He's a good 'ole country boy, once wore a badge, retired to a farm where he took up the easy life of cattle and horses and various other farm critters. After he purchased his acreage he took two old double-wide mobile homes, had them attached, and converted the suckers into one huge gun and reloading factory. Much of the interior was devoted to book shelves. I think he still has a picture in the shop of me and my younger brother standing proud as he received his black belt in judo. When the photo was snapped I was skinny and tall, my grandfather called me a beanpole, but I was cute too.....
Anyway, it was one of those rare visits where I walked into his home to find a new book he'd just purchased titled, Foxfire. Shook my father's hand, went to a room and finished the book overnight. This was in the late 1960's or perhaps early 1970. Can't remember. The first three of the set of ten or so volumes birthed my survivalist library, a collection that exceeds my ability to catalog, much less count.
I haven't the time this morning (yes, I'm at work) to describe and praise the glory of these fine folklore volumes. So Google 'em, please. (Mudbug, notice my usage of the word, please) If you are a survivalist (or, for pete's sake, a prepper) you should own them.
A couple of days ago my friend John found this set at a garage sale for a buck. A boxed set of the first three volumes...darn good deal. Cannot understand why he refused my offer of a dollar and ten cents, greedy old coot.
My friends, have a safe weekend. Keep your powder dry.