I never thought I was going to live this long. A reckless youth, the army and a war, then raising kids and the stress of trying to guide three kids through their own adolescence was nerve wracking. Some emergencies along the way, some broken bones, a few operations from injuries. If I had know that I was going to be a gen-u-ine old fart, I'm sure there would have been a few less times of "Hold my beer and watch this!" That never ended well and I am a bit of a slow learner.
I know I've spoken of my great downsizing, and how age made me less materialistic. Material positions faded in their importance compared to the ones I loved, with family and good friends. Stuff I had bought to fulfill some need or just fool around with ended up gone. What I kept was from people I genuinely cared about, both family and friends. Like pocket knives.
Taking stock of the pocket knives I have kept and still carry and use was a look back on my own history and those that I shared it with. Almost all the pocket knives I now own and use, are from some very good long term friends that had to take leave of this life. The most carried and used is Andy's little Buck 303 cadet. Andy was a country boy from down around the Mt. Rogers area of Virginia. I watched Andy one cold morning take care of his opening day deer like a surgeon. After his passing his wife gave the knife and its been a cherished item ever since. Used gently and carried with care. Great care.
I still have Gary's little Uncle Henry 897 stockman. I've always loved he smooth curving lines of this serpentine stockman, and I can recall all the after work afternoons on the archery range or bank of of the Potomac River fishing that I'd see Gary trimming a chicken liver on a catfish hunt, or neatly removing the tattered fletching of an arrow to glue on another. If the knife was a little less than sharp, Gary would hand it to me and ask me if I could do anything with it. As great a traditional archer as he was, his knife sharpening skills were a bit lacking. I tried to get him up to speed, but I think he enjoyed having me take care of it on the spot. I think he got a kick out of seeing me zip open the little compartment of my wallet and taking out the old Eze-Lap model L with most the handle cut off and honing his knife on the spot. Gary was enjoying a great retirement when pancreatic cancer caught up with him. Toward the end, when Hospice was at his home, he handed me the old Uncle Henry and asked me to touch up the blade. I did so in a few minutes and had it sharp. When I went to hand it back to him, he told me to hang onto it for him. Told me that he wasn't going to need in in a while. That little Schrade has been on many a catfish hunt in Texas. It too gets used lightly and with love.
Dad's old Christy knife is in my cigar box of knives. The blade is about 1/3 sharpened away, its dinged and beat up, but still very functional. His old and famed peanut is in the iron handed care of my grandson Ryan, who has become the family historian. A trait he inherited from his mother, our daughter Jessica. Ryan has a shadow box with the peanut and a few photos of dad and a 3x5 card with some facts about the man. He also has a box for me and my old Buck that I carried for 25 years non stop before my knife nut phase took over. Sometimes on visits, Ryan will even let me touch it. The Christy gets carried now and then, and opens my mail, cuts some string now and then. Dad used the Christy in his later years, and it phased our his peanut when arthritis made his peanut awkward to open.
Now, a forum member I have never met, has gifted me not one, but two beautiful art pieces of Schrade pocket knives. Glenn has enjoyed my old Boy Scout Plumb hatchet as well, so I guess now we have an exchange of cutlery. These two Old Timers with drop dead gorgeous stag scales will join Andy's and Gary's and Dad's knives in a rotation for pocket duty. They will used like Dad and Gary and Andy's knives; used gently with care.
Its a strange and funny thing that at this stage of my life, almost none of my knives are from what I bought over the years. Instead, they are from people that were in my life one way or another, and there was some meaning to them When I slide a hand in the pocket and feel the particular knife of there day, it makes me think of that person that was connected to the object. Its like having that person, or a bit of that person, along for the ride. The Japanese say that an object can carry a part of the persons spirit, which is why it was so important to carry the old family sword off to war. I know that an object can carry something that speaks of something. I guess now when I go fishing, or traveling in a car trip, or whatever, I can slide a hand in a pocket and think of the friend in a distant part of the country that gifted the knife.
Glenn, your two knives will be in very good company.
I know I've spoken of my great downsizing, and how age made me less materialistic. Material positions faded in their importance compared to the ones I loved, with family and good friends. Stuff I had bought to fulfill some need or just fool around with ended up gone. What I kept was from people I genuinely cared about, both family and friends. Like pocket knives.
Taking stock of the pocket knives I have kept and still carry and use was a look back on my own history and those that I shared it with. Almost all the pocket knives I now own and use, are from some very good long term friends that had to take leave of this life. The most carried and used is Andy's little Buck 303 cadet. Andy was a country boy from down around the Mt. Rogers area of Virginia. I watched Andy one cold morning take care of his opening day deer like a surgeon. After his passing his wife gave the knife and its been a cherished item ever since. Used gently and carried with care. Great care.
I still have Gary's little Uncle Henry 897 stockman. I've always loved he smooth curving lines of this serpentine stockman, and I can recall all the after work afternoons on the archery range or bank of of the Potomac River fishing that I'd see Gary trimming a chicken liver on a catfish hunt, or neatly removing the tattered fletching of an arrow to glue on another. If the knife was a little less than sharp, Gary would hand it to me and ask me if I could do anything with it. As great a traditional archer as he was, his knife sharpening skills were a bit lacking. I tried to get him up to speed, but I think he enjoyed having me take care of it on the spot. I think he got a kick out of seeing me zip open the little compartment of my wallet and taking out the old Eze-Lap model L with most the handle cut off and honing his knife on the spot. Gary was enjoying a great retirement when pancreatic cancer caught up with him. Toward the end, when Hospice was at his home, he handed me the old Uncle Henry and asked me to touch up the blade. I did so in a few minutes and had it sharp. When I went to hand it back to him, he told me to hang onto it for him. Told me that he wasn't going to need in in a while. That little Schrade has been on many a catfish hunt in Texas. It too gets used lightly and with love.
Dad's old Christy knife is in my cigar box of knives. The blade is about 1/3 sharpened away, its dinged and beat up, but still very functional. His old and famed peanut is in the iron handed care of my grandson Ryan, who has become the family historian. A trait he inherited from his mother, our daughter Jessica. Ryan has a shadow box with the peanut and a few photos of dad and a 3x5 card with some facts about the man. He also has a box for me and my old Buck that I carried for 25 years non stop before my knife nut phase took over. Sometimes on visits, Ryan will even let me touch it. The Christy gets carried now and then, and opens my mail, cuts some string now and then. Dad used the Christy in his later years, and it phased our his peanut when arthritis made his peanut awkward to open.
Now, a forum member I have never met, has gifted me not one, but two beautiful art pieces of Schrade pocket knives. Glenn has enjoyed my old Boy Scout Plumb hatchet as well, so I guess now we have an exchange of cutlery. These two Old Timers with drop dead gorgeous stag scales will join Andy's and Gary's and Dad's knives in a rotation for pocket duty. They will used like Dad and Gary and Andy's knives; used gently with care.
Its a strange and funny thing that at this stage of my life, almost none of my knives are from what I bought over the years. Instead, they are from people that were in my life one way or another, and there was some meaning to them When I slide a hand in the pocket and feel the particular knife of there day, it makes me think of that person that was connected to the object. Its like having that person, or a bit of that person, along for the ride. The Japanese say that an object can carry a part of the persons spirit, which is why it was so important to carry the old family sword off to war. I know that an object can carry something that speaks of something. I guess now when I go fishing, or traveling in a car trip, or whatever, I can slide a hand in a pocket and think of the friend in a distant part of the country that gifted the knife.
Glenn, your two knives will be in very good company.