If possessions no longer fits one's life circumstances, they should be disposed of ... why tie up money and physic energy in unproductive assets?
I've sold a bunch of my personal collection and never regretted it.
It didnt work correctly and I didnt like it.
... I've left instructions with my family that, if my dead body is in suitable condition for a viewing, one of my weapons is to be placed in my hands. Just before the lid of the casket is closed, someone is to pry it from my cold dead fingers...
Warriors will have an intangible bond with their weapons and are loathe to trade them away.
... The only gun I regret selling was a Model 600 remington in 308. I wish I still had it today after I learned 308 was plenty of gun for any deer I will ever meet.
Today's warriors are issued their weapons by their respective militaries, generally (though not always) on a rather temporary basis: weapons are handed in when one completes a patrol, tour of duty, etc. Neither retaining nor trading away is an option.Warriors will have an intangible bond with their weapons and are loathe to trade them away.
There is a lot to be said for this approach (see further here).I had bought a lot of guns in my younger day, but a few years ago I did a major downsizing. I got got rid of the guns I hadn't been using, and kept just a couple of handguns, and a couple of rifles.... I just didn't want all that stuff in my life anymore. I downsized in other areas as well, sold off extra tools and toys, motorcycles and so on.... Sometimes less is more.... The wify did a major downsizing as well when she retired. Now our home is nice and spacious, and I can find anything in a minute. Life is wonderful when simple.
Joe Bageant, Deer Hunting with Jesus (2007), page 121.In families like mine, men are born smelling of gun oil amid a forest of firearms. The family home, a huge old clapboard farmhouse, was stuffed with guns, maybe thirty in all. There were 10-, 12-, 14- and 20- gauge shotguns, pump guns, over-and-unders, and deer rifles of every imaginable sort from classic Winchester 94 modes to 30-ought-sixes, and even an old set of dueling pistols that had been in my family since the 1700s.
No hillbilly ever threw a gun away even when it could no longer be repaired. And until they stopped working completely, guns were endlessly cared for and patched back together. Otherwise they weren't to be parted with except under the direst circumstances, either on your deathbed or because you were so broke your cheque bounced.
For example, there is one ancestral gun that my brother Mike did not inherit - my father's prized old Ivers and Johnson double-barrel shotgun, which had been in the family since the turn of the twentieth century. An out-of-work trucker at Christmastime, Daddy sold it to buy us kids the standard assortment of Christmas junk so we would not feel disappointed. I remember a Robert the Robot for me, a tin stove for my sister, a little red wheelbarrow for my brother, and of course toy guns and holsters. That was in 1952. We still have the photographs, and we still lament the loss of that fine old Ivers and Johnson.