25 “Outlawed” Self-Defense Weapon Every Mountain Man Strapped to His Belt 

25 “Outlawed” Self-Defense Weapon Every Mountain Man Strapped to His Belt 

Your great, great grandfather walked out of a store in 1837 carrying $87 of iron on his body and not one soul asked him for a permit. Ezra Boone was his name. A Missouri trapper. He walked out of William Sublette St. Louis Outfitting Store that spring carrying a Hawken rifle across his back, a cap and ball revolver at his right hip, and a Bowie knife on his left.

 He had a belt axe, a patch knife on his hunting bag, a boot pistol, powder horn, ball pouch, flint and steel. He had a slingshot coiled inside his capote against a bad night in a bad town. He signed the ledger, walked out into the mud of Front Street, and nobody stopped him. Nobody weighed the blade. He was headed to the Green River Rendezvous, and the belt he wore was the ordinary working belt of the ordinary working American man west of the Mississippi.

Today, most Americans couldn’t legally leave the house wearing half of what Ezra Boone carried to buy flour. Not one item on that belt required paperwork in 1837. 19 of them, give or take a state line, would put a modern citizen in a courtroom before sundown. But, here’s the twist, friend. The record now says the country didn’t get safer when it took that belt off him.

It just got quieter about who was allowed to be dangerous. And Ezra Boone? We’ll come back to Ezra. Before we go on, there’s something coming for this country and the news won’t say a word about it till it’s already on your doorstep. It comes down to one number, three days. That’s what the stores hold for you.

 Your grandfather’s pantry held a winter, and the difference was never money. It was knowing. 904 pages of that knowing in one book. Water, fire, curing, canning, the plants that heal and the ones that kill. silasmercer.shop, links below. All right, back to it. I’m Silas Mercer. Seventh generation on Mercer Ridge, deep in the Blue Ridge.

 My people came in through the Cumberland Gap in the 1790s and never left. Near everything I’m about to lay out on this table, my grandfather Eli copied into a leather journal before he died at 94. And he made me swear the old iron and the old ways wouldn’t die with me. This is me keeping my word. Some of what I’m about to count down was legal in every state in this union when your great-great-granddad carried it.

And illegal in most of them now. Number 19, they classified a military weapon in 1934. And a working man used to buy it over the counter for $28. Number 10, New York state outlawed in 1849. The first concealed weapon this country ever banned. And it’s a rock in a sock. And number seven, fewer than 200 trappers alive today are still licensed to set one.

Number seven is the one they worked hardest to bury. None of these iron pieces faded because a mountain man quit needing them. They faded because somebody got rich the day he was told he couldn’t have them. >> That’s not a conspiracy. That’s just how markets work. Before we start counting, tap subscribe.

 Not for me, because we’re pulling buried American iron back into daylight. And you’ll want the next one they’d rather stay forgotten. 25 outlawed pieces of iron. Starting at number 25 and working down to the one thing your ancestor carried that this country cannot legally take back from you. Number 25, the Bowie knife. Look at that big double-edged blade on the fur pelt in front [clears throat] of me.

Brass guard, light bone handle, 9 and 1/2 inches of Arkansas steel. That’s a Bowie. James Black forged the first one in a Washington, Arkansas smithy around 1830. And after Jim Bowie cut his way out of the sand bar fight in ’27, every man on the frontier wanted one on his hip. A working Bowie cost about $2.50 in 1835.

Alabama outlawed carrying it in public in 1837. Tennessee followed in ’38. They didn’t ban the forge, friend. They banned the belt. The Smithsonian confirmed in 2019 that Black’s forge produced a differential temper modern factory still can’t reliably reproduce. 200 years, still the standard. Somebody just made sure you couldn’t wear it downtown. That one they legislated.

 The next one they taxed until a poor man couldn’t afford it. Number 24, the Arkansas toothpick. The toothpick is the Bowie’s meaner cousin. Straight, double-edged, 12 to 20 inches, made for a stab, not a slice. Rezin Bowie, Jim’s brother, is credited with the pattern around 1832. A frontier laborer paid $1.75 for one.

In 1837, Alabama passed what the papers of the day called the toothpick tax. A $100 excise on the sale of any dirk or Bowie style blade in the state. $100 in 1837. That’s more than a farm hand made in a year. The stated reason was public safety after a rash of tavern killings. The actual driver was the reformist Whig legislature siding with the cotton merchants who wanted the frontier tamed for commerce.

 Not banned, just priced out. That was the tax. The next one they replaced with a hardware store hatchet. Number 23, the belt tomahawk. See that small axe on the table with the dark handle? Hudson’s Bay Company pattern, 1820s. About 14 oz of forged head and 18-in hickory haft. And it lives slid through the back of a mountain man’s belt for 200 years.

It split kindling, drove tent stakes, dressed a deer, threw eight paces into an oak, and in a bad hour it went through a man’s collarbone. Cost 50 to 80 cents at a trading post in 1830. Today, the tactical version runs $180, and the marketing copy calls it breach ready. American Forest confirmed in 2016 that a traditional hand-forged trade tomahawk outperformed three modern polymer competitors in edge retention.

Same axe, higher price, different customer. That one, they only made expensive. The next one, built a nation, and they still legislate around it. Number 22, the Kentucky long rifle. Look at that rifle with the dark stock, brass patch box, 44-in octagonal barrel. That’s a Kentucky. Though it was actually built in Pennsylvania by German gunsmiths, Lancaster County, 1770s onward.

40-caliber, killed a deer at 200 yd in the hands of a man who ate what he shot. A Pennsylvania farmer paid $12 for one in 1810. In 1822, William Ashley ran an advertisement in the Missouri Gazette calling for 100 enterprising young men to ascend the Missouri. And every one of them who answered carried a long rifle up that river.

Modern National Park Service documentation, 2011, confirmed the Kentucky was accurate past ranges most modern hunters can’t shoot offhand. 250 years, still a working tool. They just made sure you’d never learn to load one. That was the rifle that opened the West. The next one is the ounce of horn your ancestor could not survive an hour without.

Number 21, the powder horn. See the horn on the table with the plug carved from apple wood? Cow horn, boiled, scraped, translucent, plug both ends, waterproofed with tallow rendered from a bear hit shot the season before. A trapper carried between 3/4 and a full pound of black powder in it, measured to the grain by feel in the dark.

Cost him a dime and one evening’s whittling in 1830. Today’s plastic powder flask runs $38 at the sporting goods store and leaks. The North American Vexillological Association, and I’ll say that plain, the historians who study these things cataloged over 12,000 engraved horns from 1750 to 1850 as the working man’s diary.

Not a museum piece, friend. A pocketbook. First horn I ever tried to plug, I split it lengthwise setting the apple wood in dry. Eli laughed till he coughed. Told me the horn tells you when it’s ready. It does. I just wasn’t listening yet. That was the powder. The next one is the rifle that outshot the Kentucky and made a mountain man rich.

First pattern break, neighbor. Notice something. Every piece so far, they didn’t crush in a courthouse. They just legislated the edges, taxed the middle, and made sure your grandson couldn’t afford the good one. It gets less polite from here. Number 19’s coming. Number 20, the Hawken rifle. Look at that rifle with the lighter wood stock, brass furniture, half stock, 34-in barrel.

That’s a Hawken. Jacob and Samuel Hawken, brothers, St. Louis gunsmiths, built the Plains rifle from about 1822 onward. 50 to 54 caliber. Dropped a buffalo at 300 yd. Cost a working trapper $25 in 1835 when he could clear that in beaver pelts in a single spring hunt. Kit Carson carried one. Jim Bridger swore by his.

Cabela’s sells a replica for $1,100 today. Colorado State University’s history department documented in 2017 that the Hawken’s twist rate and patched round ball delivered a foot-pound impact modern lever guns match only with premium ammunition. They didn’t ban the Hawken. They just closed the last workshop. That was the rifle a man traveled with.

The next one he pulled from his belt when the rifle was empty. Number 19, the Colt Walker revolver. That revolver on the table with the wooden grip. 9 in of barrel, 4 and 1/2 lb unloaded, chambered in .44. Sam Colt built the Walker in 1847 to the specifications of Captain Samuel Walker of the Texas Rangers who wanted a handgun that hit like a rifle.

It did. Muzzle energy of a modern .357 Magnum. A working man bought one for $28 in 1848, about a month’s wages. Then came the National Firearms Act of 1934, and every barrel over the arbitrary length picked up federal paperwork. Then the Gun Control Act of ’68. Then the Bureau, as we call it in the mountains, decided which one you needed a stamp for.

Rock Island Auction records, 2020, sold an original Walker for $1.84 million. Same iron, now museum piece. That’s what forgetting cost. That was the man stopper. The next one was the first practical revolver ever made, and it started the whole story. Number 18, the Colt Patterson. Look close at that revolver.

 Small grip, five-shot cylinder, folding trigger. That’s a Colt Patterson. Sam Colt’s first design, patented in 1836, built at his factory in Paterson, New Jersey. Before the Patterson, a man had one shot and a prayer. After it, he had five. A Texas Ranger paid $40 for one in 1839, and the Republic of Texas ordered 180 of them.

Colt went bankrupt in 1842. The design was too fragile, the price too high. Then Walker showed up with his notes, and the Walker revolver was born. NRA Museums confirmed in 2018 that the surviving Patterson revolvers show tooling accuracy competitive with production handguns of the 1920s. 90 years ahead. Killed by its own price.

Killed by law later. That was the revolver that started it. The next one he pulled from his coat pocket when the belt gun was empty and things got closer. Number 17, the pepperbox pistol. Small, ugly, six barrels rotating around a central axis. The percussion pepperbox came out of Ethan Allen’s Massachusetts workshop in 1837.

No accuracy to speak of past 10 ft. But at a card table, at a saloon bar, at 3 ft of muddy alley, it emptied six chambers before the other man got his belt gun out. Cost $12. Mark Twain carried one and called it sudden death. Then the 1934 National Firearms Act and the 1968 Gun Control Act and the state-by-state concealed carry patchwork put six-barrel handguns into a regulatory category most modern citizens couldn’t navigate with a lawyer.

American Rifleman documented in 2014 that the pepperbox is the direct mechanical ancestor of every double-action revolver made since. First of its kind, legislated into obscurity. That was concealed iron. The next one was the working blade every free trapper wore for skinning and for men. Number 16, the Green River knife.

That small blade on the fur, light handle, thin flat blade about 6 in. John Russell started making Green River knives in 1834 in Greenfield, Massachusetts. Named for the Green River in Wyoming, where the mountain men came to trade. 50 cents each in 1840. Every free trapper rendezvous had two or three. Skinned a beaver, dressed a deer, cut his tobacco, defended his throat.

Russell’s factory closed in 2010. Two Museum of the Fur Trade curators confirmed in a 2015 monograph that Green River was mountain man slang for a killing stroke. Up to the Green River meant driving the blade to the maker’s mark. That’s how common the knife was. Now the factory’s silent, the phrase is gone. Somebody sells you a $100 Damascus imitation. That was the everyday blade.

The next one hung on the strap of the hunting bag and never left it. Number 15, the patch knife. See that small knife with a light handle in the leather sheath? 3 inches of blade tied by a thong to the hunting bag strap. A patch knife did one job. It trimmed the grease linen patch off the muzzle after a man rammed a ball down his rifle. That’s it.

But he also gutted trout with it, notched arrow shafts, opened a letter, cleaned under his nails, and in the dark he cut a saddle girth that was choking his horse. Cost him 20 cents at Sublette’s in 1832. Modern equivalent, if you can find a real one made by working smith, $95. Contemporary Long Rifle Association documented in 2019 that fewer than 40 American smiths still forge historically correct patch knives full-time. Not banned, just uneconomic.

That was the small companion. The next one came from Spanish trade and carried a different kind of blood in it. Second pattern break. Here’s where it stops being quaint and starts being felony. Everything from here down, the National Firearms Act of 1934 or a state statute after it reaches for. And number 10, that’s the piece New York banned first.

 Before there was a Second Amendment fight, there was number 10. Number 14, the Bowie Duke. The Bowie Duke was a Southwestern trade dagger brought up through Santa Fe from Spanish sources. A long single-edge blade with a straight guard and a wooden handle. 12 to 14 in overall. A commonero traded one to a mountain man for a beaver pelt in 1836.

 It was the blade of choice below the Arkansas River because southern climate rusted the northern steels and the Bowie Duke came from smiths who understood dry country. University of New Mexico’s Center for Southwest Research confirmed in 2013 that surviving Bowie Dukes from the Santa Fe trade show heat treatment consistent with Toledo tradition.

200 years of Iberian metallurgy walked north on a mule. Illegal to carry openly in modern Texas over 5 and 1/2 in. Legislated by length. That was the trade blade. The next one hung under his shirt when the belt was already full. Number 13, the neck knife. Small blade, 2 and 1/2 in. Sheathed in a rawhide pouch on a leather cord around the neck.

 Riding flat against the sternum under the hunting shirt. A trapper drew it left-handed while his right hand was pinned. He drew it when a bear had his arm. He drew it when he was rolled into a river with his belt underwater. Cost him a nickel and an afternoon at the Amble in 1834. Then in 1958 came the Federal Switchblade Act and neck carried automatics went federally illegal and the whole category of hidden blade defense got quietly redefined as criminal.

Custom Knife Collectors Association documented in 2016 that pre-1900 neck knife patterns predate every modern legal definition of concealed weapon. Ancestor of the category buried by the law that came after it. That was the hidden blade. The next one hid in his boot instead. Number 12, the boot pistol. Also called the muff pistol.

Small, single shot, percussion cap, 4-in barrel, .36 caliber. Slid into the top of a knee-high moccasin boot or back in the settlements into a lady’s fur muff, hence the name. A working trapper paid $9 for one in 1840. He drew it when the belt gun was empty. When he was seated at cards when a stranger came to the fire.

Then came 130 years of legislation aimed straight at pocket-sized handguns. Culminating in the 1968 Gun Control Act’s Saturday Night Special import ban. Same iron rebranded a criminal weapon. Guns and Ammo published in 2015 a piece calling the American Boot Pistol the direct grandfather of every concealed carry pistol on the market today.

Grandfather. And now the grandfather is banned. First percussion cap I ever seated, I set it crooked. And it fired the pistol into a maple tree 6 in from Eli’s boot. He never said a word. Just looked at me for a long minute. Then he said, “Do it again. Right this time.” I did. That was concealed iron. The next one is what the traders sold to every tribe and every trapper for 200 years.

Number 11, the trade musket, the Northwest gun, smoothbore, 60 caliber, 42-in barrel, brass serpent side plate, sold by Hudson’s Bay Company from 1770 onward. A trapper or Shoshone brave paid 20 prime beaver pelts for one. Shot ball, shot buck and ball, shot bird shot, and killed everything from a duck to a grizzly.

Though the man who shot the grizzly usually had to reload fast. Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian confirmed in 2012 that the Northwest gun is the single most produced firearm in North American frontier history. More trade muskets than Kentuckys, than Hawkin’s, than Colt’s combined. Nobody outlawed the trade musket.

They just stopped teaching anybody what one was. It fell out of the story. That’s a different kind of theft. That was the smoothbore. The next one wasn’t a gun, wasn’t a blade, and New York State outlawed it before either. Number 10, the slingshot. A slingshot is a leather-bound lead weight egg-sized on a 2-ft braided rawhide thong with a wrist loop.

A sailor invented it. A mountain man carried one in the bottom of his possibles bag for the day he walked into a St. Louis saloon and needed something silent. He swung it once and the man in front of him did not get up. New York State banned the slingshot in 1849. That is the first concealed weapon statute in American history, friend.

The first one. Before the Bowie laws matured, before any gun control, before the Federal Register knew what an arm was, New York outlawed a rock in a sock. Cornell Law Review published a piece in 2018 tracing every modern weapons possession statute in the United States back to that 1849 slingshot ban. The grandfather of American gun control.

And it wasn’t even a gun. That was the silent iron. The next one came from the Plains tribes and the trappers who lived among them. Third pattern break. Here’s the pattern. First, they ban a rock. Then a blade. Then a small gun. Then a large gun. Then a trap. Every one of them, the man who carried it never hurt anybody.

Number seven is next. Fewer than 200 men left. Number nine, the gunstock war club. The gunstock club is shaped like the stock of a musket. Flat, curved, 3 ft of dense hardwood with a spike or a blade set into the elbow. Plains tribes carried it. Mountain men who married into those tribes carried it.

 Trappers who wintered with the Crow or the Shoshone carried it. A single blow put a horse down. It cost a man an evening of carving and a piece of scrap iron. Denver Art Museum documented in 2019 that surviving gunstock clubs from 1820 to 1870 show the mechanical principles of leverage that modern impact weapon designers rediscovered in the 1990s and patented.

Not banned, just forgotten so completely that when it came back, somebody put a trademark on it. That was the club. The next one hid up a sleeve and shot one time. And one time was enough. Number eight, the Derringer. Henry Deringer of Philadelphia built the first pocket percussion pistol in 1825, refined it through the 1850s.

 One shot, .41 caliber, blunt-nosed lead ball, 3-in barrel, sold for $12.50. John Wilkes Booth used one. A steamboat gambler carried one. A mountain man carried one for the town, not for the mountain. Then came the Gun Control Act of 1968, targeting exactly this category of small handgun, and the Saturday Night Special label followed.

American Society of Arms Collectors confirmed in 2017 that the Derringer is the direct ancestor of every subcompact concealed carry pistol currently manufactured in the United States. Same design principle, same reason to carry. Only difference is the paperwork you sign now. That was the last ditch. The next one is the iron on the table right in front of me that half the states have banned.

Number seven, the bear trap. That trap on the table, jaws 16 inches across, steel springs, offset pan. That’s a Newhouse number six. Sewell Newhouse started forging traps in 1823 in New York. The Oneida community mass-produced them from 1848 forward. A frontier trapper paid $4 for one in 1855 and it fed him for a decade.

Massachusetts banned leg-hold traps by ballot initiative in 1996. Colorado followed the same year. California in 1998, Arizona in 94, Washington in 2000. Every one of them, the stated reason was cruelty. The actual driver was suburban voters who’d never seen a trap and animal rights money out of California. Fur Institute of Canada published in 2014 that modern offset and padded jaws cause less injury than the veterinary standard for routine spay clips.

Doesn’t matter. The trap on the table would put a modern trapper in front of a judge in 22 states. Fewer than 200 licensed longline trappers left in New England. That’s what forgetting cost. That was the iron of the trap lines. The next one is the leather bag that carried every small thing a mountain man owned.

Fourth pattern break and the last one before we count down to the belt itself. The 1996 Massachusetts ballot initiative erased a 200-year profession in one vote. 12% margin. Fewer voters than the town of Springfield turned out. Number six, the possibles bag. That leather bag beside the powder horn. Called a possibles bag or a hunting pouch, hand-stitched of tan deer hide, 12 in square, single strap over the left shoulder.

Held a man’s ball mold, his patches, his flint and steel, his tobacco, his sewing all, his patch knife on the strap. It was everyday carry 1830 style. Costing nothing but the deer he’d already shot. Modern tactical pack running $260 on the outdoor store shelf carries the same load and half the character. Boone and Crockett Club documented in 2016 that surviving possibles bags from the fur trade era show stitching patterns identical to modern high-end saddle work.

Same craft, different customer. Nobody banned the bag. They just made you feel like a fool for making one. That was the bag. The next one is what he poured into it every night at the fire. Number five, the ball mold and lead ladle. Small iron pliers with a hinged mold at the tip. Cast point .

50 caliber pure lead round balls one at a time over the coals of a campfire. A mountain man carried a 5-lb bar of pure lead in his kit and a mold sized to his rifle bore. Made his own ammunition forever for the cost of the lead. Cost him a dollar for the mold at Sublette’s in 1835. Modern factory cast round balls cost 47 cents each at the muzzle loading shop.

Do the math on 1,000 rounds. Muzzle Blast Magazine documented in 2020 that home cast pure lead balls are still legal in every state for muzzle loading hunting and still the most accurate projectile at black powder velocities. Not banned. Just made to feel primitive. That was the ammunition. The next one is the smallest and oldest weapon on the belt. Number four. Flint and steel.

A curved steel striker a chunk of good English flint a nest of charred cotton tender small light riding in the possibles bag in an oiled leather pouch. A mountain man made fire in under a minute in weather that killed men with matches. He also, and this is what most modern accounts miss used the steel striker as a weapon of last resort.

Closed fist punch weight against a throat or temple. Cost him 10 cents at any trading post from Fort Union to Bent’s. Two grip pounds of forged steel. Bushcraft USA published test data in 2018 showing that a working flint and steel kit lights faster than a wet butane lighter in below freezing wind. Two centuries old, still faster than the modern replacement.

 That was the smallest iron. The next one hid at his wrist and inside his boot. Number three, the wrist knife and boot knife. That small knife with the blue handle and brass guard on the table there. And the one with a dark handle beside it. Wrist knife, boot knife, forearm blade. 3-in fixed blade worn against the skin under the sleeve of the hunting shirt or slid inside the top of the moccasin boot.

A mountain man drew it when he was seated at a meal with strangers. When a Blackfoot warrior grabbed his rifle hand. When his belt was pinned under a fallen horse. Custom forged by any competent frontier smith for a dollar and a quarter whiskey. Then the 1958 Federal Switchblade Act. Then the state-by-state concealed blade statutes.

Blade Magazine documented in 2019 that concealed fixed blades are the single most regulated category of edged weapon in modern American law. Grandfather to all of it, that was the hidden edge. The next one was the coat he wore. And the coat itself was a weapon. Number two, the capote. That fur coat you see on the man across the table.

The mountain man’s capote was a wool trade blanket, four-point Hudson’s Bay preferred, sewn by hand into a hooded coat or a bear fur mantle over that in the deep winter. It cost $8 in trade goods in 1835. It stopped a glancing knife thrust. It stopped a spent arrow. It hid a boot pistol, a neck knife, and a slingshot inside its folds.

It was concealment, insulation, and improvised armor all in one garment. Powder River Historical Society documented in 2017 that wool trade blanket coats show ballistic performance against low velocity threats that surprises modern textile researchers. Nobody banned the coat, friend. They just replaced it with a $600 nylon shell that does none of those three things.

That was the outer layer. And that brings us at last to number one. The one thing on this table you cannot buy at any store in any state at any price. Number one isn’t a piece of iron. Look at the table. The Bowie, the Hawken, the Colt Walker, the Tomahawk, the powder horn, the possibles bag, the flint and steel, the capote.

24 items. Number one is the belt they all hung on. And I don’t mean the leather strap. I mean the system. A mountain man wasn’t dangerous because he carried a Bowie. He was dangerous because he carried a Bowie, and a rifle, and a pistol, and a hidden blade, and a fire kit, and a bag with a thousand miles of independence inside it.

And he’d made or repaired every one of them with his own hands. The belt is layered self-reliance. It’s the physical shape of a man who did not need permission to defend his life, feed his family, or leave a place he no longer wanted to be. That’s number one. Sovereignty worn on the body. And Ezra Boone out of Sublette’s in 1837, he made rendezvous at Green River that July, traded his pelts, wintered with a crow, died in 1889 at 81 on a farm in the Bitterroot Valley.

All his teeth buried with his Hawken. He never asked a courthouse for anything. And the country he lived in eventually decided that was the problem. They didn’t take the belt off Ezra. They took it off his grandson. They took it off his great grandson. They took it off you. Not with a raid, friend. With 180 years of paperwork.

One buckle at a time. That’s the theft. That’s number one. Now hear me plain. I’m not selling you fear. I’m not telling you to strap on a full 1837 belt and walk into your county courthouse. Half of what’s on this table would put a modern man in a jail cell before dinner. And I’ll tell you where the line is in your state before I ever tell you to cross it.

This is history. And history teaches. So pick one. Just one thing this month. Cast your own lead round balls at the campfire if you’re a muzzleloader. Sew a real possibles bag out of a piece of scrap deer hide, hand stitched, one strap. Learn to strike a fire with flint and steel and char cloth until you can do it in under a minute in the wind.

Forge or buy a simple patch knife from an American smith who’s still working. One of those four. Don’t try to relearn a whole century of belt in a weekend. Learn one buckle. I cast 50 round balls at my fire two winters back testing an old mold Eli left me. Took 3 hours. Cost me $2 in lead. Shot them the following spring all 50 and everyone flew true.

Cheaper than any box on the shelf. Tell me down below friend, which piece on this table did your grandfather or your great grandfather carry? Which one still in a drawer in your house? The answer that gets the most comments is the one I count down next. Your great-great-grandfather wore every piece on this table and never signed a paper for any of it.

 Now you know what a free man looked like. Don’t let that picture die in your generation. Somebody has to remember. Next time we’re going deeper into the possibles bag. The one small item a mountain man carried that treated a bullet wound, a snake bite, and a fever in the same week. And that the American Medical Association had reclassified out of common use by 1962.

$2 at any general store in 1880. $140 at a wellness boutique today. If you want that one, tap subscribe. We’re pulling this old iron and this old knowledge back into the daylight one buckle at a time. And there’s more of you every week doing it with me. That matters more than you know. Keep the old ways. They kept