Tales of the Gun: Gramps’ Old .22

In Episode 73 of the podcast, Ben and I talked about the Winston-Salem gun buyback, and how one of the people interviewed at the event mentioned that he was selling a shotgun that had been passed down in his family for generations, and that it hadn’t been shot in probably 40 years, so he decided to sell it at the gun buy back. I was stunned that someone would just get rid of a family heirloom for $100, but I guess that’s the way things go.

Years ago when I was probably 12 or 13, I received a funny looking Christmas present from my Grandpa. I remember pulling the wrapping paper off the the box, to see a cardboard box labeled “Truck Step”. My first thought was that I wasn’t even old enough to drive, and that I didn’t own a truck, so what in the world would I do with a truck step? Well, with all of my extended family looking on, I opened the box to find an old .22 rifle inside. I don’t think I could have been more excited!

I’ve had the rifle since then, and I don’t shoot it much. It spends most of it’s time in my safe, only to be pulled out once in a while to be wiped down with an oily rag, and placed back inside. There’s nothing special about the rifle itself, it’s just an old beatup single shot .22lr, but the stories that came along with the rifle are what make it priceless. I’ve heard many bits and pieces of stories about hunting trips with the old .22, most of which I need to confirm with my Dad before I can tell them and get all of the facts straight, but there’s on in particular that I think you’ll like:

This past fall I made a trip up to northern Michigan to visit family. I stopped in to see Gramps as I always do whenever I’m home, and we got to talking about all sorts of things when Gramps told a story that I don’t remember hearing before. When he was young (I believe he received the .22 from his dad on his 10th birthday) he did a lot of hunting to put food on the table during the depression. He told me about how he would take his .22 and a box of .22 shorts and he would sneak down a fence line on the farm to where there was a good view of a tree that would always be full of grouse. He’d rest the rifle on the fence post, and using the shorts he could shoot the bird on the lowest branch, and it would fall without disturbing the other birds further up in the tree. He’d then move on to the next highest bird, and the next one, and so on until they were all down. He said that if he didn’t shoot the lowest bird, the game was off and they would all get spooked and fly away.

The old rifle isn’t worth any money, but even if it was, I couldn’t imagine ever getting rid of it. When I pull it out of the safe I remember this story and others like it, and that’s worth a fortune to me.