My mother was surprised when my papa left me his pipe collection when he passed away, but I wasn’t.  We spent several nights during the summers of my childhood talking about his pipes.  When I was fifteen he even let me smoke a little pipe tobacco to see what it tasted like.  Those pipes were his story, from his dad to him, some of them were amazingly ornate, with tiny details carved out, while others were sleek and simple, yet still beautiful.  Each one had a amazing story, some were sad stories from the war, but most were happy memories. I can’t wait to pass these to my son.