A Knife

The only time I had a knife while I was growing up was when I went fishing. It was always in my tackle box and necessary for gutting fish, but other than that I had no interest in carrying a knife with me.

When I was 13 I worked on a farm. The farmer was one of my father’s friends. When the farmer died, his wife gave my father all of the farmer’s fishing equipment. In the inventory of equipment was a pocket knife. It was a non-descript knife with no intelligible markings that would hint of its origins. When my father died the fishing equipment went to my brother and to a nephew, but somehow I ended up with the knife.

This knife sat in my desk drawer for fifteen years or so. One day I came across it and realized how handy a knife could be. I was always looking for something to cut one thing or another, and it finally dawned on me that a pocket knife would be well worth the weight it would add to my pocket.

This is an old knife. It has a steel blade, not a stainless steel blade. Stainless steel blades can’t hold an edge. Sharpen them all you want and five minutes later they are no longer sharp, even if you didn’t use them. The steel blade on my knife sharpens well with a stone and will hold its edge through months of use. Yes, I am too lazy to photograph the knife so I found one almost like it on ebay.

It amazes me how often I am asked if I have a knife. I have to think about it and I’m always delighted to realize that I do have one that is sharp and ready to use. I will let people use it, but never out of my sight.

This knife has had three owners (that I know of) and it is becoming so much a part of me that I may have to carefully consider who will be getting it next.