It was a Colt Woodsman made in November of 1934. My Grandfather probably bought it shortly thereafter. I know he bought it new. It was his field gun. If he went walking in the woods, it was on his hip. The right side grip panel is worn down from the brush, the bluing is worn away in places. The holster, too, shows it’s age.

My mother remembers it as the first gun she ever shot. It was always around, I shot it as a boy. When my grandfather died, it went to my uncle along with all the other guns. Years later, it was given to my mother. She gave it to me at Christmas about ten years ago.

I found the instructions, ordered new springs, and completely disassembled it, cleaning the internals and replacing all the springs. I suspect it had never been done.

I shoot it. I let my friends shoot it. When I have a new shooter to take to the range, it always goes. And it carries the memories of three generations with it.

via Borepatch: My Grandpa’s Gun.

Few items make you connect with the past like a family gun. Maybe it is because it was an object that was handled by your ancestors and in certain way it “connects you” with them. It is tangible history at a very personal level in a world that likes to forget the past.