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It was an early fall morning and I awoke to the smells of fresh coffee in a pot and bacon sizzling in a pan. I knew we were up earlier than usual, which meant we needed to get the work done earlier because we'd be in the woods today. My uncle Jake was a tall man and he never missed a day of work. He was quiet, but he never missed an opportunity to teach me something new. As I walked into the kitchen he poured the coffee and looked up and nodded his hello's. Fall was a special time of year for us on the farm, it was time for work and for play. The apple trees would need tended to and there would be fruit to pick everyday.
Jake flipped some bacon on to my plate and then some on his. He took a seat and bowed his head, he mumbled a few words under his breath and grace was over. Jake wasn't a church going man, but he never missed an opportunity to say good morning to his wife Debra. She had died a few years before I got to the farm and uncle Jake was heart broken for a long time.
Uncle Jake's sodbuster knife lay on the table with the dark gray blade open. After finishing his breakfast he would take his knife and run it across an old wet stone that was always on the table, after that he stropped it on an leather strop from a barber's shop. The edge shined now and it was the newest thing about that old knife. He felt the edge and nodded his approval. With that, we sat up and headed for the door. We climbed into the old diesel truck and Jake turned the key and heated the glow plugs. "We're just checking the trees this morning", my heart swelled and I was filled with joy, it was an easy day of work and a hard day of hunting. The truck rumbled to a start and we headed for the fields.
Jake had a few hundred acres and getting to the trees took some time, I would sit and wonder about the way things used to be on the farm. I had heard stories of 10 or 20 workers on the farm, but since Debra passed, Jake scales things way back. It was enough for him to manage with my help and it took long days to get all the work done. We neared the orchard's fence and slowed to a complete stop, I got out of the truck and unlocked the gate. Jake put up a big 10 foot high fence, it helped to keep the varmints at bay and it protected the few trees from strangers looking for a free bite. We walked side by side checking the trees and the apples that would soon be ready to pick. Finally Jake stopped and reached up for a nice, big Mac apple. I never liked the Macs like the other trees Jake had, but everything has it's place. He took out his work knife and slid the blade through the apple, halving it for us to share. Taking a taste he nodded his head, "too young yet". It would be a few more days, maybe a week before it time to harvest these trees. We made our rounds around the farm and everything was in order se we headed back to the truck and headed for the farmhouse.
I slipped into my brush pants and laced my boots. I could here the gun cabinet's door swing open and the pump action of the old Winchester slid back and fourth. I walked back outside to find Jake with his Ruger single six on his hip. He handed me the old Winchester, "we're going out to the rows today". The "rows" was a little postage stamp field surrounded by tall oaks. We planted corn in this little field as a feed source for the critters, it helped to keep them from the orchard and it made for an excellent spot to bag game. Reaching into my vest pocket I began to pull out the 12. gauge shells I had from the fall turkey season. As I was pulling out the shells my finger tips touched something that was foreign to my hand.
I pulled out a little yellow jack knife, it was shining like a polished penny and the blades reflected my gaze. I looked up at Jake and asked "what's this for"? He reached into his pocket and pulled out an identical little jack knife, it was faded and the blades were dark from years of use, "it's a good back up and it's perfect for small game". He expounded upon this and really surprised me, "it's like a 22. rifle, it's good for a lot of things, but it's not as heavy as a deer rifle or as cumbersome as a big gauge gun". He paused before continuing his lesson, "if you know how to use a blade right, it will even handle more than you would expect." His jack knife was a testament to his words and it proved a good companion for him.
I dumped in a few 22s. from the box and I just smiled as they landed on that peanut of a knife.
We slowly made our way to the "rows" and quieted our steps as we neared, closer and closer. You could hear the leaves on the dried corn stalks rustle about as a small critter worked to get the corn off. Jake motioned for me to take the lead with the old pump gun. I raised the peep site and slowly began making my way to the base of an old oak that was cleared out around for us to sit. I made a wrong step and the field busted loose with game. Squirrel, rabbit and all sorts of bird life made their way for the woods. I turned and shrugged at my mistake and Jake looked back with a smile. There was no need to be quite now, so I turned and quickened the pace towards the tree. Uncle Jake let out a whistle and I froze.
He unsnapped the Ruger and raised it, I watched the direction in which he was pointing. Finally I found his target, a lazy old fox squirrel was sprawled out on a branch, right above our spot. The hammer clicked back and my Uncle Jake let out a breath. The hammer fell and so did the fox squirrel, he landed with a "thud". He was a tough old squirrel, so he would find his way into a pie instead of frying him up, which is the favorite on the farm. We finished making our way to the tree and took a seat.
The corn was too much of a temptation and we knew it wouldn't be long before we would be back in the thick of game. I watched as Jake reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the little knife, he searched the ground until he found a stick to whittle on. It looked like a good way to pass the time, so I joined him. The thin little blade made it easy to glide through the bark and into the meat of the wood.
Time passed and I realized we were still hunting. I glanced up and noticed a few squirrel running though the corn rows. I raised the rifle and found a good target. The hammer fell and another squirrel was added. A second squirrel tried to make an escape, but he too bit the dust when the little winchester spoke.
We finished the day off with full game pouches. It was beautiful afternoon by the time we got back to the farm house. Jake headed into the house for some a couple of cold drinks and I got started on cleaning the game. The little blade slid through the hide and I watched as the blood began to affect the carbon steel. The once shiny blades now started to dull to a shade of gray. I thought about uncle Jakes knife and how someday soon, my knife would be just as worn and comfortable.
Jake flipped some bacon on to my plate and then some on his. He took a seat and bowed his head, he mumbled a few words under his breath and grace was over. Jake wasn't a church going man, but he never missed an opportunity to say good morning to his wife Debra. She had died a few years before I got to the farm and uncle Jake was heart broken for a long time.
Uncle Jake's sodbuster knife lay on the table with the dark gray blade open. After finishing his breakfast he would take his knife and run it across an old wet stone that was always on the table, after that he stropped it on an leather strop from a barber's shop. The edge shined now and it was the newest thing about that old knife. He felt the edge and nodded his approval. With that, we sat up and headed for the door. We climbed into the old diesel truck and Jake turned the key and heated the glow plugs. "We're just checking the trees this morning", my heart swelled and I was filled with joy, it was an easy day of work and a hard day of hunting. The truck rumbled to a start and we headed for the fields.
Jake had a few hundred acres and getting to the trees took some time, I would sit and wonder about the way things used to be on the farm. I had heard stories of 10 or 20 workers on the farm, but since Debra passed, Jake scales things way back. It was enough for him to manage with my help and it took long days to get all the work done. We neared the orchard's fence and slowed to a complete stop, I got out of the truck and unlocked the gate. Jake put up a big 10 foot high fence, it helped to keep the varmints at bay and it protected the few trees from strangers looking for a free bite. We walked side by side checking the trees and the apples that would soon be ready to pick. Finally Jake stopped and reached up for a nice, big Mac apple. I never liked the Macs like the other trees Jake had, but everything has it's place. He took out his work knife and slid the blade through the apple, halving it for us to share. Taking a taste he nodded his head, "too young yet". It would be a few more days, maybe a week before it time to harvest these trees. We made our rounds around the farm and everything was in order se we headed back to the truck and headed for the farmhouse.
I slipped into my brush pants and laced my boots. I could here the gun cabinet's door swing open and the pump action of the old Winchester slid back and fourth. I walked back outside to find Jake with his Ruger single six on his hip. He handed me the old Winchester, "we're going out to the rows today". The "rows" was a little postage stamp field surrounded by tall oaks. We planted corn in this little field as a feed source for the critters, it helped to keep them from the orchard and it made for an excellent spot to bag game. Reaching into my vest pocket I began to pull out the 12. gauge shells I had from the fall turkey season. As I was pulling out the shells my finger tips touched something that was foreign to my hand.
I pulled out a little yellow jack knife, it was shining like a polished penny and the blades reflected my gaze. I looked up at Jake and asked "what's this for"? He reached into his pocket and pulled out an identical little jack knife, it was faded and the blades were dark from years of use, "it's a good back up and it's perfect for small game". He expounded upon this and really surprised me, "it's like a 22. rifle, it's good for a lot of things, but it's not as heavy as a deer rifle or as cumbersome as a big gauge gun". He paused before continuing his lesson, "if you know how to use a blade right, it will even handle more than you would expect." His jack knife was a testament to his words and it proved a good companion for him.
I dumped in a few 22s. from the box and I just smiled as they landed on that peanut of a knife.
We slowly made our way to the "rows" and quieted our steps as we neared, closer and closer. You could hear the leaves on the dried corn stalks rustle about as a small critter worked to get the corn off. Jake motioned for me to take the lead with the old pump gun. I raised the peep site and slowly began making my way to the base of an old oak that was cleared out around for us to sit. I made a wrong step and the field busted loose with game. Squirrel, rabbit and all sorts of bird life made their way for the woods. I turned and shrugged at my mistake and Jake looked back with a smile. There was no need to be quite now, so I turned and quickened the pace towards the tree. Uncle Jake let out a whistle and I froze.
He unsnapped the Ruger and raised it, I watched the direction in which he was pointing. Finally I found his target, a lazy old fox squirrel was sprawled out on a branch, right above our spot. The hammer clicked back and my Uncle Jake let out a breath. The hammer fell and so did the fox squirrel, he landed with a "thud". He was a tough old squirrel, so he would find his way into a pie instead of frying him up, which is the favorite on the farm. We finished making our way to the tree and took a seat.
The corn was too much of a temptation and we knew it wouldn't be long before we would be back in the thick of game. I watched as Jake reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the little knife, he searched the ground until he found a stick to whittle on. It looked like a good way to pass the time, so I joined him. The thin little blade made it easy to glide through the bark and into the meat of the wood.
Time passed and I realized we were still hunting. I glanced up and noticed a few squirrel running though the corn rows. I raised the rifle and found a good target. The hammer fell and another squirrel was added. A second squirrel tried to make an escape, but he too bit the dust when the little winchester spoke.
We finished the day off with full game pouches. It was beautiful afternoon by the time we got back to the farm house. Jake headed into the house for some a couple of cold drinks and I got started on cleaning the game. The little blade slid through the hide and I watched as the blood began to affect the carbon steel. The once shiny blades now started to dull to a shade of gray. I thought about uncle Jakes knife and how someday soon, my knife would be just as worn and comfortable.
