Jan 6, 2023 4 min read

“The best thing about hunting and fishing is that you don’t have to actually do it to enjoy it. You can go to bed every night thinking about how much fun you had 20 years ago, and it all comes back clear as moonlight.” Robert Ruark, The Old Man’s Boy Grows Older

I am afraid that this week’s installment comes a bit late. Because I was busy introducing myself last week. Maybe I should have begun with a year in review. Possibly, I could have shared some secrets about stalking techniques for deer hunting, though I spook more deer than I actually stalk.

While sitting at my desk in my den, staring at an ancient cigar box full of battered knives, it hit me. A smile crept over my lips as I began to draw individual knives from the box, one at a time, unfolding each knife, admiring the dulled edges and the worn blades beginning to show signs of surface rust and wear. You see, with the passing of a close friend or old hunting pal, I usually ask his widow or children for a knife that belonged to them. Not a prized possession or heirloom, mind you, just an old throw away that would have likely made its way to the trash heap.

You’re probably asking yourself, “How long can our ole buddy Bates expect to keep his job, writing about cigar boxes full of rusty knives?” Kindly follow me down the path and I promise to make more sense in the end.

Probably like you, my 2022 was filled with too many trips to the funeral home and too many friends in the hospital. We have a saying in my circle of friends: “More weddings, less funerals.” Though spoken in jest, truer sentiments could not be conveyed.

As I sat in the quiet of my study, I began to think back to the folks attached to each of the knives living in my old cigar box. Each one, a special friend in my life who had left me something of themselves. Some knives, like uncle Jim’s graduation present of a Buck knife or uncle Blair’s old Schrade folder, get used yearly.

As for other knives, they are mostly for remembering. Now, all I have to remember them by are the stories rolling around in my head of great days spent afield and these old knives that trigger the memories from time to time. I don’t believe in living in the past. I am much too busy making new memories to get caught up in the good old days. Truth be told, maybe the good old days weren’t really all that good. However, once in a while, we have to revisit those old times and old friends and remember. Ruark’s quote harkens me back to those special times and special folks. I guess that’s what I was doing when I dove headlong into that cigar box and got sidetracked – remembering.

I had just returned from the funeral home, paying my respects to my friend, Paul. Paul and his wife, Joyce, have allowed me to hunt their property, camp with my family and generally enjoy the outdoors on their place for years. As I so often do, when saying goodbye to old friends who have died, I touched the hand of my friend while at the casket and said a quick prayer and some departing words of thanks for his kindness over the years.

A buddy, looking on, mentioned that I had touched the deceased and I affirmed that I indeed had. He insinuated that it was a bit on the macabre side and I explained that it couldn’t be further from it. I talked with him about harvesting a deer on a hunt and always taking time to admire the deer, giving thanks for the life that was taken. I ask a blessing on the meat that will feed my family for the coming year. And while there is always a little sadness at taking a life, there is much more for which to be thankful.

As I lay my hands on the animal, I am paying homage to a creature I immensely respect. When I touch the hand of the dead, I am saying goodbye in the most personal way I know. When I find myself sifting through my collection of old knives, I am remembering old friends.

About then, I headed to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. I returned to the quiet of my study, dimmed the lights and sat down in my rocker in front of the fire, with my cigar box full of knives. We had a wonderful time, together, remembering.