My Friend Duke

My friends I'd like to introduce all of you to my friend, Duke. He's a personal friend of mine, lives in my city, we shoot together, and is an all around nice guy. He's veteran, like many of us, and I'm sure has many stories to share.

Please, drop by and say hello and tell him Stephen sent you. Another gunny is always nice to have on our sidebars. Please, give him a boost and click his 'follower' button.

Thank you.

http://downrangereport.blogspot.com/, again, thanks.

Stephen

It's Time To Cook

Just called my favorite Seafood Market. They have crayfish tails in stock. Frozen, but beggars can't be too picky.

In a couple of hours I'll run by and get my Little Bit for the weekend. We'll hit the market, the produce stand for the trinity (onion, bell pepper and celery) then its home to quick thaw some shrimp stock. Before long the house should smell awful good. Wish you could join us.

I give you Deep South Dish's Crawfish (or Crayfish, depending on where you're located) Etouffee.

Have a great weekend.

Stephen

Our Morning Weather and Little Bit

Hurricane Irene sits just off shore this morning and she is making liars out of our weather forecasters; as if that's a new story.

Here is a shot from my truck as I was taking Little Bit to school. If you look closely at the horizon you will see the deep dark clouds. Those clouds are over the Atlantic and are just a few miles away.

Below is another view from Little Bit's school. Mere seconds after this picture was taken a series of wind gust exceeding 40 mph accompanied by waves of rain hit us.

Just before the principle of Little Bit's school opened my truck door she asked, "Papa, do I get to stay in my new school all year?"

"Yes, Honey, why?"

"Because I just love it, Papa."

I drove away with a smile on my face. Her attitude makes all our financial sacrifice seem puny in comparison.

Yes, I know her hair was a mess when this picture was taken. Her mom needs a good butt kicking.

Stephen

The Old Man and The Colt

He walked into my shop holding the small brown paper bag with his fingertips, like it held the remains of a morning's dog walk. The old man was in his late eighties and had a slight frown on his face. He was retired Navy, a meteorologist, an interesting man with which to hold a conversation. Loved his years in the Philippines, and had once served a stretch in the Antarctic; said it was cold at times.

He'd barely cleared the door when he yelled, "Stephen...hey, Stephen."

I was still in my office, yelled back, "What?"

"Get your sorry ass out here."  He could be an extremely subtle gentleman.

I eased into my waiting area and noticed how he held the bag, like I said, fingertips. He extended his arms and thrust the paper sack in my direction. Him, "Here, take this thing and make it safe."

I took the bag and before I could glance inside he said, "No, take it in your office and wait until I leave, you can have the damn thing."

Puzzled look on my face, "What's in it Earl?"

He begins his story. It belonged to his wife. They'd been married forty-five years. She was a widow when they married, and her former husband had died in the early fifties. The item in the bag had belonged to him and had since remained hidden in a drawer of her dresser. He hated guns. No explanation.

He turned to leave, took a step, looked back and said, again, "Just keep the damn thing, don't know if its loaded."

I yelled, "Thanks."

Back in my office I opened the bag and inside I found a Colt Hammerless Vest Pocket 1908, nickel finish in .25 ACP. It would grade at 95%. It took me a few seconds to the remove the magazine. It held some very old and tarnished rounds, green, the lead flecked with white powder and all the rounds slightly greasy.

It was a few hours before I had a chance to field strip the weapon and discovered the firing pin missing. It didn't surprise me, he'd probably removed it years ago. I hit the internet and ordered a replacement from Brownells and about three weeks later used my garage sand bucket to test fire it. The little baby functioned flawlessly.

On his next visit I explained what he had and asked (hey, I'm honest, so sue me) if he'd like to sell it. Told him I'd replaced the firing pin and had tested fired the little girl and she'd make a great Sunday morning church carry piece. She'd cleaned up well.

Him, "Stephen, you're a good man (or words to that effect) I like you, but sometimes you're as dense as a chunk of wood."

He has a way with words, and I took his compliment with grace and dignity.

"Bubba," I said, "She's worth a few dollars."

"Don't care, it's yours. Keep it."

I offered to sell it for him. He said no.

You know how some people are, you give them a book and they just eat the covers.

Before he left we man hugged. He's a nice old fella. I wear this sweet little beauty to church. She shines.


Stephen

Thanks

Thanks and welcome to my new blog followers; Amy Jenista, Chandler, b, Anne, and James W, Swartz, Jr. If I've missed anyone, leave a comment please and I will make amends.

As I've said in the past, if you leave comments, which I'd really like, I shall reply. My promise to you.

If you have questions, either leave a comment or send an email. My address is located on the sidebar.

Again, thank you very much, and welcome to my humble, very young, blog.

Stephen

Too Much Junk

You know when you have too much junk when you decide to clean and tidy your office and while crushing and stacking Amazon boxes you discovery; a full set of John D. MacDonald's Travis McGee series in paperback, two plastic bags and one large coffee can filled with fired brass in different calibers, and a hammer I lost six years ago.

Sad part is I've just begun to plunder the depths of my office.

Have a great evening.

Stephen

Survival Buckets and The Great Three Year Experiment, part 3

Shall we continue.

On our first failed attempt to find our buckets we had taken two metal probes. Unknown to us we had at one point been standing atop our stash. We only discovered this small but important fact the day we actually found our buckets and had opened them for the first time in three years. One was damaged, slightly. The bucket belonged to Senior Chief.
When he opened his bucket he found water. After careful examination he found three small puncture holes in the lid of his bucket where someone had indeed probed his bucket and had not felt the probe puncture the plastic lid. The probe cut a hole in one of Senior Chief's plastic water bottles. It dripped water for a month. The only damage was to one previously vacuum sealed package of AR15 magazines, a small tear from the probe, that allowed a bit of water to enter the package.

Above, Senior Chief's water soaked magazines which were fine when dried. Notice his ammo packs.

Above, again from Senior Chief's bucket; bug repellent, energy bars and clothing, I think.

ShooterSteve even included a wrap of tools in his bucket...note, no damage.


We all agree our three year experiment was a success. These buckets were buried on a high sandy slope that had excellent drainage. We selected this site with the full knowledge it would not be disturbed for at least twenty (20) years. Why? It was a fairly young tree farm located miles from the nearest city. Act accordingly if you decide to preposition supplies for your situation.

In part one I mentioned we as a group had a retreat under construction. The day of our road trip we returned to our retreat location to continue our work. Our building, a combination bunk house, kitchen, storage building has been under monthly construction for over a year. We're presently adding small finishing touches to the building. Our plumbing, (we have a well) most of the electrical (generator powered) other than the 12 volt system is finished. We will be adding solar panels down the road when expenses allow. Cash is king in our world.
Last Saturday ShooterSteve, a master electrician, had plans to continue wiring. Duke, Rebel, Senior Chief, Austin and yours truly would drill, paint, and screen ventilation holes in the eves of our metal roof. Sounds easy doesn't it. Took hours. Let's have show and tell.

Pictured above is our retreat building. It has a kitchen, wood cook/heating stove, and a sleeping area. This is the rear of the building. We constructed the building under a grove of trees.  We used construction methods to limit as little damage to the trees as possible, not for environmental reasons, we  just wanted the canopy as thick as possible.

Above, our kitchen cabinets. We've yet to hang the upper portion.

Above is Iraqi Freedom War vet, Duke, at work on the vent screens.

See that sink, we found it in a tangle of brush. It is enameled cast iron. On the back is a metal tag dated September 1929. It took three grown men, a Cub Scot troop, and six donkeys to carry and lift it in place. We hung it just off the edge of our deck and plumbed it with a hose bib. Notice our work station for outdoor cookouts attached to its side. It drains onto the soil underneath.

 

Above we have Senior Chief and Rebel. Rebel is our resident former hippy. He was once upon a time a long-haired, van driving, weed chomping gnome. We changed him. His intellect is spooky. We're lucky to have him as a member. One of our counsel members, Pirate, is on an extended leave of absence for business reasons. Pirate is our medic. We miss him.

Lunch. My knee, and from left to right, Duke, Rebel, ShooterSteve, Austin, Senior Chief (aka Joey) - all are my best friends.

Above we have ShooterSteve on smoke break. He's standing on our front deck. Notice the elevation...we built the 'Boar's Nest' on pilings. Old telephone poles...our location is prone to the occasional one hundred year flood.

My good friends I must leave you now, work awaits. I hope you've enjoyed this little look into my life.

Have a great day.


Stephen