It is hard getting it together this morning. I want to go swim and hang out at the pool back up north and I am at the farm with chores to do.

The motivation was to be here was to check the mail, ensure the mice had not moved back into the postbox, look at that gate in the back fence that requires maintenance, and the other minutiae of maintaining an orderly rural life. In the background is the gentle disorientation of the long hangover from the road trip, which continues, albeit mildly.

And of course, and there was the matter of the R51, and the closing out of an irritating two-year saga of interaction with a once-great manufacturing concern that recalls the emotions of an earlier election cycle and which is curiously out of time this week.

I probably ought to clarify what I am talking about, since this is a long and jumbled story, the details of which I won’t inflict on you, though the broad outlines should suffice.

Clark Brother’s Gun Shop is on the way down to the farm, at Opal, VA, near the junction between US-29 and 17 just south of Warrenton and across from the superb Big Country Bar-B-Q. Clark’s is where I do most of my impulse shopping, since guns are not something you can get off Amazon Prime, and you have to actually shop for them in person.

The Brothers have a parking lot that is a simple jog off the blacktop of the highway. Here is the briefest of explanation: I had bought the R51 semi-automatic pistol in 9mm caliber on the recommendation of my pal Van Dyke, and the overwhelmingly favorable reviews of the pistol from the 2014 SHOT show out west.

The reasons were those of the time, and were valid enough considering the events of two year’s past. I had been looking for something a little more accommodating for the carry role, and the unit price seemed reasonable. After conferring with some colleagues who have similar interests, I called in an order to Clark’s to reserve one of the first production models to be delivered there, as did Van Dyke. When notified that they had shipped and were waiting, we arrived one shiny Saturday morning and took delivery after we both passed our National Instant Criminal Background Checks (NICS).

What happened next was painful. The product launch was a disaster for Remington. The design had been rushed, and there were some fundamental flaws that only the factory could correct. I negotiated with some nice and long suffering people at the corporate HQ to figure out how to securely mail the 9mm Pistol back to them. Then two years of back-and-forth communications asking for the status of the repairs, and a growing sense that it would never happen.

That changed two weeks ago, with an electronic note stating that everything was now right as rain, and in consolation for my patience, they were providing the refurbished pistol in a fancy Pelican hard-case, with two spare magazines, a value of more than a hundred bucks.

The problem was that they could not send it to me direct. I would have to provide a registered gun dealer to handle the transfer of something I already owned, and needed to fax them a copy of the Federal Firearms License of the establishment. More phone calls and emails ensued, and I was driving up the wildly beautiful Town Hill in Pennsylvania heading for Michigan when the store called to say that the box from Remington had arrived.

A side note about checks, loopholes and all the rest: this is not easy, and if the vendor is going to stay in business and not wind up in jail, it has to be done correctly and accurately.

I can always gauge the mood of the country when I used to attend the Nation’s Gun Show out at the Expo Center near Dulles. Crowd size was one thing, and when I was going to these events, I could see that public interest was high. Particularly after some specific act of outrage, Sandy Hook being one, you could feel a palpable sense of angst.

Ammunition available for sale was expensive and in short supply. You could feel the anxiety in those shopping at the tables, and waiting for their evaluation by the NICS system to determine their suitability to purchase a firearm.

When I last went to the show a year or so ago, the economy seemed to be re-bounding a bit, there was an air of quiet confidence in their security, almost resolve, in the crowd, which was remarkably diverse.

Because the re-manufacture of my Remington R51 required a new frame, the one that was returned to me from the factory was technically a “new firearm,” with a corresponding new serial number stamped above the trigger guard. Accordingly, this required another session with the National Instant Criminal Background System, which is always painful. I was prepared for a long afternoon with frantic crowds in the aisles of Clark Brother’s.

I thought it was an absurd requirement, since I had already been cleared to buy the gun in the first place, but that is the law. Instead of the madhouse I expected, there was a place to park out front, and while trade was brisk and punctuated by the comforting sound of gunfire from the outdoor range out back, there was no anxiety in the place, no evidence of hoarders stocking up for some impending unpleasantness.

I could not make up my mind what the mood was, and in the hour-long wait for the digital machine to process my application to purchase back my own gun. My service guy was Jason, a big guy with pale blue eyes, a calm voice and meticulous attention to detail. Passing the time waiting for approval, I asked him why it wasn’t crazy, like it normally is after some mass shooting, or when there is a rising chorus of voices demanding a change to the Constitution, or the banning of some sort of perfectly ordinary rifle, or the accessories that can make it look scarier.

Jason shrugged. He thought it would have been busy as well considering that some people have called for all sorts of ominous behavior. We both brightened when he walked to the back to see if NICS was working, and it was. We went over the paperwork (again) and he presented me back my own property, with a $26 charge for the transfer and another $50 for the new ammunition.

Walking out to the Panzer to deposit the box in the back that contained the weapon, ammunition, magazines and the hard case. Considering the matter, I thought I might know the answer.

Most of us are ready as we are likely to be. Others are eager for some sort of Big Change. For some, myself included, there might be a point of saturation in preparation. There might also be a certain acknowledgement that this past week marked a real change in our nation.

Apparently we now have a system in which some people are too important to be bothered with the laws the rest of us are expected to take seriously, and one of them might elected the next President of this Republic. And there are an awful lot of people out there who are armed to the teeth, on both sides of the polarized population. Both sides appear to be well beyond discussion, and each is adamant that things have either gone too far, or not far and fast enough.

The relative calm at the gun store did not give me a feeling that gave me confidence of anything in particular, except that we are now living in a place that I would never have considered possible.

I am prepared to be amazed.

Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
the story and then a stop at the Rus