- Joined
- Oct 26, 2008
- Messages
- 206
I posted these somewhere else this week, but I knew they needed to be here, if I wanted the knife gods to smile on me:
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The one that started it. Given to me by my maternal grandfather (Pa), on the front porch of our home during a visit. I remember him asking me something about using my knife, and I told him I didn't have one. He raised his eyebrows and said "Heck boy- you can't go around without a pocketknife!" He reached in his pocket, and pulled this out, with simple advise to keep it in my pocket. I'm sure you guys all know what kind of torture that knife was put through over the next couple of years. I'm so glad I was given other knives soon after, so that this one was spared an awful lot of what I dished out. I forgot all about this knife, as it sat in the bottom of a drawer, through my teens, and at some point in my twenties probably, I started wondering what had become of it. About ten years ago I found it in a box of junk my mom had packed up after I joined the military and left home. Y'all can imagine how happy I was! It was pretty bad off. Blades so corroded I could barely move them. A few days of soaking in oil, and some scrubbing with a toothbrush had her serviceable again. Pa is still kickin' (hard!) at 86 years old, and I still spend a lot of time with him. He recently told me that knife was his fathers "sunday go to meetin' " knife, and he had brought it specifically to give to me that day... who knew?
These days she gets carried alternately on holidays or special occasions with:
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This one was my paternal grandpa's. I have vivid memories of sitting in his lap while he used this old gem to clean or trim his nails. He cherished a good knife, and this one was very special to him. I found out years later it was brought back from Germany for him by his middle son- my uncle Morrris- after he lost his other knife. He died in '82 when I was 14, and I wondered for eons what had become of his old knife. I always remembered how much he loved it, telling me that it was "the best knife you could have". A few years ago, I ran into uncle Morris one Thanksgiving, and he pulled it out to cut something. I immediately knew it was Grandpa's, but had no idea of the back story. Morris told me all about it that afternoon... he had spent some time in Germany while he was in the Corp, and when he heard Grandpa had lost his knife, went out and picked this one to replace it- knowing exactly what Grandpa appreciated in a knife. Thin and easy on the pocket, with great bone, and the best steel. It never left Grandpas pocket, being used daily for anything and everything. He was an outdoorsman, spending every day in the woods, and he was in the timber business- buying and selling. He would bring home practically anything for dinner- rattlesnake, snapping turtles, rabbit... there were several rattles sitting on his desk from the snakes he had skinned. I remember helping him pull in a turtle one day when I was just a tiny fella, that was so big he had to go get a buddy to help him tie it to a pole and help him carry it back out to the truck. I remember having turtle soup that night, and how gritty it was. That old knife skinned them all. The day he died, Morris quietly took it from his pocket, and put it in his own, where it stayed the next twenty years or so. I had no idea. I had always assumed it had long ago been thrown out with the junk no one cared about keeping. I'm so glad to know Morris cared so much about that old knife. He told me that day that he had almost lost it to TSA just a few weeks before, and had been thinking maybe he shouldn't carry it everywhere any more. He told me he'd love for me to have it, but he didn't have another to carry, and he was particular about what he'd want to trade it for. It so happened I had a Case baby butterbean in my pocket with a flag shield that day, and when he saw it he knew it would be the perfect replacement. Grandpa's old Boker lives most of the time in a display case in my man cave, with Pa's, but on holidays and special occasions it comes out of retirement. It's hard to explain I guess, to most people these days, but of all the possessions he had at his death (not many), his knife was the one thing that "was" him. I swear I can practically feel him smile when I use it.
I've been lurking around here for the longest time, and enjoy it tremendously ... Hi- my name is Jamie, and I'm a knife addict
The one that started it. Given to me by my maternal grandfather (Pa), on the front porch of our home during a visit. I remember him asking me something about using my knife, and I told him I didn't have one. He raised his eyebrows and said "Heck boy- you can't go around without a pocketknife!" He reached in his pocket, and pulled this out, with simple advise to keep it in my pocket. I'm sure you guys all know what kind of torture that knife was put through over the next couple of years. I'm so glad I was given other knives soon after, so that this one was spared an awful lot of what I dished out. I forgot all about this knife, as it sat in the bottom of a drawer, through my teens, and at some point in my twenties probably, I started wondering what had become of it. About ten years ago I found it in a box of junk my mom had packed up after I joined the military and left home. Y'all can imagine how happy I was! It was pretty bad off. Blades so corroded I could barely move them. A few days of soaking in oil, and some scrubbing with a toothbrush had her serviceable again. Pa is still kickin' (hard!) at 86 years old, and I still spend a lot of time with him. He recently told me that knife was his fathers "sunday go to meetin' " knife, and he had brought it specifically to give to me that day... who knew?
These days she gets carried alternately on holidays or special occasions with:
This one was my paternal grandpa's. I have vivid memories of sitting in his lap while he used this old gem to clean or trim his nails. He cherished a good knife, and this one was very special to him. I found out years later it was brought back from Germany for him by his middle son- my uncle Morrris- after he lost his other knife. He died in '82 when I was 14, and I wondered for eons what had become of his old knife. I always remembered how much he loved it, telling me that it was "the best knife you could have". A few years ago, I ran into uncle Morris one Thanksgiving, and he pulled it out to cut something. I immediately knew it was Grandpa's, but had no idea of the back story. Morris told me all about it that afternoon... he had spent some time in Germany while he was in the Corp, and when he heard Grandpa had lost his knife, went out and picked this one to replace it- knowing exactly what Grandpa appreciated in a knife. Thin and easy on the pocket, with great bone, and the best steel. It never left Grandpas pocket, being used daily for anything and everything. He was an outdoorsman, spending every day in the woods, and he was in the timber business- buying and selling. He would bring home practically anything for dinner- rattlesnake, snapping turtles, rabbit... there were several rattles sitting on his desk from the snakes he had skinned. I remember helping him pull in a turtle one day when I was just a tiny fella, that was so big he had to go get a buddy to help him tie it to a pole and help him carry it back out to the truck. I remember having turtle soup that night, and how gritty it was. That old knife skinned them all. The day he died, Morris quietly took it from his pocket, and put it in his own, where it stayed the next twenty years or so. I had no idea. I had always assumed it had long ago been thrown out with the junk no one cared about keeping. I'm so glad to know Morris cared so much about that old knife. He told me that day that he had almost lost it to TSA just a few weeks before, and had been thinking maybe he shouldn't carry it everywhere any more. He told me he'd love for me to have it, but he didn't have another to carry, and he was particular about what he'd want to trade it for. It so happened I had a Case baby butterbean in my pocket with a flag shield that day, and when he saw it he knew it would be the perfect replacement. Grandpa's old Boker lives most of the time in a display case in my man cave, with Pa's, but on holidays and special occasions it comes out of retirement. It's hard to explain I guess, to most people these days, but of all the possessions he had at his death (not many), his knife was the one thing that "was" him. I swear I can practically feel him smile when I use it.
I've been lurking around here for the longest time, and enjoy it tremendously ... Hi- my name is Jamie, and I'm a knife addict
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