Guilty. I confess I am a sucker for bones, antlers, sheds, arrow-heads, rusty horse-shoes— almost any remnants of the past.
Y'day on my ranch visit my neighbor gave me a rack that his uncle had shot in 1959. "I can't keep everything!" was his excuse. Feeble. Hell, I keep everything! What's his problem?
Anyway, it lives with me now.
And my little Boston Terrorist says, "Get RID of it! I hates it lots!"
But what does she know?
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1 comment:
If you get a chance, post some more pictures of your set up and the terrain. Those are really interesting. I gave serious consideration to moving to the SouthWest or the Great Plains when I got out of the Marine Corps in 1986, but came back to Georgia so my kids could be raised in the South.
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