You know, just before my first-ever hunt with my father many, many moons ago, the gun store we went to to get my ammo and gear had a front porch, as well a an old dog of indeterminate lineage sleeping on it. We spent some time there chewing the fat with the old duffers about. To an 11-year-old, it was like I was now accepted into some larger fraternity of Men.
I'm certain that most of us all have similar stories. Stuff like that would make such threads great, instead of just "good".