For quite a very few years I carried this knife:

Earlier this year, I got my hands on this knife:. It allowed me to park the old one.

And then the friday before my vacation, it disapeared.

I had to put dad’s knife back in my pocket. I was terrified I’d lose it.

See, I have only one wish at the end of my life, and that is to be buried with as little cerimony as possible, with the knife dad gave me in my pocket, wrapped in the wool Hudson’s Bay point blanket the Ogwife gave me while we were dating.

Anyway, I was trimming some trees today, and stumbled onto the replacement knife, half buried in the grass next to the hickory in our front yard. I’d mowed yesterday, and probably missed mowing it by less than an inch. I might well have dropped it from my pants when driving the mower. Had I walked a foot to the right or left I would have missed it altogether.

And Dad’s knife went back into the gun safe, and the replacement back intpo my pocket. All is right with the world.