Way after dark, a friend who works out of town most of the time stopped by unannounced. He said he had a gift for me, and produced a first edition of the Kindig book ("Thoughts on the Kentucky Rifle In Its Golden Age"). Said he found it on a book shelf while cleaning out his dad's old farm house in southeastern PA. It was given to his dad as a gift by local citizens for his volunteer work on the town's sewer system in the 1960s. It appears it has never even been opened, and inside is a three-page fold-out article about Kindig. You know what's so odd about this gift? Earlier in the evening I had stopped at the state store to pick up a bottle of Irish whisky, which my friend enjoys, for when he would be in town next. Wonderful, strange karma/ coincidence.
