What I Like about Guns

Firearms are an essential tool on any farmstead, and it's good to get comfortable with them if you plan on living in the country.

Of top priority is a good shotgun, preferably a 12-gauge pump. 10-gauge is overkill (but good for hunting Canada Geese), and 20-gauge or .410 may not have enough stopping power. When the dog starts barking his head off in the night at some predator, a 12-gauge is a wonderful thing to have slung over one's shoulder when going out to investigate. Just a few weeks ago, I blasted a possum which Scooter discovered near the house. In the past, my Mossberg has easily dispatched everything from skunks to coyotes --- and a blast in the air or the ground is very effective for getting the neighbor's dog to high-tail it back to his own property.

A pump action shotgun is generally the most reliable. And if one awakens to the sound of an intruder in one's house, simply working that pump action is usually enough to send the burglar sprinting for the nearest exit.

Which brings us to another important issue: isolation in the country is a two-edged sword. Privacy is golden, but criminals like privacy as well --- and may see a country house as an easy target out of neighbors' earshot. And it takes the sheriff significantly longer to respond to a call out in the country than in town (assuming the burglar hasn't cut your phone lines, and you're even able to call). In the meantime, the family needs defending.

We've fortunately never been the victims of crime, but with increasing economic troubles (particularly in this state), it's hard to know when rising crime rates might touch us.

This is on my mind because just this morning a car pulled into our driveway and down to the back door of the house. From my office, I had a very clear view of it the whole time. I didn't recognize the car, and there were several youngish people inside who I didn't recognize. I placed a quick call to the house, and Mrs Yeoman Farmer said she didn't recognize the car, either. And we weren't expecting visitors.

I locked my office door and tried to think. What's a guy living out in the country to do in a situation like this? The vehicle certainly didn't look threatening enough to justify a call to the police. But were they casing the place? Sending someone to the back door to break in? Minutes passed, and the driver didn't budge. Why was the driver sitting there behind my house with the engine running? There was simply no way for me to know, but not enough justification for dialing 9-1-1.

I decided to go out to the car and investigate, but the number of people in the vehicle concerned me. I was clearly outnumbered, and they looked to be in the prime of youth (also the prime ages for criminality). But I certainly didn't want to stroll out to the driveway carrying a shotgun. Firearms are like golf clubs, and need to be used situationally. A long gun would've been far too intimidating and confrontational. That's why I also keep a very small, easily concealable, semi-auto pistol close at hand in my office. I slid it out of its place, inserted a clip (but for safety reasons did not yet chamber a round), and slipped it into a pocket. Should I need it, it would be easily accessible...and a round could be chambered quickly enough.

Fortunately, that was completely unnecessary. The driver rolled down his window as I approached the car, and one glance told me everyone in it was harmless. A kid in a safety seat was playing with religious literature, and I could tell from their dress that these were some kind of proselytizers from a local church. The driver explained that "a friend of ours is inside visiting," and I smiled and returned to my office...because I knew Mrs Yeoman Farmer, a highly trained apologist and catechist, would be skillfully handling everything the visitor might want to discuss. An encyclopedic knowledge of both the Bible and Catholic doctrine, coupled with a cheerful and upbeat personality, means MYF usually throws these kinds of visitors for a complete loop. She always invites them in, and they always depart befuddled. And they seldom come back to try again.

As I replaced the pistol in its hiding place and returned to my desk, I said a quick prayer and began offering up my work for the fruitfulness of MYF's encounter with the visitor inside. Roughly 20 minutes later, the car pulled away and MYF jogged out to my office with a report: Jehovah's Witnesses (or "JWs," as we call them). We used to get them all the time when we lived in residential areas, but this was our first since moving to the country (which is another nice thing about living this far out of town). She gave me a run-down of the conversation, which I won't trouble you with here. The bottom line, though, is it's doubtful these people will be returning any time soon.

But back to the firearms...did I feel a little foolish for my overreaction to these people? Sure. And if that car does come back, I probably won't arm myself before going out to greet them. But do I regret carrying a pistol this morning? Not in the least. Because it never hurts to think ahead, or to take prudent measures. And I felt much more comfortable approaching that car than I would have otherwise.

I was never a Boy Scout, but I do remain a firm believer in their motto. And sometimes a firearm is the most effective way for a guy who lives this far out in the country to "be prepared."

One Big Family

One of the best things about being Catholic is that you're not alone. Regardless of your personal family situation, you're part of a much larger family. That's really been brought home to me (in a manner of speaking) these last few days, when I've been in NYC on business. There is a Catholic church right around the corner from my hotel, and right on the way to where I'm working. It's been easy to stop in for Mass, and it's remarkable the diversity of people who are there: the business executives, the Fordham students, the young married couples with small children, the homeless man huddled in the back pew...all here. All part of this crazy family.

And the family isn't just here in this particular church building, or the one we attend back in Michigan, or anywhere else. All of us are only one slice of the family; the saints who've gone before us, and are now in heaven, are the older brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles we've heard so much about and are looking forward to meeting again. And especially during this month, we're praying for the souls in purgatory, that they can be speeded along their way to that family reunion as well.

I think it was James Joyce who said the best description of the Catholic church is "Here comes everybody." And it's hard to think of a pair of days that illustrate that better than November 3 and 4 do. Today is the feast of St. Charles Borromeo, one of the most prominent reformers at the Council of Trent. He grew up in the aristocracy, became a cardinal archbishop at the age of 22, and his uncle was a pope. He lived a life of outstanding holiness, and cleaned out many of the abuses in the 16th century church. And yesterday, November 3, we celebrated the feast of St. Martin de Porres --- a contemporary of Charles Borromeo, but living in a social situation which couldn't have been more different. He was the illegitimate mixed-race son of a Spanish nobleman and a young black freed slave in Lima, Peru. He grew up in abject poverty, and lived a life of austerity and menial labor (which he regarded as a tremendous blessing, because all work is a participation in God's own creation).

November 3 and 4. Two men, alive at the same time, on different sides of the world, in entirely different circumstances...and yet both are my older brothers who I admire and who have a lot to teach me.

I posted the following video some time back, but it somehow seems especially appropriate to recommend it again today: