"What are you doing?"
"Working, what are you doing?'
"Shopping. What are you doing tomorrow?'
"Oh, Socks and I have some shooting to do outside Lenoir tomorrow."
My mind tries to imagine what photo project the two would be working on together, especially in the Lenoir area. My thoughts are broken by,
"I've got about four hundred bucks of clays and ammunition in my shopping cart right now."
"Oh, I'm in!"
The old home place. The first time I heard those words I wanted to be a Southerner. As a child who moved a lot I yearned for that sense of permanence. A sense of place. Forty-five years later I'm still called a Yankee. Anyway met to go shooting at an old home place. For those that don't do Instagram or the Facebooks, here was Vaku's post about that place.
This is the spoon that has kept the latch closed on the workshop as long as he can remember. A splock. Inside the workshop. Canning jars still full. This is the 'tater cave' Some of it has collapsed and it no longer holds taters. It holds fatwood, pitchwood or lighter knot. We were just meeting here. We were shooting on a nearby parcel of land that was recently logged. This required one stream crossing and a short jaunt down the logging road. Intel from one of the lumbermen said the road was clear.The man put the flag on his house just the way he wanted it to be. It was the house where his grandparents lived. It is a few miles down off a main road. On a paved road that wasn't always paved. It is a house built by the people who lived in it. They dug a 'tater cellar into the mountain next to it. Built a workshop where things were fixed instead of thrown away. More than one family was raised in this house. I visited it on a rainy afternoon with the great great grandson of the man who built it. That flag, this faded glory, has been next to the front door since he was a child. I was privileged to be there, I could feel the lives that had been spent there.
As the road became blocked with deadfall we realized maybe Socks misinterpreted the intel. It may very well have been the road needs to be cleared.
A machete was going to take awhile. Thank goodness the consummate suburbanite just happened to have a chainsaw, that was recently serviced,in the back of his Jeep. We finally make it to our destination and unload Vaku's and Sock's goodies. Several shotguns a couple of hand guns, ammo, clays and a brand new clay tosser. Let's not waste these on targets. First order of business, put together the spring loaded clay thrower. That went very well. Until we tried to throw the clays. Configuration one involved the thrower planted into the ground. After 732 adjustments to arm tension and pigeon placement, we tried configuration two. The thrower bolted to a spare tire. After an additional 400 adjustments in this configuration we got one of the clays to fall a full fifteen inches to the side and possibly slightly in front of the thrower.