Starting back in the early 1900s, Webster Marble kept his customers informed about new products and outdoor techniques in the "Marble's Monthly Message." In the July-August issue in 1914, Webster talked about the measure of man. Our message continues today.



UNDER THE TREE
 By Arni Dunathan
No group of people is more difficult to gift than outdoor enthusiasts. The worst among them are hunters. I ought to know. I am one.
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GO TO BLAZES
 By Arni Dunathan
There's an old joke about a man who, after camping out in front of a newly built gas station, was first through the door on opening day and then sprinted to the bathroom. Asked why, he replied, "Because I wanted to go where no man had ever gone before."
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LUCKY DUCKS
 By Arni Dunathan
I'm on my belly in the wheat stubble crawling through my decoys. My heart is trying to hammer its way out of my chest; the rest of my 71 year old 200 pound carcass is screaming that this is how they will find me -- my face in the dirt, pants halfway off my scrawny backside -- dead.
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SIGHTS FOR SORE EYES
 By Arni Dunathan
Sooner or later it comes to each of us: our eyes weaken, our sights blur, and unless we elect to retire to the porch swing and shoot rubber bands at squirrels in the bird feeder, we're off to the store to buy a telescope sight.
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BOGEY AND THE BIRDIES
By Arni Dunathan
Golf is a poor second to other things I like to do. And I'm at an age when the game is painful - before, during and after.
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PLEASE PASS THE SALT
By Arni Dunathan
Of all the basic tastes: bitter, sweet, sour and salt, the last is my lifelong favorite. I wouldn't walk a mile for a Camel, but I'd walk two for a pinch of salt.
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AN OLD MAN'S FANCY
By Arni Dunathan
In the spring, a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.* The rest of us think of fishing.
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MARBLE'S MYSTERY MOOSE
By Arni Dunathan
The following tale always reminds me of Webster Marble and his moose.
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OUR HOUSE
By Arni Dunathan
For three years I spent too much time writing and not enough at gun and knife shows. This winter, I've made up for lost time. What I see is disappointing.
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DYING TO FISH
By Arni Dunathan
I jockeyed the truck off the pavement and tight against the snowbank. Standing in the sun, I changed clothes: wool socks, Levis, T-shirt, wool shirt, wool sweater, chest waders.
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MARBLE'S IN COMBAT
By Arni Dunathan
When David Morphis packed his gear for deployment to Iraq, he did what thousands of American fighting men had done since World War One: he took a good friend with him.
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THE LOST KNIFE
By Arni Dunathan
After 70 years of them, I can find little to recommend Januarys. Certainly there are some frolicing-in-the-snow memories, but even those are tainted by the fact that January is the month I lost my first MARBLE'S knife.
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THERE GOES SANTA CLAUS
By Arni Dunathan
Call me old fashioned, but there's something trashy about Santa Claus in October handing out Halloween candy at the mall. Marble's founder, Webster Marble, would have felt the same way.
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STAG PARTY
By Arni Dunathan
November holds two of America's favorite holidays: deer season and Thanksgiving. For most of us, deer hunting is our only chance at big game. Thanksgiving is a time to be grateful for the opportunity.
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THE BAD BOY SCOUT
By Arni Dunathan
My affection for MARBLE'S knives was tempered early by an encounter with their dark side. It happened at Boy Scout camp.
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THE FIRST KNIFE
By Arni Dunathan
Nineteen forty eight was a very good year. I was 12 years old, growing hair under my arms and rapidly discovering what made girls special. But more importantly, it was the year I bought my first Winchester and my first MARBLE'S knife.
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THE EYES HAVE IT
By Arni Dunathan
Where Webster acquired his design talent is a mystery: that he had it is obvious. He quickly translated his ideas into eye catching products that looked as good as they worked.
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WANNA PLAY KNIFE
By Arni Dunathan
As a youngster, it seemed to me every man carried a pocketknife. Because boys were men in the making, the sight of a boy with a blade raised no more eyebrows than had he a crayon or pencil.
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