Close only counts in horseshoes. How many times have you used that old saw?

A few Thursday evenings ago, I happened to be weeding our “Little” crop strip along the fence separating our house from the Morrisonville Fire Station. I was reflecting on how many gardens I’ve fitted, planted and harvested since childhood and thinking about reports that the world’s most well-known seed company has sold at least double the volume of seeds this year than last.

Amid the cacophony of crow and blackbird sounds and my hope that they wouldn’t scarf up everything I had lovingly stuck in the ground, I heard, “clang, clang, clang.” Somebody nearby was playing horseshoes. I looked behind the fire station, and there they were. Those wonderful volunteer firemen and their families were enjoying the first of their Thursday night horseshoe matches this season.

They’re very serious about the game and their infectious laughter wafting along the riverbank belied the fact that they were exercising a real talent for horseshoes. That expertise is gained only by throwing many thousands of shoes over a long period of time.

The clangs I heard indicated that the throwers were hitting the post or circling it with their shoes far more often than not.

DUCKING FOR COVER

The scene has been replicated millions of times over many generations here in America and elsewhere in the world. I love it when people gather outside to play and palaver.

It took me back in time to gatherings at various religious campgrounds of my early youth. It also reminded me of the wonderful family reunions at places such as Macomb Reservation State Park in the Town of Schuyler Falls back in the day.

There was always a ball game and endless horseshoe matches. The same was true of all the Morrisonville firemen’s picnics held at that location in years past.

I did far more “spectating” than participating. My ability to throw a shoe around or in any reasonable proximity to the iron post was far overshadowed by that of the folks who were actually good at it.

It seems simple when you look at it: Grab the shoe, swing your arm and let it fly underhand. Clang — it’s on the post, and you get three points. Right? Wrong. In my case, people were ducking for cover behind picnic tables and trees as my errant southpaw throws gave a whole new definition to the word “hurling.”

As usual for this column, I did some formal and informal research. I collected anecdotes from friends and family about their horseshoe recollections. A few involved injuries and fairly foul language. But most memories were fond ones.

I won’t attempt to pinpoint the first time somebody made a game out of throwing shoes, as the origins are obscured by the mists of time. Suffice to say it either evolved from quoits or quoits evolved from horseshoes. It’s the chicken and egg thing.