- Outdoors columnist Ben Smith says simple things that remind him of childhood and family are priceless as he gets older.
The older that I get the less I care about the monetary value of things. This is a new development. I used to not be sentimental about much, but also coming with age is a new appreciation for things that have sentimental value for me. Simple things like a pocketknife or an old tobacco pipe that my grandfather used to smoke. You couldn’t get a couple of bucks at a pawn shop for either item, but to me they are priceless. They remind me of my childhood and time spent with family. A time when I was still mostly innocent, and the world seemed so big.
I’ve grown fond of things like an old cast iron skillet. I can remember waking up in the morning to the smell of my grandmother cooking breakfast. My nose would pull me out of the bed and down the hall to the kitchen to find her cooking sausage and bacon in that skillet. I can still taste the biscuits with homemade mayhaw jelly that she’d make each morning. Even the smell of coffee sometimes takes me back to either of my grandparents’ houses. Those are memories that I hope to never lose as I continue to age. Thinking of those days puts me in my happy place. But of all the things that I remember, and of all the items that remind me of growing up, there is one item in particular that means more to me than any other.
Like the aforementioned items, this one probably doesn’t hold much monetary value if I had to guess. It’s not in poor condition, but I don’t recognize the brand, and the stock is a little scuffed up in places. But that’s what makes it so good. My granddaddy wasn’t much of an outdoorsman. After he retired, I’m sure he had time to hunt if he’d wanted to but chose to work around the farm instead. We’d go to the pasture where he had cows and sometimes I’d fish while he worked. And every now and then we’d take this .410 shotgun with us, and I’d shoot snakes and turtles. I loved that gun. A single shot, it was the perfect size for me to carry around and pretend I was grown.
When cold weather arrived, I’d take that shotgun and a box of shells into the woods behind their house and hunt squirrels. There were a few times that Granddaddy went with me and those trips were the best. He didn’t care about hunting, but when I’d pop a squirrel out of a tree with that shotgun he’d beam with pride. He didn’t go with me too often so the trips that he did really stand out to me. I can remember shooting a squirrel and immediately looking at him for his approval. And I’d get it each time. Looking back, I was living out some of the most special times of my life in those moments and I didn’t even know it.
He passed away just before I left home for college, and it still seems like yesterday. My grandmother lived another twenty years after his passing, so the majority of his stuff was still at their house. When she passed, there were a few small things that I got from the house that reminded me of them. Nothing big, but sentimental to me. I later learned that my dad ended up with that shotgun. Now, I’ve never asked my dad, or anyone else, for very much. So, asking for something is kind of hard for me. Several months ago, we were sitting on the beach together and I finally mustered up the courage to ask him for the gun. He obviously had no problem with that and said he’d have it for me on my next trip down.
Well, like I forget most things, I forgot all about our conversation about the shotgun before we headed back down for Labor Day Weekend. It wasn’t until we pulled into Perdido that I thought about the gun. Thank goodness for daddies that think for their sons. Dad told me that he had the gun there for me and my heart skipped and I dang near cried. I know it sounds silly but remember I’m sentimental in my advancing age!
He’d broken the gun down into three parts and I put them in our car. I couldn’t believe it was coming home with me. As soon as we pulled back into our driveway, and I mean immediately when we put the car in “park” I was digging it out and putting it together. Within fifteen seconds I had it assembled, and the memories came washing over me. Just holding it sent me back in time. I probably looked like a lunatic standing in our driveway holding a shotgun, but if the people driving by know me then they already know that I’m a little off balance.
The gun seemed so much smaller in my hands now than it did thirty years ago but still felt perfect. Dad sent a new box of shells with me, and I wanted so badly to fire it off right there by the street, but I didn’t. I do look forward to the first opportunity I get to shoot it. Who knows, maybe I’ll take one of my kids squirrel hunting with it this year. I know Granddaddy would be proud of that.
Ben Smith
