What "Traditional Knife" are ya totin' today?

BrotherJim said:
It all started when Roland “Two-Toes” McKinney, proud owner of an alarming collection of belt buckles, got his hands on the RoseCraft Blades Overall Creek Farm Hand pocket knife over at Mule Barn Mercantile. With its sleek D2 steel blade and checkered sandalwood handle, it was fancier than prom night at a Cracker Barrel.

Mule Barn Mercantile was the only feed store in three counties where you could get chicken scratch, hydraulic fluid, a questionable hot dog, and life advice from a guy named Buckshot all under one tin roof. The knife was in a dusty glass case right next to a lighter shaped like a trout and and a box of Slim Jim's. With a handshake and a smile, Roland pocketed the knife and declared himself “King of All Handy Stuff.”

Roland “Two-Toes” McKinney wasn’t known for his grace, precision, or sobriety ... but he tried, bless his heart. That afternoon, he strutted into the barn like a cowboy samurai and sliced open a feed bag so swiftly the goats applauded. Well, one goat sneezed, but it felt like applause.

Roland thought the knife was something a right gentleman farmer might use to slice both sausage and social ties. He took to carrying it everywhere, flipping it open so often and so dramatically that folks at the gas station started calling him “Blade-y Crockett.” He even used it to cut a ribbon at the grand opening of his cousin’s bait shop. At home out on Pea Ridge Road, after pulling on some Peach moonshine in the evening and before retiring for the night, Roland always put the pocket knife in a place of honor on his mantel, next to a taxidermy squirrel and a bottle of off-brand cologne labeled “Musk Wrangler.”

The trouble began when Roland tried to whittle a wooden statue of Dale Earnhardt for the church raffle. After fifteen minutes and three Band-Aids, he had carved what looked more like a melted garden gnome, but he proudly called it “Victory Lap Jesus.” Roland was so satisfied with the effort, he went to the house to get a good pull of that Peach shine. While he was gone from the barn, that’s when a curious chicken walked off with the knife. Now the RoseCraft Overall Creek Farm Hand pocket knife resides somewhere in the coop, guarded by the world's most territorial hen, named Rhonda.

And IF Roland does find it, but can’t wrestle it back from Rhonda ... well, there’s no shame in heading back down to Mule Barn Mercantile to see if Buckshot has its twin.


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A good tale well told!

Have a peaceful Sunday, folks!
My Joel Chamblin WT is in my pocket today.
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The Lamb Foot pocket knife, produced in the heart of Sheffield, England, is a cherished companion for those who appreciate craftsmanship. The knife, its handle with gentle lines designed to fit comfortably in the palm of the hand, speaks to an era when knives weren’t just everyday tools, but they were symbols of quality and precision. The Lamb Foot pocket knife is more than an object. It’s a piece of history, a piece of England itself, steeped in tradition, yet perfectly at home in the modern world, and proudly made with the finest materials in a city synonymous with the cutler’s industry and trade.

… Right then, gather ’round, mates. Here’s the tale of a proper gentleman’s companion, from the renowned craftsmen of Sheffield, England: the G. Wines Lamb Foot pocket knife. Not one of those flashy, tactical monstrosities covered in bottle openers and egos. No, this beauty is a paragon of understated British engineering. An O1 tool steel blade, sharp as a taxman's quill, and a Rosewood handle polished so fine you’d think it was made from the King’s banister rail. A knife that doesn’t shout, it politely clears its throat ...

Nigel, a retired postman from Derbyshire with a fondness for flat caps, mild ale, and the kind of sturdy utility only a proper British pocket knife can offer, was over the moon when his new G. Wines Lamb Foot knife arrived in the post. His mind already fixed ahead on years of outdoor adventures and countless small tasks when fell-walking and rambling the Yorkshire Dales. Handcrafted in Sheffield, the ancestral home of things that cut and glint, the blade was tough enough to chip a rock and sharp enough to slice a rogue parsnip into submission. The handle fit snug in Nigel’s palm, as though it‘d been waiting since the Blitz to meet him.

Nigel christened the knife “Barbara,” after his first love, and also because, like Barbara, it had a no-nonsense attitude and a wicked edge when crossed. Well, that and because the Lamb Foot had curves and temper. Barbara had her first outing on a muddy allotment, where Nigel used her to harvest leeks with surgical grace and dispatch stubborn bits of loose ends about his trousers. “Sheffield’s finest, lads,” he’d say to anyone within earshot, often when no one was within earshot, slicing air with a flourish as if challenging rogue turnips to a duel.

One day, Barbara found herself atop a deflated football in the garden. A fitting throne for a queen of tools, while Nigel enjoyed a nice cup of PG Tips and considered retiling the shed roof (which he wouldn't do, but enjoyed considering). As the sun glinted off the Lamb Foot blade’s straight back and snub tip, Nigel chuckled to himself. “Most blokes get a sports car in retirement,” he mused, “I got a knife that could shave a hedgehog and still butter your scone.” And somewhere in Sheffield, a craftsman sneezed ... the traditional sign that his work was being properly appreciated.

Nigel found that Barbara glided through all endeavours and tasks with the elegance of a cricket bat through Yorkshire pudding. Since then, she's done everything from whittling dibbers to opening stubborn biscuit tins. And the best part? She folds away with a satisfying snap, like the end of a BBC murder mystery.

Last week, Nigel left her resting atop his favourite flat cap on a garden bench ... came back to find Barbara looking more majestic than a corgi on a cushion. The neighbours think Nigel a bit barmy for naming her “Barbara,” but frankly, if you’ve ever owned a G. Wines Lamb Foot, you’d understand. More than a knife, it’s a legacy in your pocket ... and just as British as arguing about the weather while drinking lukewarm tea … or a pint of mild ale with your mates.

So if you ever spot an old gent in wool socks and sandals, lecturing a cabbage while brandishing a gleaming Lamb Foot, don’t be alarmed. That’s just Nigel, and that’s just Barbara, keeping Britain trimmed, tidy, and ever so slightly eccentric, while restoring order to the garden one stubborn bramble at a time, and proving once again that in Britain, even pocket knives have character and a touch of quiet menace.


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BrotherJim said:
It all started when Roland “Two-Toes” McKinney, proud owner of an alarming collection of belt buckles, got his hands on the RoseCraft Blades Overall Creek Farm Hand pocket knife over at Mule Barn Mercantile. With its sleek D2 steel blade and checkered sandalwood handle, it was fancier than prom night at a Cracker Barrel.

Mule Barn Mercantile was the only feed store in three counties where you could get chicken scratch, hydraulic fluid, a questionable hot dog, and life advice from a guy named Buckshot all under one tin roof. The knife was in a dusty glass case right next to a lighter shaped like a trout and and a box of Slim Jim's. With a handshake and a smile, Roland pocketed the knife and declared himself “King of All Handy Stuff.”

Roland “Two-Toes” McKinney wasn’t known for his grace, precision, or sobriety ... but he tried, bless his heart. That afternoon, he strutted into the barn like a cowboy samurai and sliced open a feed bag so swiftly the goats applauded. Well, one goat sneezed, but it felt like applause.

Roland thought the knife was something a right gentleman farmer might use to slice both sausage and social ties. He took to carrying it everywhere, flipping it open so often and so dramatically that folks at the gas station started calling him “Blade-y Crockett.” He even used it to cut a ribbon at the grand opening of his cousin’s bait shop. At home out on Pea Ridge Road, after pulling on some Peach moonshine in the evening and before retiring for the night, Roland always put the pocket knife in a place of honor on his mantel, next to a taxidermy squirrel and a bottle of off-brand cologne labeled “Musk Wrangler.”

The trouble began when Roland tried to whittle a wooden statue of Dale Earnhardt for the church raffle. After fifteen minutes and three Band-Aids, he had carved what looked more like a melted garden gnome, but he proudly called it “Victory Lap Jesus.” Roland was so satisfied with the effort, he went to the house to get a good pull of that Peach shine. While he was gone from the barn, that’s when a curious chicken walked off with the knife. Now the RoseCraft Overall Creek Farm Hand pocket knife resides somewhere in the coop, guarded by the world's most territorial hen, named Rhonda.

And IF Roland does find it, but can’t wrestle it back from Rhonda ... well, there’s no shame in heading back down to Mule Barn Mercantile to see if Buckshot has its twin.


ZksNACO.jpeg
Click to expand...

BrotherJim said:
The Lamb Foot pocket knife, produced in the heart of Sheffield, England, is a cherished companion for those who appreciate craftsmanship. The knife, its handle with gentle lines designed to fit comfortably in the palm of the hand, speaks to an era when knives weren’t just everyday tools, but they were symbols of quality and precision. The Lamb Foot pocket knife is more than an object. It’s a piece of history, a piece of England itself, steeped in tradition, yet perfectly at home in the modern world, and proudly made with the finest materials in a city synonymous with the cutler’s industry and trade.

… Right then, gather ’round, mates. Here’s the tale of a proper gentleman’s companion, from the renowned craftsmen of Sheffield, England: the G. Wines Lamb Foot pocket knife. Not one of those flashy, tactical monstrosities covered in bottle openers and egos. No, this beauty is a paragon of understated British engineering. An O1 tool steel blade, sharp as a taxman's quill, and a Rosewood handle polished so fine you’d think it was made from the King’s banister rail. A knife that doesn’t shout, it politely clears its throat ...

Nigel, a retired postman from Derbyshire with a fondness for flat caps, mild ale, and the kind of sturdy utility only a proper British pocket knife can offer, was over the moon when his new G. Wines Lamb Foot knife arrived in the post. His mind already fixed ahead on years of outdoor adventures and countless small tasks when fell-walking and rambling the Yorkshire Dales. Handcrafted in Sheffield, the ancestral home of things that cut and glint, the blade was tough enough to chip a rock and sharp enough to slice a rogue parsnip into submission. The handle fit snug in Nigel’s palm, as though it‘d been waiting since the Blitz to meet him.

Nigel christened the knife “Barbara,” after his first love, and also because, like Barbara, it had a no-nonsense attitude and a wicked edge when crossed. Well, that and because the Lamb Foot had curves and temper. Barbara had her first outing on a muddy allotment, where Nigel used her to harvest leeks with surgical grace and dispatch stubborn bits of loose ends about his trousers. “Sheffield’s finest, lads,” he’d say to anyone within earshot, often when no one was within earshot, slicing air with a flourish as if challenging rogue turnips to a duel.

One day, Barbara found herself atop a deflated football in the garden. A fitting throne for a queen of tools, while Nigel enjoyed a nice cup of PG Tips and considered retiling the shed roof (which he wouldn't do, but enjoyed considering). As the sun glinted off the Lamb Foot blade’s straight back and snub tip, Nigel chuckled to himself. “Most blokes get a sports car in retirement,” he mused, “I got a knife that could shave a hedgehog and still butter your scone.” And somewhere in Sheffield, a craftsman sneezed ... the traditional sign that his work was being properly appreciated.

Nigel found that Barbara glided through all endeavours and tasks with the elegance of a cricket bat through Yorkshire pudding. Since then, she's done everything from whittling dibbers to opening stubborn biscuit tins. And the best part? She folds away with a satisfying snap, like the end of a BBC murder mystery.

Last week, Nigel left her resting atop his favourite flat cap on a garden bench ... came back to find Barbara looking more majestic than a corgi on a cushion. The neighbours think Nigel a bit barmy for naming her “Barbara,” but frankly, if you’ve ever owned a G. Wines Lamb Foot, you’d understand. More than a knife, it’s a legacy in your pocket ... and just as British as arguing about the weather while drinking lukewarm tea … or a pint of mild ale with your mates.

So if you ever spot an old gent in wool socks and sandals, lecturing a cabbage while brandishing a gleaming Lamb Foot, don’t be alarmed. That’s just Nigel, and that’s just Barbara, keeping Britain trimmed, tidy, and ever so slightly eccentric, while restoring order to the garden one stubborn bramble at a time, and proving once again that in Britain, even pocket knives have character and a touch of quiet menace.


37AeXUA.jpeg

Kf9P0Vg.jpeg

4Dc4dE5.jpeg
Click to expand...

Looking forward to a book of short stories from you.....😉.........👌
 
I was sitting here drinking my coffee, and I looked across the kitchen & saw something was written on the calendar for today. I thought uh-oh, does one of us have an appointment today that we forgot about? I went over to get a closer look, and saw that today's our anniversary. My wife put it on the calendar, because most times we both forget about it until sometime in July.:)
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And so started the summer holiday! Some full tang scandi knives that will come along to my adventures. I found an older pocket sheath that fits the small Casstrom, not really necessary since the original sheath is fine, but is slightly more comfortable in the pocket. Originally scandis had rat tail tang, but these never full tang models give some peace of mind. The Brisa Nessmuk is still my favorite larger knife, I made it of a self build kit, it is not too heavy to carry but does just about everything needed including kitchen duties.

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