Late Civil War Rigdon&Ansley Colt Navy copy

Manufactured in Augusta, Georgia, at the time Confederate States of America - serial number 1581.
.36 cap and ball six-shot caliber, single action, ‘creeping’ loading lever.

This copy, made possible by the secession of the South during the American Civil War - effectively a big ‘fuck you’ to all northern patents, is in almost every ways similar to a Colt 1851 Navy. It has however twelve cylinder stops, allowing it to be carried safely, and its barrel isn’t fluted like a ‘51 Navy.
I like those confederate revolvers, they’re like regular Colts but with a bit more personality.

Sauce : James D. Julia Inc.

On April 23, 2001, 36-year-old Cathline Repunte opened fire at the school bus yard where she was employed in San Jose, California. Before 6 a.m., just as drivers were preparing to begin their routes, she shot and killed Randy Rigdon with a .45-caliber Glock handgun before shooting at six people inside a main building, wounding three of them. A fellow bus driver then thwarted her rampage by disarming her and holding her in one spot until the police arrived. Repunte never gave an explanation for the attack and was later diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Once she was deemed fit to stand trial, she was sentenced to 35 years to life in prison.

A Day Like Today

Woke up. Downstairs to see Alissa and Judah working on alphabet. Bark and growl at Rigdon to get him riled up. Judah and I wrestle. Then watch “Baby Einstein” together.

Go to BMV to get Louisiana license. Weird? Wait 2.5 hours for 2 minutes of work. Sign, pay, snap pic. Rolling!

Windows down as perfect 78 degree wind passes through.

To Izzo’s Illegal Burrito to get veggie fresh salads with cilantro ranch. Smiling, laughing whole time. Full stomachs, alive hearts.

Put Judah down for nap. Wrestle, tickle, cuddle Alissa. Fall asleep for 2 hours. Dream of work. (The heck! Leave me alone on my day off!!!) Wake up more tired than before. Shake it off with a game of Sudoku in bed.

Down stairs to see Alissa playing with Judah. Smile taking it in. Thankful. Blessed.

Lay on floor. Get tackled simultaneously by J-Mac and Rigs. Hit one, hug the other.

Challenged by Alissa to do one of Tim Tebow’s workouts she put together for me. Gulp. “Let’s do it!”

Shirt off, shoes on. Backyard.

Run sprints. Down. Back. Down. Back. Straight to push-ups. Walking lunges. Down. Back. Push-ups. Out of breath. Mouth chalky from protein shake. I blame the protein shake. Alissa shows little compassion. Back to it.

Crab-walk backwards down. Sprint back. Defensive slides. Down, back. Crunches, scissors. Hammies tight. Crying on the inside.

Alissa backs SUV out leaving it in neutral. Judah and Rigs inside with her cheering me on! Push it a half mile around our complex.

Asked if we were broke down by an old lady. Answered NO but should’ve answered YES. Needed help - - even if from a senior citizen.

Push truck home. Fall over. Get tackled by Rigs. Get football dropped on my face by Judah. Thanks family. Feeling supported.

About to puke.

Wash face. Grab deodorant. Off to sunset picnic Alissa has planned for family at “special spot” she found. Sunset perfect as we drive. Everything is… RIGHT.

Pull into undeveloped development. Hidden. No one. Local’s-feel. Right on edge of Lake Pontchartrain. Lay down blanket. Pull out salad, sweet tea, and peanut butter banana cookies. Watch the sun drop in slow motion over the I-10 bridge. Rigdon runs wild as his auburn coat shines brilliantly in the fading sun.

Blare country music from truck. Play football catch with Alissa. Many touchdowns scored!

We pause to watch 20 sailboats launch from the docks. Smile. Dream. Talk. Enjoy.

Drive. Windows locked in standard southern-autumn position. Turn off main roads. Keep talking. Keep driving.

Hons to bed. A few phone calls to people back “home.” Laugh. Catch up. Can’t wait to see them soon.

Hop in bed with Aliss. Read chapter of Tim Tebow’s “Through My Eyes.” Inspired.

Protein shake, turkey sandwich, and popcorn with Alissa. Listen to great music. Look at day’s pics.

Write. Post. Bed.


:: You can follow Brock on Twitter @brock_meyer

Rigdon - My Town

There is a map dot in central Indiana that has as much flash as Dollar General and as much pull as Ross Perot. There is a 4-way stop that demands about as much attention as hunter green. The stop sign is about as irrelevant as Barney Fife’s one bullet kept in his chest pocket. It’s not irrelevant because no one regards it. It’s irrelevant because there are not enough people who live there to merit a stop sign of any kind - - whatsoever! Besides, the folk are nice enough and slowed enough to prefer your turn with a tip of the cap and a wave of the hand. The town is Rigdon. And this is my home.

There used to be 36 homes in Rigdon. I know, because I counted them. Twice. But after the fire at ol’ man Lincoln’s, she is down to 35. Two churches anchor each side of town - - making them an entire two blocks apart - - a Christian Church and a Methodist Church. There’s not much supply because there’s not much demand. There’s not many options because there’s not many opinions.

It’s a simple town. Breakfast at six. Dinner at noon. Supper at five. Its scheduled. Its small. Its safe. I love it.

It’s where the American flag flys proudly on the front porch, front yard, and front of the mind. They’re patriotic. Not because it’s country-cool, but because it’s right. It’s a people who care about war only because they care about peace.

Nearly all my family was raised in them parts. And nearly all of them still live there, raising the next generation with the same Midwestern Worldview. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, cousins - - the banner of family values is hung above the door posts, cloaking conversations, and wrapping our kids as they’re tucked in bed each night.

Most people farm for a living. And most others have help at some point in life - - my first paid job spent the summer detasseling corn. The core four of life: God, family, farming, basketball. Strictly in that order. Anything out of balance warrants a gentle “talkin’ to” from your granddaddy (And then he’ll go “shoot buckets” with you to ease the pain).

Renbarger has his own car repair shop. It’s called Renbarger’s Car Repair. It may not win the Most Creative Company Name award, but once he pops your top you’ll see why he’s lasted 40 years in “the biz.” Aaron Young and I used to ride our bikes up and down country roads, with our Huck Finn-esq adventures, occasionally winding up at Renbarger’s to buy a glass-bottled Coca-Cola for $.50.

There’s really no reason you would ever pass through Rigdon. Unless you got lost on your way from here to there. You would quickly realize you got off the beaten path, furiously searching for your GPS to set you straight. However, your Garmin will be of little use seein’ hows Google Earth pays us no mind.

It’s honest. It’s real. It’s really honest.

I’m glad I was raised there.

No Quick-Mart. No picture show. No lights. No camera. No action. You may like it, you may not. She don’t really care. Rigdon will continue on with her boringly consistent self without you. And will be better for it.