[sm]

…there was a shotgun barrel on that gate?

“Well son, that barrel is the latch keeping the gate fastened; there is a story about that barrel…”

I had hunted that morning with the young man whom had asked the question and the daddy relating the story.

I was all comfortable in the big old chair, gazing into the fireplace, I felt myself fading fast. I set down my coffee cup, scratched behind the ear of the dog that had decided to share my lap; and crossed my arms under the quilted throw.

I knew the story about the barrel- see that barrel on the gate was mine...







To be continued...my beans are done and time to take the cornbread out of the oven.

Oh, forgot, involves a grandpa, "Momma", old pickup truck, dogs... Apologies to David Allan Coe...no prisons. ;)

[MrTuffPaws]

Reminds me about tree guns. Where someone leans or sticks a gun into a tree, forgets about it, and then the tree grows around the gun. My friend married into a family that has such. Someone had a spat over a shot gun and stuck it in a tree. Years later, the tree grew around the gun. It is still there as far as I know. It is the tree's now.

[kudu]

Steve, You better get your behind back here and finish this story...... :cuss:

[Fred Fuller]

This one was gettin' a little deep on the page.

OK Steve, ya tell stories on everyone else (even if you have to make'em up or streeetch'em a little). So let's hear the rest of this'n...

lpl/nc 8^)

[sm]

Daddy, how come…

…there was a shotgun barrel on that gate?

“Well son, that barrel is the latch keeping the gate fastened; there is a story about that barrel…”

I had hunted that morning with the young man whom had asked the question and the daddy relating the story.

I was all comfortable in the big old chair, gazing into the fireplace, I felt myself fading fast. I set down my coffee cup, scratched behind the ear of the dog that had decided to share my lap; and crossed my arms under the quilted throw.

I knew the story about the barrel- see that barrel on the gate was mine...


“Momma is fussing at me to get rid of the truck. I get a new truck ‘bout every 10 years or 150K miles, and if Momma lets me. Of course Momma gets a new Caddy every 2 years, it gets parked in the garage, and I only get to drive it when she won’t let go of my ear lobe and I have to go to Church”.

We were leaning against an old blue Ford pickup. Three on the tree with a straight six, bit of rust from where a Bull had argued, peeked out from around the primer gray, plywood as the bed liner gave it character.

“Yep gonna go back to a Chevy , Momma says I’m too old to flirt and shift at the same time, gonna have a automatic trannie – Momma insisted, hell bad enough I’m married to that woman- don’t mean I want to still flirt”.

I spewed my coffee, I knew better. This couple had been together through thick and thin, always giving each other a hard time- probably why they had been married since back when marriage licenses were chiseled on stone tablets.

I also knew this fellow could pay cash for anything he wanted, at anytime. His truck was usually too muddy to go inside the garage, also meant he would have move his woodworking equipment from the two garage spaces he took up – to the shop out back.

The shop out back was cluttered with other junk – I mean other important tools and such man has to have- just in case. “ …not real sure what that is , where I picked that up – damn sure looks good hanging up there tho’- don’t it ? ”

I offered to buy the truck and just keep it on the property. Let him use it to keep the wear and tear to a minimum on the new one. He said an old boy was interested in it for parts, didn’t really know the feller that well, and we mulled it over some more.

“Momma keeps up with the paperwork. Goodness that woman is a stickler for paper being right. I have to ask Momma for toilet paper, she keeps it filed away, hidden - says I put the roll on the wrong way. That is the secret to a good marriage – put the toilet paper on wrong and squeeze the toothpaste wrong. Women will stay married to a feller- damned and determined to get him trained right eventually”.

He puffy cheeks got all rose colored and the blue eyes brighter when he talked about Momma- he wasn’t fooling me a bit.

I had an idea, since Momma was fussing about the insurance, tags and such; I said I would pay the insurance and tags fee. That way I had a truck to piddle with , he had a truck to piddle with, especially when Momma decided to take his truck so her Caddy would get all dirty, Momma would be happy and most of all…Momma wouldn’t have to rummage around for the darn title and such.


Last time Momma got to rummaging, made him take her out to eat – too tired to cook, we couldn’t have that, nope, no way.

Handshake and $150 – I technically had a truck. Momma would snatch the C note , more than enough to cover the Liability insurance and tags, $50 was pocket money for him – you don’t tell women everything…

The old boy eased the door open as we talked. The J.C. Whitney seat covers had been “altered” a bit. From behind the bench seat he kept a Model 94 in 30-30 and a Model 12 in 12 gauge in a sleeve he had sewed in. I slipped an H&R Topper in 20 gauge in their place. The leather butt cuff held slugs the coffee can held other loads behind the seat.

The sky was literally full of ducks , he was going on about the brakes needed looking at, and when one of farm hands finished another project, well the parts was in the farm shop…I didn’t hear much , I was too busy watching the sky…”Huh what did you say – sorry…” He was saying…

“Momma said to get the extended cab on the new Chevy I ordered; I didn’t want an extended cab. Too far to reach for the guns, and way I figure it , if we are going to have to pay for the kids and grandkids meal at a restaurant, they can damn well drive themselves to and fro. I done raised fussy kids, I want to spoil ‘em and sent them grandkids home to drive their parents crazy – paybacks are hell. I drove one of them extended jobbies, on the farm is okay, parking in the big city your butt sticks out in a parking place and takes a football field to turn around…”

The seat covers he had ordered had already come in – already been “altered” – Momma was good with that machine of hers. Just waiting for new truck to hurry up and get here.

Continued below

[sm]

The heavy thunderstorms had brought a lot of rain for almost a week. Fields were muddy and the farms roads slick. Ditches were full and some levees might not hold …

Temperatures had warmed up, and the wind howled for two days, it was supposed to stop and be one of “those days”; I got a call- “What do you think about busting some quail?” Now that was a dumb question to ask me.

“You mentioned the old boy across the way has closed that one road and started to build another? Did you mention that Bull is loose again and not sure where he headed off? “

Passenger had replied no.

“Well what did Steve say?”
“Said he would “beat” us to the meeting spot”
“You mean “meet”?
“Nope – he said “beat” alright – oh he did ask if we wanted all Cinnamon Twists or do a half dozen of them Cheese Danish – I said half and half would be great…”



“Steve is “kinda” stuck, we are gonna need the big Ford tractor and some help…big chains too”.

The old feller asked “what do you mean “kinda stuck, Steve don’t do nothing “kinda”?”

The two guys looked at each other – “Steve rolled the truck big time – don’t tell him we told you, he said not to, oh he said he knows where your neighbor’s bull is by the way.”

“Is he hurt, and where is your dog”

“When we drove off and tuned around to look, it appears Steve was throwing do-nut holes to flush quail”

Old feller cracked up laughing, and then the two guys showed him my shotgun – he shouldered the 870 in 20 gauge – “Well – he now has a barrel that will shoot around trees for sure; this stock and fore-end is busted up pretty bad whew! - He must have done it up right. You said he was “tossing do-nut holes to flush quail, what is the dog doing?”

“Dog is eating up all the Cheese Danish’s, passing dog farts, and totally worthless. We managed to get the Cinnamon Twists in the other sack before the dog did”

Then the stock and fore end come off the gun in pieces I’m told as he toted my gun back in the house…

I had in fact taken a few quail with the single shot 20 gauge, no thanks to a dog mind you when the Ford Tractor showed up. My knee hurt like hell but not as much as it did to cough.

“I’ll hear about what happened later. My hands will get the truck out, and the other guys are going to take off, with the dog in the bed – thank goodness- whew, not only is that dog worthless at being a bird dog – he passes the worse gas….

I would be asked years later by a Orthopedic just how active I had been as he scheduled the time and date for double knee surgery, best I recall I replied “ just a normal boy growing up”, he had looked at me real funny at my reply.

I had in fact cracked two ribs, it hurt to cough so I lit another cigarette as the old feller used a cutting torch to fashion a latch for a gate with my old barrel. “Too bad it bent it up this short and not legal length, you messed up the magazine tube as well…about all you have left is a receiver and trigger group…”

I was sitting on a stool, the cigarette didn’t seem to be helping the pain in my knee, the swelling was gone, still the ice pack felt good. Heck no, I didn’t fill the ‘script for pain meds…

“So what happened last week?”

We turned away from the tow truck hauling off the old Ford bought for the engine, transmission, and whatever else that was still good. Once in the house and settled in the comfy chair, with a cup of coffee, and a bag of frozen corn on my knee I began.

Continued below

[sm]

I had tossed my gun case , well it resembled one, the cotton duck was mostly there, the zipper long gone, the gun stayed mostly in it if tied with a lace or tow…tossed into the bed of the truck ; along with a small duffle of shells, jerky, shell pouch and such.

I figured with the rain being muddy and not wanting to get stuck… I’d take the “back-road” as I referred to it. I headed up to the ridge that overlooked the farms. Then ease down using a old trail, hit the levee, follow it until I hit another little used road and come alongside the trees that led into the brush.

I was fine up on the Ridge, KAAY with 50k watts was playing some good tunes, and I was drinking coffee, and trying to not overdrive the headlights, being dark, with heavy dew – downright foggy.

I downshifted to ease down and tapped the brakes, my left rear end grabbed and in the recesses of my brain I thought I recalled something about the brakes were in need of being looked at. Oh well, not much good will come from worrying about it, I have quail to bust…

“Whoa!” I had bounced and bottomed out on what felt like a ditch…I hit about three spots like this before I made it down to the levee; the rains had washed out some really bad places…

That gray fog is moving real funny and fast up ahead, I leaned forward to bump up the volume, and to pour another cup from the Stanley Thermos, I didn’t get that far…That Fog had horns and I was clipping along pretty good with the trannie treed in third, I swerved left to avoid going down a step slope leading to disaster, somehow the bull and I missed each other…

I had a new problem. I was heading down a slope about 100 yards from where I wanted to be. If I had made the distance there was one of those roads that lead off the levee. My bouncing headlights showed a new problem, piled up dirt down on down the slope. Piled up dirt usually means a hole, or ditch is nearby…I tapped the brakes and again the left rear pulled hard and this time I heard the “screech” of the brake shoe rivets against the brake drum.

I couldn’t go left , really couldn’t right, because of the trees, the hand brake I figured would make matters worse with the rivets catching….so I tried easing right to bump trees to slow down, all that did was take off the passenger side mirror. I basically had to follow this route, bouncing over washed out areas, headed for pile dirt. I had only two pedals left that were any good to me…the one in the middle was worthless. I decided to make use of the two I had left – best could and full potential.

Mr. Majestic time…I made sure the lap belt was snug (no shoulder strap from the factory) nailed it and went for broke. I got the broke part with no problem. Oh I got airborne all right, not being perpendicular to the pile didn’t help, and then again I was having a hard time gauging what was what.

I found out there was a new farm access being built the hard way, real hard. I just started rolling; I stopped sliding when the tree stopped me.


“ They guys said you went over the road they were taking , noticed ruts in the road, and off to the left there you were…hobbling about and cussing up a storm as the sun started to come up.”


“Wow daddy, he is lucky. I wish I had known Grandpa; all I have are stories and pictures. What happened to Steve’s shotgun, the one he broke?

“Well Grandpa and Steve got their heads together – which is a dangerous thing you understand. A used youth stock was found, so was a used bbl, then sent back to Remington to have the magazine tube replaced. Once all back together and finished out – the gun is still working and taking game”.

“Really daddy, where is the gun now …can I see it …does Steve have it, uh, uh...”

“Son that gun you used this morning – that is the gun. Now is the right time- that gun is now yours, a gift from Grandpa, with a little help from Steve.”

End

[kudu]

Wonderful Steve, thanks. :D

[Fred Fuller]

Thanks for the story, Steve. It's a good one. You gonna put it in the book, too?

lpl/nc

[TrapperReady]

Just read this with a fresh cup of coffee after sending my oldest son off to school. Couldn't ask for a better start to the day! Thanks. :) :)

[Brian Williams]

Old shotguns, old movies and Grandfolks, wish I could've seen that Mr Majestic impression.

[sm]

I had a real good time as a kid -Ruark

Okay - sometimes I had a real good time, and growing up is NOT a age dealie. :D

You have to visualize steps, think of me heading down steps with trees on one side and boulders on the other. About as graceful as going down icy steps with the handrails giving way.

Mr. Majestic was "cool" , I must have - as gauged by feeling the bouncing about- you know that saying about a disaster waiting to happen? Yeah - that is a good description.

I narrowly missed a huge boulder on the left, and a huge tree with huge limbs on the right...I wanted to miss these and did...

Going over the piled up dirt, actually was a good thing ( granted I had doubts at the time), because sure enough there was big wide ditch, with all sorts of nasty brush . Old feller said most likley a tree limb in the brush would have nailed me through the windshield.

I just rolled , then gravity and mud took over...sliding and bouncing down.

Gave new meaning to "rock and roll".

That morning that kid busted his first quail , flushing from brush that took up pretty much on the spot where I ended up.

Old Feller and Momma passed together in a tragic accident many years ago. Just a tribute to some good folks, a kid getting his first quail and shotgun is all.

[Okiecruffler]

Absolutely Beautiful, Steve.
You and Dave are always taking me back, reminding me of how good things were. Would type more, but I have to call my G'dad this morning and remind him of the first quail I ever bagged.

[Dave McCracken]

Thanks, Steve, you made my day better....

[Wild Bill]

Wow.

Didn’t know my Grandpa as well as I would have liked. We lived far away and he died when I was still in my early teens. He was a tinkerer who could take near anything apart, figure out how it worked, and put it back together better than before. Man could fix anything.

He was also a bushman in the purest sense of the word. Wore these tall leather moccasins and snuck through the bush like a ghost. You could be sitting overlooking a dear trail, all intent and focused on the slightest movement or sound. Last you saw of Grandpa was a few miles back at the camp. Then a hand touched your shoulder – never knew he was there.

All I have left of him are a few ancient black and white photos …

… and his single shot 20.

Excellent work Steve! Brought back a flood of long forgotten memories.

Y’all kindly excuse me now - I’ve gotta go wipe my eyes … and fondle a piece of family history.

[Larry Ashcraft]

Steve, thanks for taking the time to write that, I enjoyed it.

[sm]

< clears throat>

I am the eldest of 4.
I am the only sib that ever knew a Grandparent, a Maternal Grandmother. All these years I was told I was 5 when she passed - doing the math - well she passed in March of '60 , I was born in April of '55.

The daddy of us 4 sibs,not around much, I took over the eldest male role very early. The daddy "drifted" in and out - still does through the years.

I heard kids talk about going shooting with Parents and Grandparents. There is a picture I'm told of me "helping" Grandma shoot my revolver. I can only remember two times I ever shot with my dad. I found out years later - he showed up at a tourney once to watch me shoot. He never told anyone who he was - just asked what field. He left after watching me run a straight.

So I had mentors , elders, an Uncle that taught me. Meaning: I bugged the fire out of folks until I broke them down to teach me, take me and such. Persistent and hard-headed I was - still am.

I allowed myself to be adopted by a number of Grandfolks, Uncles, Aunts, Older Brothers and Sisters...not related - just became part of the family. I believed in passing stuff forward - but I needed to learn before I could pass.

I later became the adopted Uncle , Big Brother, Younger Brother...to others.

Story is I had two Grandads, that were able to shoot anything they could see , be it in a war, feeding a family or the Gallery shoot at the County Fair. They also could work with their hands. The term "character" is used often as well in describing them.

For sure I was hell on wheels on screwing up Grandma's Singer Sewing machine...I was facinated by that pedal board. After getting my butt spanked - again- Grandma would read to me...very often it was just easier to "help her" shoot my revolver. I couldn't mess with that Singer If I was shooting my Sentinel 9 shot revolver she figured.

First thing she picked off the shelf at the Mom & Pop Market was a box of .22's. I would sit in the corner playing with the shiney ctgs, while the butcher cut the slab bacon, and she shopped for other stuff. Once home- I would play with them .22 shells for hours, I played with the spent ones too...

There was always that Singer if I needed a break tho' ;)