Sometimes it's something simple that takes you back 40 years in a flash. This knife on it's own is meaningless to anyone but me. My mother just gave it to me when she found it in some of my grandfathers old stuff. My grandfather bought this farmhouse in the middle of the woods back in the 1940's and always wore it when he was up here.
This knife scaled fish, gutted deer and probably opened more than its fair share of cans when a can opener couldn't be found. This was a mountain knife. It was never worn at home in the city only when he came here. This knife transformed my grandfather into a mountain man. It made he feel like a pioneer providing for his family in the middle of no where; no electric, no phone just him and the woods.
The knife is a bit rusty, the sheath a bit worn, but it is still sharp as sharp as memories of seeing him wear it as a kid following him in the mountains of Pa. I did not know as a child I would come to live on this ground and share his passion for this very special place. This post is for my Grandfather, a strong, stubborn, Irish man, who worked hard all his life and loved this place. By the way Grandpa we not only have a phone now...we got internet! Mountain girl, Paula, logging out.