‘STRESS-FREE RIVER-FISHIN’ FUN’

          No pagers or radios, lawnmowers or ball schedules… no keepin' the peace or ridin' the fire truck… just pure stress-free river-fishin’ fun.

Keith reels in a good Bluegill

          The best cure for the stress of everyday life that I know of is a day spent float-fishin’ the river, and on our days off durin’ the summer, my friend Keith (a professional Firefighter/First Responder, Rec League ball coach, umpire, and Daddy to two very active young boys) and I do exactly that every chance we can get. The river we fish is typical of the myriad of small rivers and creeks all across America. Clear and clean, it flows unrestricted through woods and farmlands; chock full of freshwater fish just waitin’ to be fished for.

Now, river-fishin’ ain’t one of them get-up-at-the-crack-of-dawn affairs. No... you can sleep-in a bit, ‘cause river fish are always feedin’, and midday generally brings some of the best action, unlike lake fishin’ where the fishin' is best early and late in the day. So, we usually get on the water sometime aroun’ 10:30 or 11 of a mornin’.

A nice 'Spot'

After castin’ off, it only takes a few minutes to get everything squared away, spare rods tucked safely away, tackle boxes within easy reach, and gettin’ our ‘balance’ back since the last trip. And then the ‘float’ begins…

We don’t go no more’n a few canoe lengths before I put us close-in on the first good fishy-lookin’ spot, and Keith drops a lure tight into the structure. Tap. Tap. Uhhh! He sets the hook on a nice pound and a half Spot (Spotted Bass) that jumps once in its futile fight to get away. Once brought to hand, he’s admired, maybe a quick pic taken, and then tossed back into the water to be caught another day. And that, my friends… is how most every trip of ours down the river starts.

          Our boat is a 1970’s model aluminum canoe, sportin’ a worn paint scheme of brown camouflage, a plastic cup holder in the bow, and a COLEMAN seatback laid-claim-to early on by Keith. This ol’ boat’s been down this stretch of river so many times over the past decade and a half, it could almost navigate it all on its own. Fairly quiet, easy-handlin’, and a whole lot faster than your ordinary johnboat, when it comes to the ‘perfect’ riverboat… this is about the closest we’ve found.

We float the long pools, some deep and some not-so-much, and we wade through the shoals too shallow or dangerous to navigate, all the while tossin’ lures at every piece of fishy-lookin’ structure we come to, pullin’ fish after fish after fish from their watery lairs.

A dandy Redeye Coosa Bass taken on a fly

We use ultralight spinning outfits to bounce lead-head tube jigs along the rock-strewn river bottom and swim soft plastic shad baits along the seams of fast water for coveted Redeyes and hard-fightin’ Spots. With our fly rods, we toss poppin’ bugs with wet fly droppers close under the tree roots along the river bank for panfish and strip small white streamers along the edge of grass beds, which almost always results in a feisty little bass puttin’ a bow in your rod.

'Our' river

We’re in and out of the canoe all day long, wadin’ the shallows, sometimes draggin’ the boat past obstacles; other times paddlin’ long, almost current-less, stretches of water; part of the day in the cool shade, the rest in full sun, and almost always shirtless.

'Lunch of Champions'

When we get hungry, we pull the canoe up on a sandbar and break out the grub. Lunches vary. They’re generally light… a pack of crackers, a can of potted meat or Viennas, maybe some Beanie Weenies or a sandwich and some chips. Snacks range from apples and trail mix to jerky and Little Debbies. And we wash it down with water kept cold in the beat-up IGLOO water jugs we keep tied to the thwarts of the canoe.

          The fishin’ after lunch takes on a different character, as the river itself changes. Now, the river turns into a twistin’, turnin’ watercourse with deep holes scoured on the outside of each bend and full of logjams, downed timber, and undercut riverbanks, where the bigger fish of this river live. The number of fish caught through here decreases somewhat, but the quality definitely improves.

A Largemouth taken on the lower section

Now, we work Beetle Spins through downed timber, toss soft plastic creature baits in amongst the logjams, and twitch floatin’ RAPALAS next to submerged stumps in search of dark-colored, river Largemouths and bigger-than-normal Bluegills and Shellcrackers.

After 5 or 6-hours on the river, we reach the planned take-out point and beach the canoe, wearily haul armloads of gear and then the canoe up the grassy hill to the gravel parking lot, where it’s loaded onto a waiting truck and trailer.

Then stiff and tired and sunburned, still drippin’ water from our shorts, we tromp into the li’l store there at the takeout to buy our celebratory glass bottles of ice-cold rootbeer for the ride home. We don't spend much, but still it's our way of thankin' the store owner for lettin' us park a truck there. We've done this simple gesture for so long that my 10-year-old grandson swears that ‘IBC Rootbeer’ stands for ‘I Been Canoein’ Rootbeer’.

          Once home and the canoe is on its rack and our rods and gear are put away; after we’ve all showered, sprayed ourselves down with SOLARCAINE, and changed into dry shorts and t-shirts; we throw some burgers on the grill, pop the tops on some adult beverages, and settle into loungers out under the shade trees in my front yard and just chill. Pleasantly tired and utterly relaxed.

‘HANGIN’ WITH UNCLE-BURR-PAW’

Gene & Jonathon @ Tellico

           

            To my son, I’m ‘Burr’. To my grand-boy, I’m ‘Paw’. And to my nephews, I’m either Uncle Burry or Uncle Barry. Regardless of what they may call me, though, to me, they’re just simply ‘my boys’. And, as such, I do my darnedest to spoil ‘em rotten. At Christmas, I’m the one that always buys the ‘cool’ gifts. You know, the gifts that all young boys love to get and the ones that make most mothers and grandmothers nervous… like pocketknives, tomahawks, swords, and once even a crossbow pistol. I think boys should be allowed to be boys.

          As often as possible, I try to spend time doin’ somethin’ fun in the outdoors with ‘my boys’. It gives me time with them, and gives their parents a much-needed break. Sometimes, it’s simply goin’ over to a nearby pond and wettin’ a hook. Other times, it’s a backwoods camping trip away from parents and other ‘responsible’ adults. Every time, though, it is a learnin’ experience… sometimes for us all.

Gene with squirrels taken while floatin' the Conasauga River

          This all started back years ago when I first started takin’ my son Gene and my nephew Jonathon campin’ and fishin’ in Tellico, floatin’ the Conasauga in canoes, and huntin’ for squirrels and doves every fall. Now that they’re grown and off on their own, my grandson Trevor and younger nephews Matt and Will have stepped up to take their places. And once again, I’m teachin’ the basics all over again.

Will with a Bluegill he caught

For fishin’, it’s how to rig their own rod, bait their own hook, how to catch a fish, and how to take it off the hook by themselves. Should they catch really good fish, then a picture is taken of them proudly displayin’ it, which is later sent to the newspaper for hopeful publication. For huntin’, it’s responsible gun handling, expert marksmanship, fair chase, and how to clean their kill. For the water, I drill into ‘em that a life vest is always a must, then how to paddle and handle a canoe or kayak. And they learn how to camp by goin’ with the ol’ master himself.

Trevor with his BB gun

            Every boy gets to carry his own pocketknife, for whittlin’ and such, and each carries a whistle, as well… just in case. Everyone has their own fishin’ rod and tackle box, and Red Ryder BB guns are always welcome in camp, as are flips (or slingshots, as some of you call 'em) and the ever present football. If the boys want to swing on an old grape vine, well then… have at it. If they want to stay up late tellin’ ghost stories, fine by me. And if they get in the mood to sing silly ditties at the top of their lungs… sooner or later, I send ‘em to the far end of the lake.

I don’t nursemaid ‘my boys’, either. I believe that, for the most part, boys learn best on their own, through trial and error. So, once at our destination, I turn ‘em loose to be boys. If they want to take the canoe out by themselves and fish, I let ‘em go. They’ll end up learnin’ more and gainin’ more confidence in doin’ so for themselves. Should they want to take their BB guns and go ‘explorin’ out in the woods, so be it. They know my rules, and rarely have they ever disobeyed more’n once’t.

Jonathon & Gene @ Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest

         Best of all, though, is the enjoyment I get back from hangin’ out with ‘my boys’. When they’re with me, I rarely get to fish, but that’s okay. I enjoy watchin’ and coachin’ them. On our long tramps through the mountains, I get all caught-up on what’s goin’ on in the wonderful world of 9 through 12-year-olds. One minute, I’m teachin’ 'em how to tell the difference ‘tween turkey and bear scat, and the next, we’re talkin’ over the difficulties of musterin' up courage enough to tell a pretty girl that she’s really, really liked. (Give me bear scat, any day.) And you’ll never really appreciate a popular TV jingle until you’ve heard the ‘corrupted’ version made up by 10-year-old boys… and, yes, it can get kinda gross. Oh, and I’ve never laughed so hard as when the older boys finally succeed in talkin’ the youngest, who is a self-proclaimed scaredy-cat, into tryin’ out some crazy stunt and seein’ the huge grin on his face after havin’ accomplished it and realizin’ it wasn’t THAT scary, after all.

Matt with a fish on!

          I try to remember how it was to be their age and let that guide me in how I treat ‘em. It’s the little things that matter… like simply listenin’ to what the have to say. Kids they may be, but their thoughts are still important. And another thing… keep your temper. Getting’ angry never helps any situation, especially when you’re tryin’ to live by example to a bunch of impressionable boys.

Recently, while on one of our hangout days, Trev let me know that one of the best things about me is that I "don't get mad too easy... even when one of us breaks out the truck window with a rock." Both his cousins, of which Will the Rock Chucker was one, immediately agreed. Now, folks, to me, that was a compliment like none I’ve ever received… ‘specially seein’ how a lot of kids get treated by grown-ups when they ‘mess up’. Made me feel kinda good inside.

'My Boys'

          Most importantly, though, I try to make sure ‘my boys’ enjoy every minute spent with Uncle-Burr-Paw, whether it’s campin’ in the Smoky Mountains, floatin’ across Lake Conasauga in a canoe, fishin’ for trout on the Hiwassee, or hikin’ the trails on Grassy. And, it must be workin’… ‘cause come time to head home, one of ‘em nearly always says he wishes that our days were longer, that we didn’t have to go home yet, and then another starts up askin’ when we’re gonna do this again.

          Yep… makes a fella feel pretty doggone good… hangin’ out with ‘my boys’, that is.  J 

‘THOSE AWESOME LI’L BLUE LINES’

Want to fish where you’re likely to not see another person for hours? Like the idea of reelin’ in fish after fish after fish that hit your lure with total and reckless abandon? Want to put the excitement you used to feel as a youngster back into your fishin’ trips? Well, then… forget the lakes, the rivers, and the big reservoirs… the fishin’ you’re wantin’ is the home-grown kind, right here in our own backyards… the small yet fishy streams and creeks all around us.

Take you a good look at a map of the local countryside. See all those squiggly blue lines on the map? No, not the big ‘uns, but them thin little blue ones that cross under the two-lane backroads and head off into big areas of nothingness on the map. Yep… you know the ones I mean. Now, ain’t you ever wondered about some of them cricks an’ branches just a wee bit, as you drove over ‘em time and time again? Wondered if any of ‘em was even worth fishin’? Or maybe what might lie just around the next bend? Well, let me tell you… if you ain’t been creek fishin’ lately, then you’re missin’ out on some of the best fishin’ holes around these here parts.

          How to get started: First off, pick yourself a bridge crossin’ to put-in at, drag you a canoe or kayak or even a small johnboat down the embankment, and simply cast off. I suggest you take at least two spinnin’ rods and reels, and nothin’ fancy or very dear to your heart, in case it should get smashed to bits against a downed Sycamore tree. You might want to take a saw and a hatchet, and about three times as many in-line spinners as you think you could possibly lose. Oh, and don’t forget to bring a good friend with you. He’ll enjoy the fishin’ and you’re gonna appreciate havin’ him along come time to drag your boat over blow downs and through shoals, and you’ll likely end up doin’ both about as much as you float.

         That’s okay, though, ‘cause you’ll cast each time you get out of the boat. You’ll catch Bluegill and Bass and even the odd Catfish, ‘cause even a Catfish in a small creek can’t afford to turn down an easy meal. If your spinners are small enough and your casting deft enough, you’ll catch so many fish that you’ll keep castin’ and castin’, again and again, ‘til suddenly you realize that the sun is goin’ down and you’re still quite a ways from your intended take-out point. As you paddle hard to make the next bridge before dark, it suddenly dawns on you… all of the water you don’t have time to fish. But that’s okay… there’s always Next Saturday!

After a day havin’ the kind of fun you had forgotten all about, you’ll go home, scratched and bleeding, and think about selling your sparkle boat and using the proceeds to buy more Mepps and Panther Martins. Don’t you do it, though… don’t you dare do it! A bass boat is a mighty fine thing… as are them thin li’l blue lines on a map.

'PEACH BASKET ROMANCE'

The year was 1905, and cotton was ‘King’ across the South. Although, in the little village of Cohutta, Georgia, located just below the Tennessee state line, peaches ran a close 2^nd, providing area farmers with another much needed source of income.

One such peach producer was William L. Waterhouse, whose two teenage daughters handled the sorting and packing of the peaches, from their family’s orchard, while he tended to his prosperous mercantile business.

The monotonous job of packing peaches was made even more so, by the summer heat and humidity, and it wasn’t long before 16-year-old Leila came up with a game to make her work a bit more tolerable.

On small pieces of paper, she began writing her name and address, along with the words ‘write me’. She then placed one of the notes into each of the baskets of peaches they packed. To both girls, this was exciting, for who knew where the peaches might end up. The game helped pass the time.

That evening, their father took the baskets of peaches to the railroad depot, where they were placed in refrigerated cars for transportation to nearby Chattanooga, Tennessee, and from there to different parts of the country.

Days later, in a grocery store, 350-miles away, in Anderson, Indiana, 19-year-old Ernest Abel, on an errand for his mother, happened to find one of Leila’s ‘write me’ notes in a basket of peaches. Undoubtedly, he’d never heard of Cohutta, Georgia, but his interest was piqued by Leila’s note, and he decided to respond. Imagine the Waterhouse girls’ surprise when their father arrived home one afternoon with mail for Leila, and from of all places…Indiana.

Leila & Ernest Abel on their Wedding Day

Regular correspondence between Leila and Earnest ensued, and their interest in one another grew. A year or so later, a most remarkable thing happened. Young Mr. Abel arrived in Cohutta to meet Miss Leila Waterhouse, and, despite her father’s misgivings, a romance developed between the two young people.

More such visits occurred, until it became evident that Earnest and Leila intended to marry. Leila’s father, a staunch Presbyterian, disapproved of his daughter marrying young Mr. Abel, who was of the Catholic faith. Even though Mr. Waterhouse refused to give his consent, the couple was not deterred, and their long-distance relationship continued.

Then, in August of 1907, Leila’s father suddenly and unexpectedly took sick and, within days, died. Respectful of her husband’s wishes, Leila’s stepmother still refused to consent to the marriage, but despite this, the young couple remained devoted to one another. Enough so, that two years later, Earnest traveled one last time to Cohutta. Only this time, it wasn’t to visit Leila, but to finally take her for his wife.

At high noon on Saturday, the 14^th day of August 1909, the priest at Fort Oglethorpe, in neighboring Catoosa County, Georgia, performed the marriage ceremony that united 21-year-old Leila and 23-year-old Ernest in holy matrimony.

Ernest & Leila Abel
on their 50th Wedding Anniversary

            Afterwards, they took the 3:50 train back to Cohutta, where a 6 o’clock dinner was graciously given in their honor by Leila’s step-mother Ida Waterhouse. It was noted in the North Georgia Citizen newspaper, that Mrs. Abel received many beautiful presents, consisting of cut glass, hand-painted china, and silver. The happy couple left Cohutta that evening on the 7:40 train bound for Indiana. At Anderson, Earnest’s own family welcomed Leila with open arms, immediately making her feel right at home.

The years of their life together passed steadily for Leila and Earnest, as they nurtured their growing family, through both good times and bad. Throughout all, though, one thing was constant; their deep affection and love for one another. That never changed.

On Friday the 14^th of August 1959, Leila and Ernest celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary with their children in Sylmar, California. 47–year-old Herman, their eldest son, and 34-year-old Fred, their youngest son, acted as the ‘alter boys’ for the Mass. It was a very special time for all.

           A year and a half later, in January of 1961, Leila Townes Waterhouse Abel passed away and was interred in the East Maplewood Cemetery, in Anderson, Indiana. In April of 1967, her beloved husband Ernest Paul was laid to rest at her side.

'DO US A GOOD JOB. DO US YOUR BEST.'

           Today, I wrote another of my many letters to my elected representatives up in Washington, D.C., Congressman Tom Graves and Senators Saxby Chambliss and Johnny Isakson. Now, some folks might claim that that was just a waste of time, that it won't change a bloomin' thing, but I don't agree. How in the world are our representatives supposed to know how to represent us folks here in Georgia if'n we don't let 'em know from time-to-time?

           Of course, today's letter was prompted by all that gun control talk bein' bantered about by those in power, and don't you just know I had to speak my piece about a few other things, as well, while I was at it. But I reckon more'n anything, I just wanted to remind them three Georgia boys what's stuck up there in that mess of a Capitol city we got, that there's folks back here at home that are a watchin' and a listenin' to what they're a doin' and a sayin', and that we're hopin' they'll do right by us. Well, enough of that. Here's what my letter had to say:

Sen. Saxby Chambliss - GA

"Dear Sir,

           First and foremost, I wanna make it known that my family and I strongly believe in keepin' our 2^nd Amendment Rights. We’ve broken no laws, and therefore we have no reason to be punished. Any new laws enacted will still make no difference to any person intent on doin' evil.

Just this morning, I read a quote in the paper, and I wholeheartedly agree with it… “We must not allow, nor shall we tolerate, the actions of criminals, no matter how heinous the crimes, to prompt politicians to enact laws that will infringe upon the liberties of responsible citizens who have broken no laws.”  Like I said, we’ve done no wrong and have no reason to be punished.

Rep. Tom Graves - GA

With all courteousness, I want to respectfully ask that you fight with all of your might against each and every measure of expandin’ gun control on the American people, whether it be by Congress or through executive action by the President. I hope to see you be a leader, an example to our other elected representatives in standing up for not just this, but for all of our rights, Mr. Senator/Congressman. No more compromise, no more deals. Stand up for what is right. No action is better than taking the wrong action.

With that said, we also want less control all around, less regulations, less taxes, less ‘nanny-state’… in short, less government intrusion in our lives. The majority of us are hard workin’, responsible folks… way more responsible, at least fiscally, than Congress and the Administration currently are. Those Americans that aren’t ‘responsible’ and find themselves ‘needing’ or ‘deserving’ of government entitlements will never be anything other than irresponsible as long as the government keeps takin’ money from me and mine to keep them folks up. And the long-term effects are that those individuals raise their children up to have the same mentalities, leading to successive generations of ne’r-do-wells. It’s time to put a stop to all that business. It ain’t good for the country, it ain’t good for the folks what’s dependent on it, and it dang sure ain’t good for those of us that’s a havin' to pay for it.

Sen. Johnny Isakson - GA

Please take note that me & mine, my family, my friends, and many, many others of our kind, would rather see things grind to a halt in Washington, D.C. than for them to go any further down the slippery slope that our country seems to be headin’ down. Please remember, at all times, to adhere to the Constitution, for it, more than anything, is the ultimate guide to keeping this great republic of ours strong.

And last, but not least, sir, I want you to know that I would much rather be enjoyin’ life, plannin’ future fishin’ and campin’ trips, thinkin’ about what all I’m gonna plant in my garden come Spring, than worryin’ about all the maladies of our country. The best us country folk can tell, all this turmoil seems to be comin' from the city, from one city in particular… Washington, D.C. Just you remember... you ain’t from ‘up there’, so don’t become ‘one of them’. Do your job like we sent you ‘up there’ to do, represent us, your constituents, the American people. Do us a good job. Do your best. That’s all can be expected of a man. I appreciate you takin’ time to hear me out. Let me know if there’s anything me and mine can do to help you get things done ‘up there’. Have a good day, Mr. Senator/Congressman.

Sincerely..."

‘CHRISTMAS CHAOS’

“One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don't clean it up too quickly.” - Andy Rooney

          Some families celebrate Christmas by scurrying about from one relative’s house to another, dutifully making the obligated rounds, while others have all of their family gather in one place or another, together. Some open presents over a period of days, while others wait ‘til the actual day of Christmas to exchange gifts.

For my own family’s Christmas, we, my brothers and our families, all get together at our parents’ for our traditional Christmas Eve supper of fried chicken tenders, shoestring fries, baked potatoes, and salad. A huge platter heaped high with homemade goodies such as coconut balls, peppermint patties, peanut butter balls, orange slice cookies, Hello Dolly cookies, and fudge-mint brownies is dessert. And then once the table is cleared, we move to the living room for what we lovingly refer to, in our family, as ‘Christmas Chaos’… the opening of Christmas presents.

My Daddy is the ‘master of ceremonies’, in charge of passing presents out, and within minutes the kids are ripping into their presents, squealing with delight, the adults commentin’ one to another about what they got each kid, why, how hard it was to find just the right toy, and how great of a deal they got on it. During which, my Daddy is still calling out over them all the name of the person to whom the next present is for. Throw in intermittent camera flashes, an escalating noise level, and an errant wad of wrapping paper thrown across the room from one brother at another or one nephew at an uncle. And before you know it, 40-minutes later, the pile of presents under the tree has disappeared, and the living room suddenly resembles a disaster area. Adults and children alike are in the floor either assembling toys or already playing with them. The mood in the room is light, cheerful, and totally carefree. And from the wooden rocking chair where I sit, I observe it all with quiet contentment.

This is my family, and I am so very, very happy that they are mine, each and every one of them. I recall past Christmases and family members who are now celebrating the Holidays in a much better place, and I smile. Of all the different family Christmas traditions… the one thing they all have in common is the wonderful mess of ‘family’ created in living rooms just like ours. So, enjoy it, and don't clean it up too quickly.

                     Merry Christmas to all!

‘THE AMERICAN PEOPLE’S LIBERTY TEETH’

Posted yesterday on FACEBOOK, “Why does a standard citizen need an AK-47 or other assault rifle? Those should be reserved for law enforcement and the military. Every citizen should have the right to a pistol, hunting rifles, and shotguns, but… not assault rifles.”

Now, I understand the knee-jerk reactions to the recent incident of senseless violence in Connecticut, where a disturbed person using illegally obtained firearms indiscriminately murdered multiple innocents, and normally I would limit my comments on the subject until inflamed passions died down. This time is different. This is to set the record straight on one thing in particular… why a law-abiding American citizen needs an ‘assault rifle’.

Let me start with the Second Amendment to the United States Constitution, which states "A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed." I’m sure you’re no stranger to that, but did you know that the same Congress that passed the Second Amendment also passed the Militia Act of 1792, which defined ‘militia’ as "each and every able-bodied male citizen" from age 18 to 45 (with some exceptions) and stated that each one shall "provide himself" with a gun, ammunition, and a bayonet.

Though revised several times over the past 220-years, the current Militia Act basically keeps the same language ("all able-bodied males at least 17 years of age and . . . under 45"), and further defines ‘militia’ as: "(1) the organized militia, which consists of the National Guard and the Naval Militia; and (2) the unorganized militia, which consists of the members of the militia who are not members of the National Guard or the Naval Militia." [Title 10, U.S. Code, Section 311]. So, now you know what constitutes a ‘militia’… we do, the American people. We are considered ‘unorganized militia’.

In explanation of this, our 3^rd President and the author of the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson put it plainly, "The strongest reason for people to retain the right to keep and bear arms is, as a last resort, to protect themselves against tyranny in government."

Our Nation’s Founding Fathers had the wisdom and foresight to guarantee that the citizens of this great nation have the right to possess the means to protect themselves and to reclaim control of our government should it one day become irredeemably corrupt and oppressive. Something these men knew all too well and feared might someday happen.

Now going even further in confirming our right to firearms, our very own Georgia Supreme Court opined that "The right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed. The right of the whole people, old and young, men, women and boys, and not militia only, to keep and bear arms of every description… shall not be infringed, curtailed, or broken in upon, in the smallest degree; and all this for the important end to be attained: the rearing up and qualifying a well-regulated militia, so vitally necessary to the security of a free State. Our opinion is that any law, State or Federal, is repugnant to the Constitution, and void, which contravenes this right." [Nunn vs. State, 1 Ga. (1 Kel.) 243, at 251 (1846)]

So, let’s answer the man’s question… “Why does a standard citizen need an AK-47 or other assault rifle?” To be able to effectively protect the United States of America and her people, that’s why. If the unthinkable someday does go down, what good would revolvers, single-shot shotguns, and bolt-action rifles do against a corrupt government (or invading foreign force) armed with not only assault rifles, but some of the most advanced weaponry in the world? What good would they do against a heavily armed terrorist here in our own hometowns attempting to harm our families, friends, or neighbors? And, people, make no mistake, that is exactly what the mentally unstable perpetrators in Connecticut, Oregon, Arizona, Colorado, and Fort Hood, Texas, were… TERRORISTS. They were evildoers with deadly intent towards the law abiding citizens and defenseless innocents of this country. I, for one, want to be prepared. No, let me rephrase that… I will be prepared. I owe it not only to my family, but to my country, as well.

“Firearms stand next in importance to the Constitution itself. They are the American people's liberty teeth and keystone under independence... From the hour the Pilgrims landed, to the present day, events, occurrences, and tendencies prove that to insure peace, security and happiness, the rifle and pistol are equally indispensable . . . the very atmosphere of firearms everywhere restrains evil interference - they deserve a place of honor with all that is good."

- George Washington, 1^st President of the United States