Quilt - "Gome Home"

I'm carving a weapon out of wood because I can't sleep, what for the moon and the motion. The other jumpers are asleep in the corners and all touching for warmth, but the jostling of the bumps and sways, and the glowing beams of moonlight lighting up the hay in bright blue lines, lighting the whole damn boxcar up, it's keeping me awake. And my mind is wandering to imaginings of being stopped and found, or robbed and run through, so I'm carving a weapon. It's as sharp as a blade, and it'd splinter inside a body so it's a dandy weapon. I think about my granddad, shooting his first gun just before he died, and he was a natural. We've got weapons in our blood, and defense in our very souls. My granddad died protecting his property, and my daddy the same, and I'm on my way east to tell those big banks that they can take my life but they won't take my property. Property is the only thing we have in this life, and it's given to us teeth-clenched and heavy-eyed at birth or we take it gnash-toothed and blood-eyed from our neighbour. Either way, it's the stuff we spend and earn in this life, and it's our share of the world that translates to the acreage given us in the life hereafter. I'm working on this handle, I want it shaped to my hand, a bit of spittle helps rub soft the rough edges. [Buy from Mexican Summer]