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Hopefully the legal owner of the lower pushes the pins in since they will be sheared off over time if he leaves them out all of the time.
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I was wondering if anyone would get the reference.I see what you did there. The author of that book, Christopher Browning, used to teach in WA at PLU years ago.
Interestingly enough, the unit he profiled was a reserve police battalion. It wasn't just the SS running the Holocaust.
If you're really planning on moving to CA?So! If you move to California, you need to register all guns before moving in?
I feel your pain, I grew up in Sisters Oregon in the 60's, much the same as you described. so sad to see these days. we used to trap and sell chipmunks to the tourists back then [certainly illegal these days], oftentimes we would sell the same animal over and over as the "tourist" family wouldn't make it a block before you heard a child howling and see the chipmunk bail from the car. good times!This was about 1960, believe it or not. The Sierras and anywhere else at least 50 miles from the coast was rugged and real. People did what they wanted to do, and damn the gawkers. This is how I grew up. Hunting and fishing were what you did when you weren't working or going to school. The mountains were criss crossed with active logging roads, and woe be to you if you didn't give way to a loaded truck headed downhill. I rode hundreds of miles on those roads in the bed of a 1940's pickup with a gun rack in the window to go trout fishing where nobody else ever went, or to get to an area where dad knew there was a giant buck, so I could sit on a stump like a statue in the pre-dawn with my Marlin 336 for hours. We'd have to roll rocks and push downed trees out of the road in some places. The small towns served gold panners, cowboys, truckers, hunters, fishermen, and lumberjacks, and the saloons didn't serve white wine. Big Trees State Park was on a dirt road off of Hwy 4 near a town called Arnold, and another town named White Pines whose sole reason for existence was the sawmill there, complete with a mill pond. You had to hike a mile or so from the highway to see the giant redwoods.
But even then the easterners were flocking into San Francisco and Monterey and Napa, lured by the promise of adventure and beauty. But that adventure and beauty existed in the first place because they weren't there yet. I remember these outlanders buying property in places like Jackson, San Andreas, and Ione for $5000 per acre, while the locals just shook their heads and wondered why anybody would pay more than $25 per acre for dry grass, rocks, scrub oak, and 115 degree days in the summer. Today, the gold rush and Sierra towns are full of tourists and gift shops. The main industries are wineries and skiing. The giant redwoods have fences around them to keep the fools from carving their initials on them, and they charge admission.
I mourn for the sleepy, dusty, free, adventurous place where I grew up. I panned for gold and could cast a fly rod when I was 7 years old. I could also shoot the eye out of a squirrel at 25 yards. But nobody cares and nobody knows what California with 1/10th the population was like. Today the mountains are just a venue for mountain bikers, skiers, and rafters passing by as quickly as they can on their way to the next shallow, artificial "adventure". Bikers, skiers, and rafters don't care about the deer and bear, or the trout that watch their antics with amazed curiosity. They probably don't even see them.
All of that is gone forever. It's a time and place that no longer exists. Maybe it's a gift to have a limited life span, and not experience the loss of everything you loved about that life as the world changes over time, and people become more and more disconnected from reality.
Rural eastern part of Stockton. I could be in San Andreas or Jackson in about 40 minutes. Stockton was much like Eugene in those days. College town with deep agricultural roots. The people who thought they were somebody joined the country club. That was all the bankers, professors, and small business people, the new money. The real money, the old money, the Italian and Basque farmers and ranchers joined the Waterloo Road Rod Gun & Bocci Club. My oldest daughter's godmother's family owned 11,000 acres of cow/sheep ranch.@ZigZagZeke you from the columbia area? my family has been in that area since the 1830's