- Joined
- Jan 15, 2013
- Messages
- 460
I've been looking and looking for an older Barlow that was affordable enough to be a user for quite a while. Online shopping has a soulless feel to it, so I wanted to buy something I could hold first, and preferably not pay much for it. I checked out the local pawn shops and turned up nothing but a whipped old Kamp King with 2 bolsters and a good 3mm of blade wobble, which could be mine for the low low price of $45. Needless to say I passed on this particular steal of a deal. By the time I had gone to all (I thought) the shops in town, I was thoroughly discouraged, and thinking that maybe a Bear and Sons wasn't such a bad idea. Enter my GF, and D.E. Turner Hardware Co.
A couple of days ago, after my hopes of finding the right user barlow had faded, my girlfriend decided she wanted to go antiquing. I told myself I was going "cuz that's just what you gotta do, son", but soon found myself peeking in all manner of boxes, droors, and display case corners, still looking for the Barlow. Nothing turned up. It just wasn't my day. Then, on the way back to the car, we walked past D.E. Turner Hardware Co., which had been hiding in plain sight a few buildings down from our last stop. We went in on a whim.
It was one of THOSE kind of places. Cool and dark, with cathedral ceilings and one wall that was covered floor to ceiling with what must have been 500 bins that held God only knows what. The wheels on the rolling ladder in front of the wall had worn ruts in the wide, heart pine boards of the floor from decades of use. When I turned around to face the massive front windows, I half expected to see a Master Deluxe or some such road locomotive rolling by. The place was a time capsule. But, I digress.
We moved through the store, and made our way up to the door again. On the way out, we walked by the display case that sat by the door. The glass was so yellow and caked with dust that I could barely see through it, but, less than 10 feet from the door, I saw just what I'd been waiting to see. Resting on a dusty wooden box, in the furthest corner of the case, sat the Barlow I'd been looking for. I asked the proprietor (who's been running the place by himself for the past 50 years) if I might see "that little knife in the back." He said sure, and when he told me what he wanted for it, I jumped on it. I handed the cash over the register to him, and he handed me the knife, and spoke a word of caution as we headed toward the door. "Keep that one in your pocket now, and hold on to it."
All storytelling aside, I really like the knife, and it's only been out of my pocket long enough for me to make it my own with a mustard patina (sacrilege maybe, but it's no show piece). The materials and workmanship put the age some time on the late 60's or early 70's. Hopefully it has another 40 years left in it.
A couple of days ago, after my hopes of finding the right user barlow had faded, my girlfriend decided she wanted to go antiquing. I told myself I was going "cuz that's just what you gotta do, son", but soon found myself peeking in all manner of boxes, droors, and display case corners, still looking for the Barlow. Nothing turned up. It just wasn't my day. Then, on the way back to the car, we walked past D.E. Turner Hardware Co., which had been hiding in plain sight a few buildings down from our last stop. We went in on a whim.
It was one of THOSE kind of places. Cool and dark, with cathedral ceilings and one wall that was covered floor to ceiling with what must have been 500 bins that held God only knows what. The wheels on the rolling ladder in front of the wall had worn ruts in the wide, heart pine boards of the floor from decades of use. When I turned around to face the massive front windows, I half expected to see a Master Deluxe or some such road locomotive rolling by. The place was a time capsule. But, I digress.
We moved through the store, and made our way up to the door again. On the way out, we walked by the display case that sat by the door. The glass was so yellow and caked with dust that I could barely see through it, but, less than 10 feet from the door, I saw just what I'd been waiting to see. Resting on a dusty wooden box, in the furthest corner of the case, sat the Barlow I'd been looking for. I asked the proprietor (who's been running the place by himself for the past 50 years) if I might see "that little knife in the back." He said sure, and when he told me what he wanted for it, I jumped on it. I handed the cash over the register to him, and he handed me the knife, and spoke a word of caution as we headed toward the door. "Keep that one in your pocket now, and hold on to it."
All storytelling aside, I really like the knife, and it's only been out of my pocket long enough for me to make it my own with a mustard patina (sacrilege maybe, but it's no show piece). The materials and workmanship put the age some time on the late 60's or early 70's. Hopefully it has another 40 years left in it.
.
