Friendly Fire
I come from a long, long line of hunters and shooters - but, until yesterday, I myself had never pulled the trigger on anything other than a water gun. I remember summer nights watching clay pigeons explode at the gun range while visiting family in Wisconsin. I remember watching my brother and my cousins shoot bb guns, remember hearing countless stories about the thrill of the hunt or the perfect bullseye from relatives. But somewhere along the way I started to think of guns as BAD. And then, in the way it so often does, bad turned into SCARY.
In fact, one of my most vivid childhood memories is coming upon a pair of rifles stowed away in a closet. My grandpa had given them to my dad as a Christmas gift and, because he doesn’t spend much time stalking game, they’d ended up in storage. They were, of course, unloaded and still in their boxes (I didn’t even open them - I knew what they were), but I tiptoed around for weeks feeling like they were watching me, waiting to jump out and yell “bang!”
As I continue to try and live my life with less fear and anxiety, I’ve been thinking for a long while that I need to address my issues with guns. At their core, they are a tool after all. I was once deathly afraid of my torch and the drill press used to give me all sorts of butterflies - but in learning how they worked, in gaining just a little bit of understanding, the fear softened and melted to something that now just feels like profound respect.
It’s not lost on me that the purpose of a gun as a tool is one of destruction instead of creation - but a tool is a tool is a tool. Wield it with knowledge and care and, in my experience, there’s not too much to be afraid of. So when my younger brother invited Eric and I to drive out east and learn to shoot a couple of his guns? I said yes with much trepidation - but I said yes.
Eli has always had an interest and affinity for old things. For years and years he collected and fixed vintage radios and his current passion lies in the endless gold and silver mines that pepper the mountainsides here in Colorado. But through it all, he’s held a fascination with the World Wars - WWII especially - and that has led him to collect rifles from nearly all of the countries that participated in the fighting.
To the range, he brought a rifle from the US and one from Germany - also Russia and Japan and Britain. Each had it’s own ammunition, it’s own shape, it’s own way of loading and cocking and putting on the safety.
He walked us through the particulars of each gun and then we each fired a few rounds (yes - even me with my cold feet and shaky knees and knotted stomach). Did I hit exactly where I was aiming? Heck no! But as I relaxed a little, I got closer and closer and found myself in a place where intense focus begins to crowd out worry. I was able to take a breath, steady myself, look down the barrel. Progress.
We ended our session by collecting as many of the brass casings as we could find (Eli makes and fills much of his ammunition himself and wanted to reuse them) and got a quick gun cleaning demo (because you’ve got to keep your tools in working order if you want them safe and reliable). I do believe I’ll mostly stick to shooting photos instead of bullets - but apart from a rather sore shoulder, I feel SO MUCH BETTER. Like I walked up to a fire breathing dragon, patted him on the nose, and then the two of us walked away amicably.
I’m thinking fire was maybe a theme for fall - wildfire and torch fire and trials by fire and gunfire. It was a season that both began and ended with this temperamental element.
As a way to make amends, Eric and I decided to gift ourselves a little friendly fire, too, in the form of a gas fireplace insert. Though it took a couple months of planning (and a couple weeks of people being in and out of our house on the daily), we’re now spending every night cozied up to these tame flames. Just ask the animals - sitting fireside isn’t a bad way to celebrate the beginning of winter.
We’re now in the season of lightening, after all - it just gets brighter from here!