It was cold, very cold in the woods, with the wind making a rushing noise in the trees overhead. Bright winter sunshine fell in a dappled pattern and in the shadowed places patches of snow still lingered. The old man and his grandson walked the trail carefully, looking around at nature, reveling in the winter woods. Coming to a spot on a hill overlooking a creek, they paused.
"You ready for some hot chocolate, pup?" asked the old man.
"Sure grandpa, but where are you gonna get it? You didn't bring a thermos along." replied the boy.
"Watch and learn, pup." said his grandfather.
Working carefully in the January cold, the old man gathered up some twig sized sticks, and some dried pine needles, and some bigger thumb sized sticks. Then he took out his pocket knife. The boy had seen his grandpa's old barlow many times, but still loved to admire the knife. The old blades were a dark gray patina from the decades of use, and the old red bone scales were worn smooth from the many handlings. Some slight dark smoky shades ran through the red bone.
The old man took one of the sticks and slowly shaved off thin curls of wood that were almost translucent. Then he made a fuzz stick that looked like it was a picture from a scout manual of the perfect fuzz stick. The thin, honed razor edge of the old barlow shaved curls that went three times around without breaking off. Putting his knife away, he took some of the dried pine needles and rubbed them between his hands, and then placed the thin shavings of wood on top. The fuzz stick topped it off. Taking out a battered old Zippo lighter with a military unit crest on it, he flicked the wheel, and the little campfire flared into life. Feeding the sticks carefully, he soon had a nice fire going.
"Wow, you sure know how to make a fire quick, grandpa." the boy exclaimed.
"Just a lifetime of practice at it, boy. I was doing this before your daddy was a gleam in my eye."
From his bag, the old man took out a U.S. GI canteen and the metal canteen cut nested around it's base. Pouring water from the canteen into the metal cup, he set the cup on the edge of the fire to heat. While they they sat on the log close to the fire, the boy asked to see the old barlow again. The old man handed the knife to the boy, and watched in approval as the boy showed caution in opening the knife. He kept his fingers out of the way as he pulled open the gray clip blade, and very carefully felt the edge.
" You sure keep it sharp, grandpa." the boy said.
"Well, a dull knife is a lot like a gun with no cat'ridges." the old man said.
"The whole point of a cutting tool is to cut, and it ain't gonna do that without a good edge. " the old man told his grandson. "So ya take care of it, keep it stropped up good, and don't go abusing it by doin sumpthin it ain't designed to do. Someday you jist may need to do some cuttin, and if it's dull, you could be in a jam. "
The boy listened to the old man carefully, as he considered his grandpa to be the final word on many things.
"You mean like today, making a fire, and you shaved up the wood from those sticks that were wet from the snow. "
"Yes, that's one example." the old man told the boy. " It snowed, then it got sunny, and some of the snow melted leaving everything kind of damp. With a good sharp knife, you can shave up some dry kindling real thin so's it takes the flame. "
As he'd spoke, he'd taken the old barlow back from the boy, and slowly stropped the edge of the blade on the top of his boot.
"You see, pup, if you keep the blade stropped up nice and sharp, you won't have to use the stone as much. When I was just a young pup like you, my daddy told me to strop often and sharpen less. The knife lasts longer that way. Back then, we didn't have a lot of money, and the price of a good pocket knife was nuthin to sneeze at. So's we took good care of what we had in tools. Always the right tool for the job, and don't go abusing something that you ain't about to spend the money to replace."
The water in the canteen cup was starting to bubble and the old man got out a couple of dented up old tin cups from the canvas haversack he'd carried slung over one shoulder, and handed one to the boy. Then he took out a couple of paper packets of hot chocolate mix and poured them into the cups. Adding the hot water from the fire, he and boy stirred up the mix with a stick, and sat back on the log to enjoy the woods on a sunny but cold day.
"Grandpa, this is the best hot chocolate I think I ever had!" the boy said.
"I think it's the ambiance that makes it good."
"What's ambiance, grandpa?" the boy asked.
The old man looked about him, and listened to the rush of the wind in the tree tops high overhead, smelled the woodsmoke on the cold winter air, and the sight of the sunlight falling through the hardwoods forest.
"Surroundings, pup. It's the great surrounding and good company." the old man said.
The boy held out his dented cup of hot chocolate.
"Here's to good company, grandpa."
The old man and the boy clinked their cups together in a mutual toast, and enjoyed their hot chocolate while listening to the rush of the wind high overhead.
"You ready for some hot chocolate, pup?" asked the old man.
"Sure grandpa, but where are you gonna get it? You didn't bring a thermos along." replied the boy.
"Watch and learn, pup." said his grandfather.
Working carefully in the January cold, the old man gathered up some twig sized sticks, and some dried pine needles, and some bigger thumb sized sticks. Then he took out his pocket knife. The boy had seen his grandpa's old barlow many times, but still loved to admire the knife. The old blades were a dark gray patina from the decades of use, and the old red bone scales were worn smooth from the many handlings. Some slight dark smoky shades ran through the red bone.
The old man took one of the sticks and slowly shaved off thin curls of wood that were almost translucent. Then he made a fuzz stick that looked like it was a picture from a scout manual of the perfect fuzz stick. The thin, honed razor edge of the old barlow shaved curls that went three times around without breaking off. Putting his knife away, he took some of the dried pine needles and rubbed them between his hands, and then placed the thin shavings of wood on top. The fuzz stick topped it off. Taking out a battered old Zippo lighter with a military unit crest on it, he flicked the wheel, and the little campfire flared into life. Feeding the sticks carefully, he soon had a nice fire going.
"Wow, you sure know how to make a fire quick, grandpa." the boy exclaimed.
"Just a lifetime of practice at it, boy. I was doing this before your daddy was a gleam in my eye."
From his bag, the old man took out a U.S. GI canteen and the metal canteen cut nested around it's base. Pouring water from the canteen into the metal cup, he set the cup on the edge of the fire to heat. While they they sat on the log close to the fire, the boy asked to see the old barlow again. The old man handed the knife to the boy, and watched in approval as the boy showed caution in opening the knife. He kept his fingers out of the way as he pulled open the gray clip blade, and very carefully felt the edge.
" You sure keep it sharp, grandpa." the boy said.
"Well, a dull knife is a lot like a gun with no cat'ridges." the old man said.
"The whole point of a cutting tool is to cut, and it ain't gonna do that without a good edge. " the old man told his grandson. "So ya take care of it, keep it stropped up good, and don't go abusing it by doin sumpthin it ain't designed to do. Someday you jist may need to do some cuttin, and if it's dull, you could be in a jam. "
The boy listened to the old man carefully, as he considered his grandpa to be the final word on many things.
"You mean like today, making a fire, and you shaved up the wood from those sticks that were wet from the snow. "
"Yes, that's one example." the old man told the boy. " It snowed, then it got sunny, and some of the snow melted leaving everything kind of damp. With a good sharp knife, you can shave up some dry kindling real thin so's it takes the flame. "
As he'd spoke, he'd taken the old barlow back from the boy, and slowly stropped the edge of the blade on the top of his boot.
"You see, pup, if you keep the blade stropped up nice and sharp, you won't have to use the stone as much. When I was just a young pup like you, my daddy told me to strop often and sharpen less. The knife lasts longer that way. Back then, we didn't have a lot of money, and the price of a good pocket knife was nuthin to sneeze at. So's we took good care of what we had in tools. Always the right tool for the job, and don't go abusing something that you ain't about to spend the money to replace."
The water in the canteen cup was starting to bubble and the old man got out a couple of dented up old tin cups from the canvas haversack he'd carried slung over one shoulder, and handed one to the boy. Then he took out a couple of paper packets of hot chocolate mix and poured them into the cups. Adding the hot water from the fire, he and boy stirred up the mix with a stick, and sat back on the log to enjoy the woods on a sunny but cold day.
"Grandpa, this is the best hot chocolate I think I ever had!" the boy said.
"I think it's the ambiance that makes it good."
"What's ambiance, grandpa?" the boy asked.
The old man looked about him, and listened to the rush of the wind in the tree tops high overhead, smelled the woodsmoke on the cold winter air, and the sight of the sunlight falling through the hardwoods forest.
"Surroundings, pup. It's the great surrounding and good company." the old man said.
The boy held out his dented cup of hot chocolate.
"Here's to good company, grandpa."
The old man and the boy clinked their cups together in a mutual toast, and enjoyed their hot chocolate while listening to the rush of the wind high overhead.
