{"id":6347,"date":"2011-07-16T12:37:23","date_gmt":"2011-07-16T19:37:23","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.backwoodshome.com\/blogs\/ClaireWolfe\/?p=6347"},"modified":"2011-07-16T12:37:23","modified_gmt":"2011-07-16T19:37:23","slug":"the-first-annual-girls-only-peep-shoot-and-melon-exploding-expo","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/2011\/07\/16\/the-first-annual-girls-only-peep-shoot-and-melon-exploding-expo\/","title":{"rendered":"The First Annual Girls-Only Peep Shoot and Melon Exploding Expo"},"content":{"rendered":"

Well, maybe it’s actually the one-and-only Girls-Only Peep Shoot and Melon Exploding Expo. It was kind of an impromptu thing.<\/p>\n

Yesterday, my friends Gerri and Lorri (not their real names) and I braved rain and ankle-deep mud to spend a couple hours at a local quarry blowing away paper targets, those obnoxious little Easter Peeps, and (finally) rotten cantaloupes.<\/p>\n

The main purpose of the excursion was to get Lorri shooting again. Between the ages of five and 13 she was quite the marksgirl, taught by a loving father who liked to take her hunting. Then her dad dropped dead. She hasn’t fired a gun in more than 50 years.<\/p>\n

Second purpose was “when the boys are away, the girls will play.” Gerri’s husband and sons were gone for the week to Boy Scout camp and she gets restless when “all” she has to do is run a demanding business, serve on every civic board in the county, and take care of herself.<\/p>\n

Third purpose was … just because. I haven’t shot my guns since returning to the Pacific NorthWET (and oh my, was it ever soggy) and not too often in the years before that. It needed doing.<\/p>\n

So out we went, despite Gerri’s fears that her husband would never forgive her if she took the family firearms out in the rain.<\/p>\n

But heck, this is the northwest coast. If you don’t go out in the rain, you don’t go out.<\/p>\n

Here’s Gerri with the first trophy of the day:<\/strong> a dead Peep. Nasty little varmint, isn’t it? (G. told me she always wanted to have one of those black bars over her face in a photo; so G., this is just for you.)<\/p>\n

\"G.<\/a><\/p>\n

And here’s a closeup of the fatal wound.<\/strong> WARNING: graphic content. Not for the weak of stomach!<\/p>\n

\"Closeup<\/a><\/p>\n

And here’s L. shooting a Mini-14:<\/strong> We started her out with a .22 revolver, but in no time at all, her childhood skills kicked in and she was happily (and accurately) shooting everything we brought. <\/p>\n

\"L.<\/a><\/p>\n

Alas, we learned from G. that firearm sexism is still not dead. We’ve come a long way since the days that gun-store clerks would automatically pawn a .25 off on the “little lady” looking for a self-defense gun. But not far enough, apparently. G. told me about a friend of her husband’s who insists — simply insists — that “no woman can shoot a 9-mil.” What he means is that “no woman can shoot any<\/i> semi-auto” because all<\/i> women hold guns with limp arms and wrists, preventing the gun from cycling properly.
\n
\nWell, Mr. Sexist Pig, if you’re out there, here’s G. proving you wrong:<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"G.<\/a><\/p>\n

And here’s Lorri.<\/strong> Who’s in her mid-60s, hasn’t shot a gun in five decades, has hands so crippled with arthritis it’s painful to look at them, and has had multiple injuries and surgeries on her neck, back, and shoulders.<\/p>\n

\"L<\/a><\/p>\n

L.’s damaged hands shot everything up to my Glock 21, no problem.<\/strong> Here’s a closeup from when she was just getting going with the .22 revolver, but she took on every firearm we had with aplomb. The .45ACP was a bit painful on her arms, she said. But she never even got a case of the flinchies — pretty amazing for someone who hasn’t fired a gun in that long.<\/p>\n

\"L.'s<\/a><\/p>\n

Well. So much for that<\/i> silly myth.<\/p>\n

Together, the three of us killed ourselves a respectable number of Peeps:<\/strong><\/p>\n

\""Dead"<\/a><\/p>\n

But the highlight was concluding the shoot by slaughtering a few vicious, slimy, no-good melons:<\/strong><\/p>\n

\""Dead"<\/a><\/p>\n

A good time was had by all. Except the Peeps and melons, of course. But who cares about them?<\/p>\n

I’ll return to the series of “Responsibility in a Police State” rants early next week. In the meantime, I’m off to see Harry Potter<\/i>, then upgrade my operating system. I’m still using Linux Mint 8 (Helena), but Linux Mint 11 (Katya) has been waiting patiently for a couple of weeks. The upgrade really needs doing. If I properly back up and reinstall all the config stuff that needs porting, I should be with you again soon. If I screw up … we’ll see.<\/i><\/p>\n

—–<\/p>\n

And a thank-you hug to another girly L (and charming J), whose paper targets are still getting happy use after all these years.<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Well, maybe it’s actually the one-and-only Girls-Only Peep Shoot and Melon Exploding Expo. It was kind of an impromptu thing. Yesterday, my friends Gerri and Lorri (not their real names) and I braved rain and ankle-deep mud to spend a couple hours at a local quarry blowing away paper targets, those obnoxious little Easter Peeps, and (finally) rotten cantaloupes. The main purpose of the excursion was to get Lorri shooting again. Between the ages of five and 13 she was quite the marksgirl, taught by a loving father who liked to take her hunting. Then her dad dropped dead. She…<\/p>\n

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