the foothills of the Ozarks. When I was a boy, the old home place was just an overgrown creek bottom owned by a man who ran a lot of cattle. The old house had burned many years before I was born, and the only thing that hinted at its having once been a home was an apple tree that still remained.
It was a favorite coon hunting spot, and I listened to many a good race as my Bluetick hounds pursued the masked bandits down Spring Creek.
Some years ago, my brother and sister in law bought the old place and cleaned it up and built a beautiful home there. We were all glad to have it back in the family, especially my Granny, who is nearly 90. She loves going there and reminiscing about her childhood and the good times she had in those woods.
A while back, my brother in law found an old buggy spring nearly buried under dirt and weeds out by where Granny said the old shop was. He dug it out and gave it to my cousin Buck, who is sort of an amateur bladesmith and does a little blacksmithing also.
Buck forged the old buggy spring into a massive Bowie, which now lives at my house.
The other day, I told my Granny about them finding the buggy spring and me having a knife made out of it, and she surprised me by saying, "I bet I know where that buggy spring came from."
Fascinated, I asked her to tell me the story.
She went on to tell me that when she was just a girl an old hobo came drifting through the country driving an old ramshackle buggy pulled by an emaciated old horse who was obviously on his last legs.
He made camp one night down in the field below their home, and during the night, the old horse died.
She said she stood in the yard and watched him gather up a few meager belongings and make them into a pack that he could carry, and walked away, never to be seen again.
But before he left, he set his old buggy on fire.
When the fire burned out and the ashes cooled, her father, my great-granddad, went down and gathered up the old buggy springs, thinking they might come in handy some time.
There is no way to know for sure, but we believe that is where the buggy spring came from that made my knife.
I have knives worth more money, made by more skilled craftsmen and with higher levels of fit and finish, but this one will always be a favorite, and will one day be passed down to a son or grandson.
When I hold it in my hand, it takes me back to a simpler time, and seems to resonate with a sense of history and heritage.
Thanks for reading.
Here is a knife I recently acquired, and it has kind of a cool story to go with it.
In the picture I included my GEC Yellw Rose in order to give you a little idea of the size of the knife.
Hopefully somebody might enjoy it.
There is something about a knife with a story that has always captivated my attention. And this particular Bowie has a story behind it that makes it very special to me.
My great granddaddy was a country blacksmith down in the Oklahoma hills where I was raised.
He had a shop down on Spring Creek near a little place called Rocky Ford in the foothills of the Ozarks. When I was a boy, the old home place was just an overgrown creek bottom owned by a man who ran a lot of cattle. The old house had burned many years before I was born, and the only thing that hinted at its having once been a home was an apple tree that still remained.
It was a favorite coon hunting spot, and I listened to many a good race as my Bluetick hounds pursued the masked bandits down Spring Creek.
Some years ago, my brother and sister in law bought the old place and cleaned it up and built a beautiful home there. We were all glad to have it back in the family, especially my Granny, who is nearly 90. She loves going there and reminiscing about her childhood and the good times she had in those woods.
A while back, my brother in law found an old buggy spring nearly buried under dirt and weeds out by where Granny said the old shop was. He dug it out and gave it to my cousin Buck, who is sort of an amateur bladesmith and does a little blacksmithing also.
Buck forged the old buggy spring into a massive Bowie, which now lives at my house.
The other day, I told my Granny about them finding the buggy spring and me having a knife made out of it, and she surprised me by saying, "I bet I know where that buggy spring came from."
Fascinated, I asked her to tell me the story.
She went on to tell me that when she was just a girl an old hobo came drifting through the country driving an old ramshackle buggy pulled by an emaciated old horse who was obviously on his last legs.
He made camp one night down in the field below their home, and during the night, the old horse died.
She said she stood in the yard and watched him gather up a few meager belongings and make them into a pack that he could carry, and walked away, never to be seen again.
But before he left, he set his old buggy on fire.
When the fire burned out and the ashes cooled, her father, my great-granddad, went down and gathered up the old buggy springs, thinking they might come in handy some time.
There is no way to know for sure, but we believe that is where the buggy spring came from that made my knife.
I have knives worth more money, made by more skilled craftsmen and with higher levels of fit and finish, but this one will always be a favorite, and will one day be passed down to a son or grandson.
When I hold it in my hand, it takes me back to a simpler time, and seems to resonate with a sense of history and heritage.
Thanks for reading.
