Firewood Folly

In my infinite wisdom, I decided I needed to acquire firewood for our fire pit today. We enjoy sitting outside around a fire with an adult libation, and we don't have much wood. After voting, I headed to a local pallet manufacturer that I heard sold scrap wood for cheap. It was an idyllic 20 minute drive down the highway into the country. When I got there, I was greeted at the office by a charming southern girl that said things like "ya'll" and "them over there" and said everything with a smile and a saccharine twang. Kind as can be, she informed me that I could buy a truck bed full of scrap for a 20 dollar bill, and she was sorry, but I had to load it myself. I gallantly smiled and slightly flexed my muscles as she pointed me to a mountain of wood probably 60ft high and twice that around. Looking behind it, there were several more piles like it.

The scraps were mixed hardwood and pine, and I could pick and choose. I tossed and loaded and cussed for 20 minutes, only selecting hardwood, then climbed into the bed of my F-150 to stack it. After packing it in neatly and tight, level with the top of the bed, I hadn't even gotten to the wheel wells! I gasped for air, having not thought that it would be as difficult as it was (am I really that dumb? did I really think it would be EASY to load a truck bed full of wood?!) and wished that I had brought a bottle of water. Or even better, liquor. Damn this wood!

The better part of an hour later, and I had finished filling the bed. Sure, the last 20 or so pieces were pine, but I was too tired to give a crap about climbing the woodpile AGAIN so I settled for the easy pickings near the base of the wood-mountain.

I stopped at a gas station near the pallet factory, and got a poweraid to rejuvenate myself, and wryly patted myself on the back. I had secured a whole truckload of fire pit goodness! I slowly crept home, savoring my electrolyte laden beverage.

A few blocks from my house, realization set in. I was going to have to unload all that damn wood! Ah, hell! I backed into the driveway, and got as close as I could to where I stack firewood, about 20 yards away. The firewood stared up out of the truck bed balefully back at me. It laughed. Or maybe I did. surely that wasn't a crazed sob that came from my lips?

I dreadfully cleared a path between my preferred firewood location and my truck. with grit and determination, I dutifully wheeled the wheelbarrow over to my truck. I started loading into the wheelbarrow. Was this wood heavier? Surely if each piece weighs this much, my rear tires should be flat! Over the course of the next hour, I made approximately 11 million trips back and fourth between my truck and the wood pile, neatly stacking each piece. Some of the stacks may look like a drunk with the shakes stacked it, but it must be because the wood was uneven. I take pride in stacking wood neatly.

Did you know that firewood has teeth? I didn't. But it must be true. I was stacking wood as carefully as can be (an outside observer may have thought I was worn-out and half-heartedly throwing wood willey-nilly on the stack, but this is a technique I learned from my father. It keeps your neighbors from feeling bad about themselves when they see you preforming nigh-superhuman feats of endurance), when one reached out with its teeth and bit me! Right into my cuticle on my right middle finger! As I said, I was being very careful to stack it neatly in spite of my neighbors oddly standing around pointing and laughing, so I know I couldn't have inadvertently smashed it between 2 pieces of firewood.

Finally the last piece of wood was stacked. I put the wheelbarrow away. I heard the leaf Springs on my F-150 sigh in relief. I'm pretty sure it was the leaf springs. I mean, I know it wasn't me... my sighs are quiet and dignified, not loud and screeching...

Anyway, the wood is stacked, and I am all set for a cheery fire that i can't enjoy, because the rain came in, damnit!

I'm sure that cruel witch at the pallet factory that convinced me that I was getting a STEAL on a truckload of wood for 20 dollars is cackling right now, enjoying my misery that the rain she called in would inflict.

Handguns

After work yesterday I went and spent some of the detail money I've been making. I made a deal with my wife that I would work a bunch of details to get us back flush and build up money for Christmas, but I was going to buy a gun and accessories for same if we met our financial goals before the detail ran out.

I bought a G17 gen 4 glock, and upgraded the sights to Ameriglo night sights. I am happy with the purchase. I have carried a Glock 19 gen 3 as a work gun for 5 years. I'm intimately familiar with it, and trust in it daily. I like the platform, and accept it's limitations. It is not a safe queen or range toy, and it's not pretty.

But it's a great tool, and it is well designed for its intended task. I decided to go with the 17 because I like the longer grip. I like the modularity of the gen 4 grip as well, but the base size fits my hand best. the texture is much better than on the gen 3 as well.

I feel very comfortable with my 19, but it is owned by my department, and I really wanted a duty weapon that is mine. I don't want to have to learn another gun -even another Glock- if I ever decide to move to another department.

Looking at my handguns today, I have come to realise that I don't have a need for any other handgun at this point in my life. In fact, I have a few superfluous guns. I'm not getting rid of any, because the 3 handguns that I have that don't fill specific roles all have a place in my heart, but I don't see a need to add to my handgun collection anymore.

In the top left, you see my new G17. I hope to become as familiar with it as I am with my department's G19, below it.

Under the 19, you see a Kahr CW9, which is my constant off-duty companion.

Below the Kahr is a Ruger LC-9 that I got for a song, and is my "truck gun". I don't mind if it gets a little beat up, and it's easy to throw in a glove box when I'm going somewhere. it has a belt holster and a pocket holster and an extra magazine with it at all times, and is basically a gun to have on hand for if I ever get caught out without a gun.

Top right is a Taurus 627 Tracker in .357. It's my woods gun. I generally carry it when hunting as a backup/critter repellant/snake medicine.

Below the Taurus is my S&W 638, which is my deep concealment gun. If off-duty, and unable to carry my Kahr, the 638 slips into a pocket.

Below that is my wife's S&W model 60. It's hers, so I don't ever carry it, but it's a dandy little j-frame.

And in the middle are the "superfluous" guns. the top is a 3-inch model 36 which I just LOVE. A 3-inch j-frame is a thing of beauty that has to be experienced to be understood. it carries like a j-frame but shoots like a k-frame. It's a dream to shoot.

Below that is a grail gun of mine, a 1908 pocket hammerless. What can I say, I've had a jones for that gun forever. I finally scratched the itch, and after shooting it, I'm glad I did. It's a JMB work of art.

Lastly is my Great-Great Uncle's backup, a Ruby in 32. that gun was carried small-of-back without a holster by Uncle Roy for his working career as a Cop in Rural Louisiana in the first half of the 20th century. It has stories to tell, and considering that it may have been a relic of WWII, some of them are likely grim. I'll never get rid of that one, strictly due to the family history.

So that's the handguns. Like I said, I think I've got my bases covered in this department. I guess it's time to start cranking out 9mm on the reloading press, and hit the range!