Growing up in rural Missouri when I was a kid, almost all the old farmhouses had a .22 rifle, usually a single-shot bolt action of some flavor. Our nearest neighbor had an old Winchester, IIRC. Dad was the odd bird, he had a Stevens repeating bolt-action. Usually, it was a cheaper gun, at least in my part of Chariton County, where most everyone was poor.


You can roll a turd in peanuts, dip it in chocolate, and it still ain't no damn Baby Ruth.