Catching Idle Butterflies

Lady Smith

Our sense of smell has the strongest ties to memories. Smell, say, fresh bread and rosewood, and I’m reminded of my grandmother. A certain perfume brings back memories of my other grandmother, Maman, who I have written about before.

But it wasn’t until my husband, Dave, dragged out his firearms to clean them that reminded me of mom. It was Hoppes #9 gun cleaning fluid!

I love firearms. I always have. This is partly due to growing up around them. I shot my first .22 pistol at 8 years old. My mom owned six or seven pistols of different calibers growing up and I remember how she would drag them out once every six months to clean them, hence the strong memory to Hoppes #9.

After we learned how to shoot, and mom noticed both Margaret and I enjoyed it, she promised each of us a .22 pistol for our 12th birthday.

Margaret received hers.

My 12th birthday rolled around, no pistol.

For the next three years, I reminded my mom she owed me one. She did promise me, after all.

She never kept her promise. So I gave up asking and figured when I turned 21 (the age Americans are allowed to purchase pistols), my first firearm would be that .22.

That’s what I did. Dave and I went to Cheyenne, WY for a gun show and I found just the one I wanted. It’s a stainless steel Ruger Single Six .22 longrifle with an extra cylinder for .22 Magnums.

Three days after Dave and I married, we separated during the week to our summer jobs. We were going to college at the time in Trinidad, Colorado (15 miles north of the Colorado/New Mexico border), him for gunsmithing, and me for drafting and civil engineering technology. He worked for a friend of his, Jim, in Denver roofing and stayed at Jim’s house. I worked for the Rio Grande Forest Service in Monte Vista, Colorado, 250 miles south and slightly west of Denver as a land surveyor. The Forest service provided RVs for all the summer help if they didn’t get their own apartment. Since Dave and I had rented a house in Trinidad, and I would only be spending Monday-Thursday in Monte Vista to work, I figured why waste my money on an apartment?

Being by myself in a strange place, I decided to take my trusty Ruger along for self-protection.

A few weeks later, Dave and I drove to Fort Collins to visit my parents. I told my mom where I was staying and she asked, “What do you have for protection?”

I told her I had my .22.

She glared at Dave and said, “You let my daughter carry a .22?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dave stammered. He told me later he thought, “Oh great, I married a woman whose parents are anti-gun.”

Knowing this not the case, I still had no idea why Mom asked.

“You let my little girl carry a .22?” she asked again.

Dave cowered into the couch and said again, “Yes, ma’am.” My mom can be quite intimidating when she wants. She has what most people call “The Look” down to perfection.

Mom jumped out of her chair and said, “That’s not big enough!”

Dave’s mouth dropped open, and both Tom and I laughed as my mom disappeared into her bedroom.

She came out a minute later and handed me a stainless steel Lady Smith .38 snub-nose (2½” barrel) 5-shot pistol.

“Now that’s what you need to protect yourself,” she stated. “I only have one request. It’s yours to keep, but if you decide to sell it, I get first dibs.”

I have no intention of selling it, even to my mom. Even though I still wish she had kept her promise, I can’t complain about receiving a .38.

The next week, Dave and I went to the shooting range, and from 25 yards, I shot within a 6” group. Bob, another gunsmithing student, grabbed my target and placed it on his chest.

“Yep,” he said, “That could kill a person. Great shooting, especially with a snub-nose.”

Okay, I admit I added that to brag!

I still have that Lady Smith, and keep it close at hand, just in case.

I did think I needed it once, but you’ll have to read "Invalid Item"  in order to discover why.