An Old Pocket Knife, Part Two

Just An Old Boker Knife is a story my mom wrote for her blog, and that I've heard iterations of it a few times in my life. It's one of those family legends, you see. We all have them. Maybe it's tied to some legendary deeds performed by a forebearer, or an ingenious object that was made by hand for a specific purpose. The last time mom told me about the Boker knife was last fall. We were at the cabin where she and Gene share their lives, on the upper porch. I had asked mom if I could see Papaw Oak's knife collection, and specifically I wanted to look at another knife that I'll write about soon. Mom got out an old knife roll. She pointed to one and then another as memories began pouring out. My mom is a natural storyteller, and seeing the Boker knife was the cue that it was time to tell the story. 

Rather than re-tell it word for word, I'll just say that my favorite part of the story of this old pocket knife, that Paw Huff said you probably couldn't get 5 dollars for, is the way it returns to its owner each time. Unexpectedly, at suppertime, when a person's mind is adrift with thoughts from the day and plans for tomorrow as your body begins to relax from a day of hard work and you fill your belly with good food from the table. When mom told the story, she demonstrated the way Papaw Oak looked at the knife, the way his thumbs appraised the handles, and the way he bounced it in his hands. I love that this reflected the way the knife returned to my great-grandfather. The way she told it brought me back to that moment with her. I picked up the knife, bounced it in my hand, and felt the true weight of the knife wasn't necessarily due to its mass, but the memories of my papaw and great-grandfather connected to it.

The story goes on from the end of mom's blog post, after she had the knife repaired and handles replaced for Papaw Oak. For Christmas in 2015, mom gave my brother Kevin and I each a tobacco stick from our papaw's farm, that our papaw and his father rived by hand. Embedded in them, just above our initials, are the original handles from the old Boker knife. They came to us unexpectedly, just after suppertime. They connect us to this nearly 100 year long story, that began with our great-grandfather, continued with our grandfather, and resonated so strongly with our mom. I don't remember Paw Huff, but I miss my Papaw Oak and I wish I could talk to both of them and hear some more stories from them. Whenever I see the tobacco stick with the old Boker knife handle embedded within, I feel like I'm looking at a relic of significance that ties me to my family and my roots that extend deep into those eastern Kentucky hills. And that, to me, is worth more than $5.00. 

Christmas 2015, tobacco sticks and the old Boker knife handles embedded inside, thanks to Mark Eclov.