F is for Frontier

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{I originally wanted to write a post about the husband’s Foundry. Lately the weeks have just been too full for him to fire up his furnace for some lost-foam sand casting. His full time job as a machinist, 3.5 acres of grass that won’t stop growing, and a daughter and wife all give him plenty of work as it is. Sure would be nice to fit in a fishing trip one of these days, too. If you’re interested in getting to know more about him, I highly recommend checking out his website, his dreggemetal youtube videos, or his photography. -Reagan}

The pictures that the term ‘frontiersman’ bring to mind make me glad. I picture a prairie farmstead near woods maybe. Not quite the trailblazing pioneer, but the steady man who followed, built up the land and settled it.

Men who built their homes in small intimate communities, built barns and sheds, gardens and fields. They raised families, opened general stores, blacksmiths and post offices. They were the men who turned the pioneer trails into roads.

I feel a kinship when I saw and sand and build benches, bookshelves and chairs. I melt metal and cast it in my shed, I cut the grass and plant gardens, I repair my old house and drink coffee sitting in my lawn. I go for walks down the gravel road with my wife and my dogs.

Although I know I am a far cry from a true frontiersman I hope that in some way the title Frontiersman-ish fits me.


“Behold, the sons of Reuben and the sons of Gad and the half-tribe of Manasseh have built an altar at the frontier of the land of Canaan”
Joshua 22:11


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