My dad was a foster child for 17 years. Everybody in the family treated him as family, but, he wasn’t adopted because he represented a check during the height of the depression.
He had a farmer uncle, and worked in the dairy barn in the summer. As was the case in most barns, there was a gun for “just in case”. That gun was a first year model 12 20 gauge, that rested between two studs just off the milking parlor, although in this barn, it wouldn’t have been called a parlor.
Know what I’m saying?
That gun lives here, now. But, it was a disgraceful mess when it showed up, my hands got rusty touching it. We were offered the gun when my dad was still alive, and he told them to keep it. That bad.
I had it blued, and found new wood for it. Full choke opened to modified, too. It will never be a collectible, but, it functions well, and some days I get to use a first year model 12 to shoot.
I would have thought the uncle would appreciate it and care for it, but, his farm had at least one piece of machinery left right where it quit running, decades prior. I don’t understand the thought process, but, so what?
He was different than us.
Best,
Ted
