Mark granted me some liberty, allowing me to interject tales that invariably provoke my child’s disdain. Indulge me for a moment, and I’ll share one such story. No surprise, I’m a gun owner. Not one to parade my everyday carry, but John Moses Browning crafted some fine pieces. A Zippo and a Case knife round out my essentials. Now, onto vintage firearms. I carry. My permitted EDC differs from my deer rifle. Let me elucidate.
My uncle Charles embodied toughness—solid as a 55-gallon drum filled with concrete. At sixty, he broke and trained horses, hunted in the mountains, and once, I witnessed him pummel a man a fraction his age in defense of a woman. He owned the finest pointers, the sleekest Appaloosas, and had a marksman’s precision. In his youth, he served in the airborne, then walked the high steel of New York City. When he spoke, you listened. It was on a rugged trail in West Virginia, after a hunt, that he imparted his wisdom. “This is not a weapon,” he’d say, his hand resting on his 30-30. “It’s a tool of peace, a bond with my nef’ .” He stressed the difference between hunting deer and waging war.
A lesson I’ve passed on to my own kin countless times. As the evening sun cast long shadows, Uncle Charles’s rugged features softened, his eyes gazing into the distance, perhaps recalling youth and comrades lost. And in that moment, amidst the whispers of wind through the pines, I understood the gravity of his words. For him, the rifle was more than steel and wood; it was a link to the past, a connection to nature, and a symbol of the bond between family.
That day we hunted on horseback, the rhythm of hoofbeats echoing through the West Virginia woods as we pursued a game if follow the leader. Uncle Charles led the charge, his posture commanding respect, his mount “Kelly” a reflection of his own iron will and spirit. With every leap and gallop, we pounded out not just across the rugged terrain, but through the annals of tradition, honoring the legacy of those who came before us. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold, we returned home weary but fulfilled, our bounty a statement of our bond. For in the hunt, we found more than just sustenance; we found one of those moments, purpose, and a profound connection to the land that sustains us.
Howdy! Grab your favorite coffee and join me as we journey through the Marcellus shale. I’m your guru’ for all things oil and gas. Expect some hearty chuckles as we wonder the ins and outs of the Appalachian Basin, because let’s face it, the new energy revolution is – full of surprises.
James A. Asbury