Bits & Pieces

For me the scream of a crow is an evocative and melancholy song. The call of crows reminds me of clear cool Fall days and the scent of ripened pumpkins and brown broken corn stalks and small boys hunkered down with shotguns in anticipation of the next flight of the slick black birds.

With coffee in hand I stepped outside the shop this morning.  As I sipped two crows, high in the oaks, chattered. Their music evoked old memories of long ago crow hunts. As a blood sport not many of today's generation still practice the art of shotgun and crow. Then again, few hunt. Crows are not easy targets. 

I eased to the backyard of the shop where a fairly large oak spreads it limbs. The birds continued to caw and skip limb to branch and without conscious thought I raised my arm as if taking aim. The crows went silent.

They too remember those long ago Fall days of cornfields and little boys with shotguns.

*****

Nice fella came in yesterday and sold a couple of his closet queens. I purchased a nice Remington model 700. She's a beauty, a classic. Dated the rifle to 1962. She's dressed in walnut with a fairly nice 3x9 scope and an older military style leather sling. I might keep her. I'll slip a picture in here, a stock picture off the web, as I clean forgot to snap pictures.

Anyway, this gives you an idea. She's chambered in 30/06. Now, with it in my 'armory,' as the liberals say, it makes me want to pack and head to the mountains for an elk hunt. 

The second firearm he sold me was an old Westernfield shotgun. It's been a long time since I've handled a Westernfield. She's really just a Mossberg 500. Mossberg slapped the designation of 550 on her and set the line aside for Montgomery Wards. (check spelling) Wards stocked the shotguns for years and as you know have been out of business for a long time. Not many of these old girls are still in action. 

Again, stock picture. The old girl has an adjustable chock, and no it isn't a Polychock. She's a twelve gauge. I gave next to nothing for her so again, like an idiot that cares nothing for profit, I might keep her. As if I need another shotgun. If, I sell her I'll triple my investment. Decisions, decisions.

Gotta run. See you guys later.

Stephen

Snake In My Pants

About 0600 this morning the sound of the shower made me sit my coffee aside and walk back to our bedroom. As I walked inside to say good morning to Sweet Wife I glanced over towards our bed. Its big, high; a child has little problem crawling beneath.

I noticed something odd on the floor next to the bed. I did a double take. A snake. A live snake with its head raised with its tiny red tongue at full flicker.

Sweet Wife opened the bathroom door. I said, "Hey, check it out." Then pointed towards our unusual visitor.

Scream....then, more screams. Then, she levitated, and screamed. In one step and bounce she was on top of the bed. Best flat-footed jump I've seen since high school.

Snakes will do that to a person....

She asked from where the little booger came and how in the heck did it get inside our home. I reminded her we do live on a river and have a fairly large game preserve next door. She didn't buy it. So then I said it probably came from my pants. I tried to explain I'd mowed our yard earlier and it had probably hitch-hiked a ride inside my BDU's, and when I came inside it had dropped out and taken residence under the bed.

She threw a pillow at me.

I laid the poor dead critter on our vanity and snapped a couple of shots as it twisted and turned. I'd smacked it with my handy bamboo back scratcher. Sweet Wife said the back scratcher must now be thrown into the trash....then screamed as she watched the snake twist and turn. I explained this was normal behavior for a recently deceased reptile. Didn't change her course of action.

She said, "Flush it."

I did as requested.

Stephen

At Three In The Morning

Not even Anthony Bourdain holds my interest. If not for the noise I'd sneak into the garage and return to my current restoration project, but it wouldn't be fair to my wife as she sleeps the sleep of the innocent.

Perhaps I should take coffee cup in hand and stroll the neighborhood, amble down to the river and listen to the wind. Then again, I should take care of the first of the month bills; sit and write checks, balance the accounts. After all, it's either tackle the task here or later at my office.

A few minutes ago I even contemplated my old Marlin and a magazine filled with .22 CB caps. I thought why not sneak out and place a target on the back fence then ease a chair out to the edge of the deck. I have night vision equipment and shots towards the river are safe silent gunnie therapy.

My eyes burn. Think I'll just take that walk.

By the way, Anthony Bourdain is a wuss.

Stephen

Coleman, First Coat

Okay, I'm a big boy so tell me what you think. This is the Coleman's first coat of paint. I'll let it dry for about two hours then return it to the protection of the garage and tomorrow spray the second layer of paint.

Please excuse the glare. Photo taken in my side yard. Today I put another four hours into prep work on the body. This isn't an easy restoration but I sure enjoy the labor.

After the second coat I'll allow it to dry for twenty-four hours and apply a clear coat. Tomorrow I'll begin a second round on the cover and wind guards. Then move on to the gas system. I plan to use a .54 caliber rifle bore brush on the gas tube. Afterwards I'll paint the grill and gas system and drip pan silver. The tank of course will be painted red.

My plans for the gas tank are to wait until the stove is reassembled then light the stove and if the tank works properly, call it good. If the tank system gives me any trouble whatsoever I shall tear it down and repair or replace component parts. I've already cleaned the system and soaked the pump leather in oil and the tank holds pressure but you never know how she'll work until it's time to light the ole girl.

Again with the glare. This picture was taken at 1800 and I thought with the low western sun I wouldn't have problems. Anyhow, I'm very pleased how the Coleman logo letters pop through the paint. I spent several hours with my Dermil and careful attention to make sure each letter was readable. Harder than you might think. I hope to finish in a couple of weeks then I shall either tackle another stove or move on to a couple of Coleman lanterns. I have found a supplier for new old stock Coleman brand logos.

When Sweet Wife came outside for a look she remarked my lungs were probably layered in lead paint. Then huffed off. 

That is all...

Stephen

My Friend, Senior

One of my best friends, Senior, has ventured forth in the world of the written word. He has a new blog, aptly titled, Senior's Mess. He is a retired Senior Chief from our great United States Navy. He's also, if I haven't as yet mentioned, a very close personal friend.

Senior is a blessed man in that he's the husband of the lovely and sweet, Glock Mom, and the father of two wonderful little boys. As a matter of fact I tried to bring the boys home this afternoon. They're seven and six and I love them a whole bunch...

I'm sure many of you know we have a group of like minded individuals; a support group made of many of our close friends. We're a rather large group. Whatever this old world throws our way we have each others backs, or six, as we said in the military. Another friend within this group is our good friend, Duke.  We were all gathered today to support another friend, Poor ShooterSteve. He took on a beautiful woman in marriage...even when we warned him. Rambling here...let me cut this short.

Go visit my friends new blog, please. He's a nice guy, and he packs a gun. Be warned.

Now, you have four of us.

Ouch

Was the thought that came to mind when I sat down, early this afternoon, at a friends wedding party. The lawn chair was hot, the wind beyond warm, the air still and thick with humid vapors. I hate hot. Here it is One September, where if still in my beloved western mountains I'd have been out in the cool rain filled forest hunting Grouse.

Anyhow, I'm too darn worn out and ticked off and HOT, still, to write. Where is the Fall weather. I'm sick of the wait. I want cold....cold and wind and apple cider and the scent of oak on a slow burn in my fireplace. I want cool windy days. I want to see some friggin leaves drop and coat my yard like a carpet of yellow rust.

Here I sit with our air conditioner set at sixty-nine degrees and I want to see frost on the pumpkin.  I'm sick of three hundred dollar a month electric bills just so I can sleep, when sleep arrives. Stupid ceiling fan whirling away - what a waste.

Here we were, all gathered to honor a friend and his new wife, and all I can think about is perhaps a cold beer, slipped inside my trousers, might feel better than it should.

Perhaps I should leave the room.

Stephen 

Very Good Advice

Aside from the fact I'm not qualified, it's important to understand I normally do not make nor give legal advice. 

But, due to the recent arrest of a former Marine and subsequent incarceration for 'psychiatric' review, I believe the following video very important to any American who exercises their God given right to self-defense. In short, if you own, carry or use a firearm in this country please take a few moments from your very busy life and watch.   

This video has been around the block but its message is timeless.

On YouTube you will find parts two and three. H/T, Survivalblog. 

Stephen