Summer time when I was growing up meant the beach. In the Washington D.C. area, this meant many of the private beaches on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. Warm calm water, pine tree shaded picnic areas, and sometimes an arcade with rides and a carnival atmosphere. One we used to go to a lot, was Triton Beach. Dad would load the family in his Pontiac and cruise down to the bay. Mom would pack up a lunch in the wicker picnic basket and dad would get a big block of ice for his metal cooler. No wonder plastic coolers in those days. This was a big old green box of a thing, with the Dr. Pepper logo on it. There were lift out trays that kept the food up off the ice in the bottom. Mom always cooked a nice big ham for sandwiches, and all ingredients were in the ice chest. It was on one of these outings that dad showed what can be done with a bushwhacker.
We'd been swimming and playing in the water, and had worked up a good appetite. We all trooped up from the beach were we'd had a picnic table staked out, and set about getting ready to feast. Mom had set the picnic table with a nice table cloth, laid out paper plates and dad was getting ready to carve the ham for sandwiches. It was a custom back then not to make the sandwiches before hand, least they get that soggy feeling of hanging around too long. In our family, no sandwich was made before it was time to eat it. The ham, swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato, and whatever was all kept in separate containers in the Dr. Pepper ice chest. Mom took care of what went into the wicket picnic basket. Silver ware, non refrigerated condiments, napkins, bread, whatever.
So there we all sat, the family ready to eat some nice fresh made ham and swiss on rye, and dad had finished cutting the plastic wrap off the block of Swiss cheese. His little peanut was in his hand and he sliced off some nice thin slices of cheese. Putting down his peanut, he looked in the wicker picnic basket for the carving knife. On picnics, an old wood handle butcher knife was wrapped up and put in the basket for the express use of ham carving. Dad was a master meat carver, and could slice off even thin slices like a pro butcher. Now, he was looking in the basket with a slightly puzzled look on his face.
"Sooo, where's the carving knife?" he asked mom.
Mom looked a little taken aback, and she looked, then got a funny look on her face.
"Oh no, I think I forgot to pack it." she said. "Can you use your pocket knife?"
Dad looked at his little peanut laying there on the table for pickle cutting duty.
"If I use that for making the ham sandwiches, they're gonna be lots of little finger sandwiches that will take all afternoon to make, let alone eat." he said.
With that, he got his car keys and started walking over to his big old Pontiac Star Chief. Opening the trunk, he got put his emergency bag and took out the green canvas sheath with his bushwhacker. He'd made this chopper tool from a cut down English machete, and with a 9 1/2 inch blade that was razor sharp, it was a formidable tool. The blade was a sheep foot profile, and slightly wider at the tip than near the handle.
"Oh Lee, you're not going to use that for our lunch are you?" mom asked.
"I'm hungry, the kids are hungry, and I know your hungry. It'l work just fine."
Mom looked doubtful, but she motioned for him to hand it to her. When he did so, she took a dampened napkin and carefully wiped down the blade to make sure it was clean. Handing it back to dad, she just said to have at it. Dad took her at her word. In short order, nice pink slices of ham were curling off, and a paper plate was stacked with fresh meat for sandwiches. It was as neatly done as a pro butcher could have done at the market. Dad always made sure that bushwhacker was sharp as a razor. We ate well that afternoon, and dad cleaned off his bushwhacker with a cloth napkin, and put it back in the trunk of the Pontiac.
Dad was like that. Never having a lot of gear, but always seeming to get the most out a just a few things. I think if dad had been hunter, he'd have been one of those guys with a shotgun that he'd use for everything from squirrel to bear. A one gun man with a versatile piece of equipment. Dad always said he liked to have a lot of bang for the buck, and he managed with very little gear. Maybe it was the depression era thinking, but it did seem to work for him. He didn't seem to have any use for the in between stuff like 6 inch blades or medium caliber guns. I remember when I was going off to the army, and I went to give him my Puma bowie. He looked it over, and handed it back to me. Told me it was a nice looking knife, but it didn't do anything his bushwhacker wouldn't do. Dad didn't see any sense in a 6 or 7 inch blade, since he had a 9 1/2 inch piece of sharp steel on hand. When I think about it, he may have had a point. With a sharp little knife in his pocket, and the bushwhacker not too far away, he seems to get through life just fine. I guess I thought about dad when I was selling off all those custom sheath knives I'd accumulated. Now I just carry one or two sharp pocketknives, and if they don't do it, I'm reaching for my own bushwhacker.
Thanks dad!
We'd been swimming and playing in the water, and had worked up a good appetite. We all trooped up from the beach were we'd had a picnic table staked out, and set about getting ready to feast. Mom had set the picnic table with a nice table cloth, laid out paper plates and dad was getting ready to carve the ham for sandwiches. It was a custom back then not to make the sandwiches before hand, least they get that soggy feeling of hanging around too long. In our family, no sandwich was made before it was time to eat it. The ham, swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato, and whatever was all kept in separate containers in the Dr. Pepper ice chest. Mom took care of what went into the wicket picnic basket. Silver ware, non refrigerated condiments, napkins, bread, whatever.
So there we all sat, the family ready to eat some nice fresh made ham and swiss on rye, and dad had finished cutting the plastic wrap off the block of Swiss cheese. His little peanut was in his hand and he sliced off some nice thin slices of cheese. Putting down his peanut, he looked in the wicker picnic basket for the carving knife. On picnics, an old wood handle butcher knife was wrapped up and put in the basket for the express use of ham carving. Dad was a master meat carver, and could slice off even thin slices like a pro butcher. Now, he was looking in the basket with a slightly puzzled look on his face.
"Sooo, where's the carving knife?" he asked mom.
Mom looked a little taken aback, and she looked, then got a funny look on her face.
"Oh no, I think I forgot to pack it." she said. "Can you use your pocket knife?"
Dad looked at his little peanut laying there on the table for pickle cutting duty.
"If I use that for making the ham sandwiches, they're gonna be lots of little finger sandwiches that will take all afternoon to make, let alone eat." he said.
With that, he got his car keys and started walking over to his big old Pontiac Star Chief. Opening the trunk, he got put his emergency bag and took out the green canvas sheath with his bushwhacker. He'd made this chopper tool from a cut down English machete, and with a 9 1/2 inch blade that was razor sharp, it was a formidable tool. The blade was a sheep foot profile, and slightly wider at the tip than near the handle.
"Oh Lee, you're not going to use that for our lunch are you?" mom asked.
"I'm hungry, the kids are hungry, and I know your hungry. It'l work just fine."
Mom looked doubtful, but she motioned for him to hand it to her. When he did so, she took a dampened napkin and carefully wiped down the blade to make sure it was clean. Handing it back to dad, she just said to have at it. Dad took her at her word. In short order, nice pink slices of ham were curling off, and a paper plate was stacked with fresh meat for sandwiches. It was as neatly done as a pro butcher could have done at the market. Dad always made sure that bushwhacker was sharp as a razor. We ate well that afternoon, and dad cleaned off his bushwhacker with a cloth napkin, and put it back in the trunk of the Pontiac.
Dad was like that. Never having a lot of gear, but always seeming to get the most out a just a few things. I think if dad had been hunter, he'd have been one of those guys with a shotgun that he'd use for everything from squirrel to bear. A one gun man with a versatile piece of equipment. Dad always said he liked to have a lot of bang for the buck, and he managed with very little gear. Maybe it was the depression era thinking, but it did seem to work for him. He didn't seem to have any use for the in between stuff like 6 inch blades or medium caliber guns. I remember when I was going off to the army, and I went to give him my Puma bowie. He looked it over, and handed it back to me. Told me it was a nice looking knife, but it didn't do anything his bushwhacker wouldn't do. Dad didn't see any sense in a 6 or 7 inch blade, since he had a 9 1/2 inch piece of sharp steel on hand. When I think about it, he may have had a point. With a sharp little knife in his pocket, and the bushwhacker not too far away, he seems to get through life just fine. I guess I thought about dad when I was selling off all those custom sheath knives I'd accumulated. Now I just carry one or two sharp pocketknives, and if they don't do it, I'm reaching for my own bushwhacker.
Thanks dad!
. I actually drowned once, at a spot called Miami Beach, but my mothers friend pulled me out of the water and they did CPR on me. It was my birthday party, so I celebrated with cake and ice cream 
. I bet if one of us pulled a machete out of the trunk to slice ham, we'd be asked to leave at the very least 
