Shootin' it Straight - Collections that Work

 I, like most red blooded Americans, love looking at beautiful collections. I thoroughly enjoy car shows featuring pristine 55' Chevy sedans. I admire guys showing me their lifelong stash of vintage Case knives, gushing over a certain script of writing. Some people hoard up antique toys, lining shelves with impressive collections. I know some older ladies that have fine dining wear behind glass in their immaculate kitchen. Some part of restorations, preservation and collecting is good for the soul. It gives people a sense of healthy pride. It lends itself to purpose. 

 I on the other hand have a plethora of stuff I use. I make a point to care for my meager earthly belongings but I don't spare them in real world use. I do love the mirror finish on a Remington 870 Wingmaster but I smile looking at the wear on mine as it tags along for another trip into the briar thickets. At times I let self consciousness creep in for a brief moment while driving the old beater truck through a school line chucked full of presentable Super Duties and Yukons. Only briefly does it flutter through my mind though, because a glance in the rearview shows two kayaks speaking my language as they are bound for a narrow river launch where a pristine vehicle has no place. Much to my collector buddies horror I enjoy carrying a knife that will see action slicing a tomato for our sandwiches but also scores concrete board backer for a tile wall. That vintage two stroke bike sitting in the garage out back? It still gets the power valve cracked open plastering mud all over a rear target and smiles all over the person piloting such a treasure. 

 There is a small percentage of things I own that get allocated to collection status. I do have a minimum amount of play pretty items that essentially serves as dust collectors. The bulk of my meager earthly belongs are user level. I like to create memories with the miniscule assets I possess. I enjoy seeing what the old drop point blade will do skinning around the cape of a whitetail. I want to not fear a stray limb screeching again the door of the raggedy Silverado as I get to the shoal around the bend. I have no desire to keep those tools without wear. Those chrome plated wrenches will have some grease pushed into their crevices. I admire folks commitment to polishing wax finishes to mirror levels. I love museums dedicated to preserving early tractors and such. I will pay a fee to view a room full of early revolvers with cold blue finish casting light back at me. That being said, I won't likely ever be accused of being that guy. All my belongings have a few scars to match mine. I prefer it that way and the character it keeps buried within.