The sharp crack of the .22 rifle echoed across the range, and the green soda can jumped. The boy broke open the bolt and a thin tendril of gray smoke drifted up.
"I got it grandpa!" the boy said in an exited voice.
"Ya sure did, pup, A fine shot that I don't know if I could have done any better. Good shooting, boy." the old man told him.
The boy set the rifle down on the shooting bench, and looked at the nylon bag that held their lunch. The old man saw the glance and smiled.
"Getting a bit hungry are we?" he asked, "We've been shooting long enough, and I know I'm getting a bit empty in the belly. I say we have some food."
The boy nodded enthusiastically and he set the rifle down on the piece of carpet that covered the top of the shooting bench. The old Winchester model 69 had been the old man's rifle when he had been the boys age, and now it was going to the boy, as a gift. The old man knew he was not getting any younger, and he wanted to see his grandson enjoy the rifle while he still could. The boy was still a little shy of being long armed enough for the stock, but he was growing fast. Tall for his age and rangy, the old man looked at his grandson and saw that he'd be shaving before long.
They left the rifle and shooting gear on the bench and retired to a picnic table just in back of the firing line, that like the shooting benches was covered by a tin roof. It was a gray rainy day, and they were the only people at the private range where the old man had been a member for many years. Laying out the lunch on the table, there was fresh bread, a piece of cheese in some plastic wrap, some hard dry sausage, and a thermos of hot coffee. It was a chilly wet day, and the hot drink would be welcome. The boy watched as the old man took out his knife and sliced up some bread. It was a wood handle old knife, and boy recognized it immediately.
"Grandpa, you're carrying an Opinel. I haven't seen you carry that one is long while. Where's your peanut?"
The old man just smiled.
"Well, since it's a French kind of lunch, with a loaf of fresh French bread, I figured a French knife may in order. Besides, like you said, I haven't carried it in a while, so I figured to give it some use. I always like them, nice and light in the pocket. " the old man said.
The boy was surprised when the old man held out his knife to the boy and told him to slice up the rest so they could eat. He took the Opinel from the old man and set to cutting. The dry sausage was hard as a wood stick, but the thin sharp edge of the knife slid down through the meat. The boy made several cuts, then turned his attention to the block of cheese. Again, he sliced down through what he was cutting, and marveled at how nice the round wood handle felt in his grip. The old man had meantime had filled two plastic cups with the coffee, and they set about eating while listening to the patter of the rain on the tin roof. Meat, cheese, and a wrap of fresh baguette made a good feed, and the boy picked up the Opinel and looked at it for a moment.
"Grandpa, what makes one knife better than another one?" he asked.
The old man thought for a moment.
"Better for what? I don't know if there's one knife better than another one. The main purpose of a knife is to cut, to separate matter so to speak. As long as it does that, then it's working like it was designed to do. It cuts. There's some knives that are prettier, some knives that are built to be tougher, but if they don't do what they were designed to do in the first place, and do it well, then they are not as good as a ten dollar Opinel. If cutting is what a tool is supposed to, then it has to do it well. If it does, then it's a good tool. If it doesn't cut well, then no matter what else is there, looks, whatever, is just not worth it. Knives are just like guns, cars, and everything else, a lot of hype going on. The old saying that form has to follow function is true. If something does function at it's intended task as well as something else, then no matter how much it's touted as the best thing since sliced bread, it ain't worth two cents."
"Is that why you like the old guns?" the boy asked.
The old man glanced over at the shooting bench, where the rifle sat.
"Yeah, I guess so. They always worked for me, and I like the wood stock and blue finish. It's like something from a hundred years ago, and they still work just as well. Form and function have melded into a good thing, just like that old Opinel. It cuts well, looks good in a funky old fashioned way, and I'm happy with it. "
The boy reached into his pocket and took out a familiar looking knife. He pulled open the blade of the yellow sodbuster that the old man had given him just last year. The blade was patined and darker than when the old man had owned it, and that is was still sharp was evident when the boy sliced off another piece of the hard sausage and ate it. He wiped the blade off carefully with a paper napkin, and looked at it for a moment.
" I guess it really doesn't matter if it's an Opinel or a sodbuster. Or a barlow or a stockman" said the boy as he admired his sodbuster, "As long as it works, it's good."
The old man smiled and used his Opinel to slice off another piece of the sausage. The blade went through in one slice.
"Yup. That's about the size of it boy. If it works for you, then it's good. But there's one other thing that's pretty important." The old man said.
"What's that, grandpa?" the boy asked.
The old man smiled.
"Ya gotta like it as well. The best cutting knife in the world isn't worth spit if you don't like it."
"I got it grandpa!" the boy said in an exited voice.
"Ya sure did, pup, A fine shot that I don't know if I could have done any better. Good shooting, boy." the old man told him.
The boy set the rifle down on the shooting bench, and looked at the nylon bag that held their lunch. The old man saw the glance and smiled.
"Getting a bit hungry are we?" he asked, "We've been shooting long enough, and I know I'm getting a bit empty in the belly. I say we have some food."
The boy nodded enthusiastically and he set the rifle down on the piece of carpet that covered the top of the shooting bench. The old Winchester model 69 had been the old man's rifle when he had been the boys age, and now it was going to the boy, as a gift. The old man knew he was not getting any younger, and he wanted to see his grandson enjoy the rifle while he still could. The boy was still a little shy of being long armed enough for the stock, but he was growing fast. Tall for his age and rangy, the old man looked at his grandson and saw that he'd be shaving before long.
They left the rifle and shooting gear on the bench and retired to a picnic table just in back of the firing line, that like the shooting benches was covered by a tin roof. It was a gray rainy day, and they were the only people at the private range where the old man had been a member for many years. Laying out the lunch on the table, there was fresh bread, a piece of cheese in some plastic wrap, some hard dry sausage, and a thermos of hot coffee. It was a chilly wet day, and the hot drink would be welcome. The boy watched as the old man took out his knife and sliced up some bread. It was a wood handle old knife, and boy recognized it immediately.
"Grandpa, you're carrying an Opinel. I haven't seen you carry that one is long while. Where's your peanut?"
The old man just smiled.
"Well, since it's a French kind of lunch, with a loaf of fresh French bread, I figured a French knife may in order. Besides, like you said, I haven't carried it in a while, so I figured to give it some use. I always like them, nice and light in the pocket. " the old man said.
The boy was surprised when the old man held out his knife to the boy and told him to slice up the rest so they could eat. He took the Opinel from the old man and set to cutting. The dry sausage was hard as a wood stick, but the thin sharp edge of the knife slid down through the meat. The boy made several cuts, then turned his attention to the block of cheese. Again, he sliced down through what he was cutting, and marveled at how nice the round wood handle felt in his grip. The old man had meantime had filled two plastic cups with the coffee, and they set about eating while listening to the patter of the rain on the tin roof. Meat, cheese, and a wrap of fresh baguette made a good feed, and the boy picked up the Opinel and looked at it for a moment.
"Grandpa, what makes one knife better than another one?" he asked.
The old man thought for a moment.
"Better for what? I don't know if there's one knife better than another one. The main purpose of a knife is to cut, to separate matter so to speak. As long as it does that, then it's working like it was designed to do. It cuts. There's some knives that are prettier, some knives that are built to be tougher, but if they don't do what they were designed to do in the first place, and do it well, then they are not as good as a ten dollar Opinel. If cutting is what a tool is supposed to, then it has to do it well. If it does, then it's a good tool. If it doesn't cut well, then no matter what else is there, looks, whatever, is just not worth it. Knives are just like guns, cars, and everything else, a lot of hype going on. The old saying that form has to follow function is true. If something does function at it's intended task as well as something else, then no matter how much it's touted as the best thing since sliced bread, it ain't worth two cents."
"Is that why you like the old guns?" the boy asked.
The old man glanced over at the shooting bench, where the rifle sat.
"Yeah, I guess so. They always worked for me, and I like the wood stock and blue finish. It's like something from a hundred years ago, and they still work just as well. Form and function have melded into a good thing, just like that old Opinel. It cuts well, looks good in a funky old fashioned way, and I'm happy with it. "
The boy reached into his pocket and took out a familiar looking knife. He pulled open the blade of the yellow sodbuster that the old man had given him just last year. The blade was patined and darker than when the old man had owned it, and that is was still sharp was evident when the boy sliced off another piece of the hard sausage and ate it. He wiped the blade off carefully with a paper napkin, and looked at it for a moment.
" I guess it really doesn't matter if it's an Opinel or a sodbuster. Or a barlow or a stockman" said the boy as he admired his sodbuster, "As long as it works, it's good."
The old man smiled and used his Opinel to slice off another piece of the sausage. The blade went through in one slice.
"Yup. That's about the size of it boy. If it works for you, then it's good. But there's one other thing that's pretty important." The old man said.
"What's that, grandpa?" the boy asked.
The old man smiled.
"Ya gotta like it as well. The best cutting knife in the world isn't worth spit if you don't like it."
Last edited:
Another great story!!!!!! :thumbup:
Now I'm hungry and and have the urge to get a peanut and an Opinel. 
