The weather here has been a relief from the 90's high humididity we've been having. Today was another one of those perfect mid 80's breezy days that make one wish summer would never leave. Karen was having a lunch with some friends, so Pearl the wonder corgi and I took a walk.
There's a nieborhood here thats kind of a swanky upscale place, called the Kentlands. It's laid out around the idea of the small town with a park in the middle, a large gazebo that a band can play in on summer evenings, and the old Kentlands mansion converted to a art center. On the lawn of the mansion is a magnolia tree that spreads out to form a perfect umbrella of shade scented with the lemon spice smell of magnolia blossoms. It seemed like a good place for me and the pooch to take a break. The nice thing about this magnolia is the spreading limbs at ground level make for a good bench in the shade.
Taking a seat on a low limb I packed my pipe and picked up a likely looking stick to whittle on while Pearl the wonder corgi took up a guard position looking like a pint size sphinx. I was having a good time smoking my pipe and whittling on a stick. Andy Wardens old knife was sharp, and the dry wood curled nicely.
I don't know how long I had been there, but I had tamped my pipe a few times. Looking down at my stick from under the brim of my ball cap, it was the sudden waging motion of Pearls black tail with the white splotch on the end that got my attention. Looking up, I saw a small boy staring at me.
"What are you doing with that?" he asked me pointing right at me.
I had to think to what he was reffering. At first I thought it must be my pipe. These days of anti smoking I've had small children see me with my pipe in my mouth and ask their parent what I was doing. I started to explain my pipe, but he interupted and pointed to my hand.
"No, that! Why do you have a knife?" he said pointing at the pocket knife.
I was then struck by a sad feeling. Here was a boy, that when I was growing up, would have a lusted after his first pocket knife if he did not already have one. Now instead he wanted to know why I had one. The question spoke volumes.
I explained that a pocket knife is a tool that comes in handy for all sorts of things like opening mail, packages, and sometimes having fun by just whittling. Then I had the inspiration of telling him another reason to carry a pocket knife is because we can. It took some explaining, but I think I got most of the idea through to him. I asked him if his dad carried a pocket knife. The young boy slowly shook his head no. Further conversation yielded the fact that his family did not go hiking or camping or fishing. It seemed that they had very little activity.
I closed the blade on the knife and let him hold it in his hand for a bit. He examined it with minute attention to every detail. Then I took the knife back and opened the blade. I handed it back to him and let him cut on a stick. He watched the wood chips fall and pronounced the knife as really cool. I had a hold on his wrist to guide him, and he liked the feel of the knife. I took it back and told him he should ask his dad to get him one when he gets old enough to join the boy scouts. And maybe ask for a Daisy Red Rider for his birthday.
"Whats that?" he asked.
Again a feeling of mixed shock and saddness at a young American boy not having or lusting after a Daisy BB gun. I thought it was a right of passage to get that first pocket knife and Red Rider. I told him all about my first BB gun and the adventures of roaming through the woods, shooting offending pine cones, and rougue tin cans.
To his credit, he asked alot of questions, and I gave him the best answears I could. He seemed a bright kid, but kind of sheltered. I let him whittle a bit more with the knife under close guidence. I've yet to see a kid that did not like pocket knives, and he was no exeption, he just had not known it till then.
We parted company, and he said he was going to ask his dad for a pocket knife. I don't know what will happen, but I wish him well in his new quest.
There's a nieborhood here thats kind of a swanky upscale place, called the Kentlands. It's laid out around the idea of the small town with a park in the middle, a large gazebo that a band can play in on summer evenings, and the old Kentlands mansion converted to a art center. On the lawn of the mansion is a magnolia tree that spreads out to form a perfect umbrella of shade scented with the lemon spice smell of magnolia blossoms. It seemed like a good place for me and the pooch to take a break. The nice thing about this magnolia is the spreading limbs at ground level make for a good bench in the shade.
Taking a seat on a low limb I packed my pipe and picked up a likely looking stick to whittle on while Pearl the wonder corgi took up a guard position looking like a pint size sphinx. I was having a good time smoking my pipe and whittling on a stick. Andy Wardens old knife was sharp, and the dry wood curled nicely.
I don't know how long I had been there, but I had tamped my pipe a few times. Looking down at my stick from under the brim of my ball cap, it was the sudden waging motion of Pearls black tail with the white splotch on the end that got my attention. Looking up, I saw a small boy staring at me.
"What are you doing with that?" he asked me pointing right at me.
I had to think to what he was reffering. At first I thought it must be my pipe. These days of anti smoking I've had small children see me with my pipe in my mouth and ask their parent what I was doing. I started to explain my pipe, but he interupted and pointed to my hand.
"No, that! Why do you have a knife?" he said pointing at the pocket knife.
I was then struck by a sad feeling. Here was a boy, that when I was growing up, would have a lusted after his first pocket knife if he did not already have one. Now instead he wanted to know why I had one. The question spoke volumes.
I explained that a pocket knife is a tool that comes in handy for all sorts of things like opening mail, packages, and sometimes having fun by just whittling. Then I had the inspiration of telling him another reason to carry a pocket knife is because we can. It took some explaining, but I think I got most of the idea through to him. I asked him if his dad carried a pocket knife. The young boy slowly shook his head no. Further conversation yielded the fact that his family did not go hiking or camping or fishing. It seemed that they had very little activity.
I closed the blade on the knife and let him hold it in his hand for a bit. He examined it with minute attention to every detail. Then I took the knife back and opened the blade. I handed it back to him and let him cut on a stick. He watched the wood chips fall and pronounced the knife as really cool. I had a hold on his wrist to guide him, and he liked the feel of the knife. I took it back and told him he should ask his dad to get him one when he gets old enough to join the boy scouts. And maybe ask for a Daisy Red Rider for his birthday.
"Whats that?" he asked.
Again a feeling of mixed shock and saddness at a young American boy not having or lusting after a Daisy BB gun. I thought it was a right of passage to get that first pocket knife and Red Rider. I told him all about my first BB gun and the adventures of roaming through the woods, shooting offending pine cones, and rougue tin cans.
To his credit, he asked alot of questions, and I gave him the best answears I could. He seemed a bright kid, but kind of sheltered. I let him whittle a bit more with the knife under close guidence. I've yet to see a kid that did not like pocket knives, and he was no exeption, he just had not known it till then.
We parted company, and he said he was going to ask his dad for a pocket knife. I don't know what will happen, but I wish him well in his new quest.
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""rant on"" my favorite teacher MR Willis told me once that no longer was America a nation of patriots, but a land of lemmings. In our sad attempts to "improve" ourselves we have strayed so far from the ways of our grandfathers, as the first Americans they built this land through sweat and blood and tears, and i truly believe that they would be horrible ashamed to see what we are doing with our birth right. 
Mom and Dad let me skin my knees, cut my fingers, cut my feet on barnacles while swimming in the river (remember, we had a pool right there at home -- but swimming in the mighty Loxahatchee was much more adventurous).
