BrotherJim
Gold Member
- Joined
- Feb 9, 2015
- Messages
- 4,231
In the Grain of Things
Back in 1977, the cutler who shaped this Queen Trapper was at his bench, probably focused on getting the fit and finish just right. Maybe he pictured some farmer or hunter relying on this knife to do its job without fail. He was making something meant to last, something that had to open smoothly, hold its edge, and sit right in the hand. There was pride in that work, even if it didn’t come with much recognition. He inspected the jigged bone handle, checked the pin fit, and gave the blades a final polish.
Past the factory windows, the afternoon light slanted low across the Allegheny foothills, but he didn’t rush. He tested the snap of the blades once more, listening for that clean click that told him everything was true. Satisfied, he placed the pocket knife in the tray with the others bound for packaging. It was just one of hundreds he would finish that year, but to him it was a quiet handshake between maker and user.
At the end of the day, as he cleaned his bench and wiped his tools, the hum of the factory gave way to a hush that asked nothing more. He didn’t know where that Trapper would go, whose pocket it would end up in, or what work it might see. But he knew it was ready, built right, made to last. For him, that was enough.
Seeing this Trapper today, looking lightly used after almost fifty years, the old cutler laughed and said to the man who’d brought it to him, “Well, I’ll be darned. I made this knife to earn its keep, not sit pretty on a shelf. And here it is, all dressed up and nowhere to go.” With a grin, he added, “Back when I made this knife, if a knife didn’t get some wear, folks thought you weren’t treating it right. I bet that blade’s had more dust than dirt on it.” He shook his head. “Still, I gotta hand it to you, she sure cleans up nice.”
He gave the pocket knife one last look, then placed it gently back down, as if it still had somewhere to be. He smiled, and with quiet pride, shook the fella’s hand in farewell. The old cutler wondered whose pocket the knife would ride in next. He had a hunch the story wasn’t finished.
Back in 1977, the cutler who shaped this Queen Trapper was at his bench, probably focused on getting the fit and finish just right. Maybe he pictured some farmer or hunter relying on this knife to do its job without fail. He was making something meant to last, something that had to open smoothly, hold its edge, and sit right in the hand. There was pride in that work, even if it didn’t come with much recognition. He inspected the jigged bone handle, checked the pin fit, and gave the blades a final polish.
Past the factory windows, the afternoon light slanted low across the Allegheny foothills, but he didn’t rush. He tested the snap of the blades once more, listening for that clean click that told him everything was true. Satisfied, he placed the pocket knife in the tray with the others bound for packaging. It was just one of hundreds he would finish that year, but to him it was a quiet handshake between maker and user.
At the end of the day, as he cleaned his bench and wiped his tools, the hum of the factory gave way to a hush that asked nothing more. He didn’t know where that Trapper would go, whose pocket it would end up in, or what work it might see. But he knew it was ready, built right, made to last. For him, that was enough.
Seeing this Trapper today, looking lightly used after almost fifty years, the old cutler laughed and said to the man who’d brought it to him, “Well, I’ll be darned. I made this knife to earn its keep, not sit pretty on a shelf. And here it is, all dressed up and nowhere to go.” With a grin, he added, “Back when I made this knife, if a knife didn’t get some wear, folks thought you weren’t treating it right. I bet that blade’s had more dust than dirt on it.” He shook his head. “Still, I gotta hand it to you, she sure cleans up nice.”
He gave the pocket knife one last look, then placed it gently back down, as if it still had somewhere to be. He smiled, and with quiet pride, shook the fella’s hand in farewell. The old cutler wondered whose pocket the knife would ride in next. He had a hunch the story wasn’t finished.
On the other hand....the value of your investments may go down as well as up...
Let's just say that they can be of great interest to the gambler at heart (or clubs or spades or diamonds...
)
Great compact tool and a looker too.
)
