Large Fierce Mammal

Everybody who comes here knows that Mrs. LFM and I use a scythe to mow the part of our yard that we actually want to be able to see over. Since I taught her to use it early this summer, our Austrian Scythe has become her favourite tool, and so now we need to acquire another so there can be synchronized his and hers mowing. Not a thing that any man of sense would object to. But I digress.

Recently on one of our rare days “off”, I left Mrs. LFM, delectably clad in string bikini and working on her exquisite tan, while I rode off to town on some regrettably necessary mundane business or other. Returning, I found her lounger devoid of Polish pulchritude and assumed she had gone inside. Entering in myself, I soon learned t’was not so, and I commenced to become concerned. Calling her cel phone met with no success, and a search of the vicinity wherein I had last seen her disclosed no sign of the apocalyptic struggle that certainly would have ensued had anyone attempted to forcibly interfere with her designs.

Exhausting all other options, I girded my loins even more than they were already girded, and made plans to search the back forty with the aid of the inimitable Milo if needs must, for I felt a certainty that she would be there for reasons still unknown to me. Yet before harnessing my stout black yeoman – the indomitable canine comrade I have heretofore referred to, and whose stalwart visage accompanies my own in adorning the banner that appears atop this very splendid page – I stepped once more into the yard for a last look around. T’was then I espied one bit of evidence previously unglimpsed – the dull red plastic edge guard of our Austrian scythe, and upon the forested hill a flash of tanned Polish pulchritude. My glorious Bride, bikini clad and bearing scythe, came into view.  The ravening claws of bloody vengeance were resheathed, and I sighed my relief as her glistening, sweat polished appearance influenced the unsheathing of yet another … but I digress yet again.

Not exactly like this - there was a lot more skin showing and no Ravens - but the visual impact was pretty much the same so it will serve to illustrate my point.

We have a large tract of forest to call our own, and on the day in question Mrs. LFM had decided she’d had enough of sitting still (it never takes her long). So she embarked on implementation of our much discussed plan to improve the hiking trail we use to traverse our woods. She did a wonderful job, as with everything she does, and today I exploited her work to make inroads on yet another needful thing – clearing and setting up the LFM Air Gun Range, just off our trail about a 60 second walk from our house. First shots were fired there upon this very day, in anything but anger. Take a look, and as usual, click your picture of interest to enbiggen it for a better view.

Needful of a handy bench to support the tools of the trade, I made use of the remnants of a small plant table that had been left stowed in the rafters of our barn by denizens long gone. The Pine that lives at the 20 meter line kindly pitched in to hold up the east end. While it still needs some solidifying, this picture was shot after basic completion of the bench, featuring the tools used to "build" it.

Looking down range from the 20 meter line. The spindlier tree slightly to left of center marks the 10 meter (air pistol) line.

As of today, the only target on the range is our steel reactive air gun/rimfire target which I abused for a spell. In the coming week, this target assembly will find its way into a rustic wooden framework that supports attachment of paper targets on either side.

My starting lineup today was our Beeman Webley Hurricane air pistol in .177 calibre, and Mrs. LFM's Crosman RM 422 air rifle in .22 calibre - the very lead tosser with which she made the most incredible shot I have ever witnessed. But that's a story for another day.

The 20 meter line viewed looking back from up range. The shooting mat is a Vietnam war era poncho liner that has joined me on pretty much every outing I've been on since I purchased it from a now defunct military surplus outlet in 1976. Aside from the fact that the fabric it's made from has a flame spread rating rivaling gasoline, it has worn like iron and holds pride of place as the official seat of all LFM bush meals and picnics.

An hour of, “PUFF – TINK! PUFF – TINK!” – interspersed with the occasional, “PUFF – FUCK!” followed my work today, and phase 2 is about to begin. Stay tuned.