Petersons are production pieces and, as such, reflect their origin in terms of fit and finish. They range from beauty to the beast with the preponderance of them falling somewhere in the middle. I have three: one is ho-hum plain, one is pretty, and one holds a solid position mid the extremes. Each has a tiny tale to be told.

The first is a XL302 Standard System sent to me as a Christmas gift from the Reverend William D. Brown. The distinguishing characteristic of this featureless bowl is its prominent blah-ness, accentuated only by a pitted metal band around the shank. I have yet to torch good briar with a pipe lighter, but the 302 is definitely a worthy candidate for such devilish abuse. The charring might be an aesthetic improvement.

Reverend Brown and I have smoked through life together for slightly more than two decades now and have seen each other in various states of poverty. In a special sense I mean that most literally; we met in West Virginia back in 1980. Our camaraderie was sparked partially because of a mutual proclivity for pipes and tobacco. Duane--as I call him--eventually developed a desire for Petersons and often recommended Dublin's finest to me. However, I could never manage the cost. Although I own 30 or more pipes, I have rarely spent more $50.00 on any of them because for many years my cash flow was usually dammed up by various essentials necessary to merely staying alive. Finally, around Christmas of 1999, Mr. Brown ordered a present from Carey's and had it shipped directly to me. Upon opening the package I was both impressed and distressed by the bowl's blandness, and my impression hasn't changed since. Yet a pipe's chief virtue typically lies beneath the surface in some way. Such is the case here. Despite all appearance to the contrary, I appreciate my XL302, particularly as a permanent reminder of Duane's enduring friendship. Plus it smokes great, too.

In fact, the Peterson from Reverend Brown smolders Latakia blends so well that when I later came across an affordable opportunity to gain another for a former boss, I did not hesitate. A local tobacconist, forced by infelicitous circumstances, had to sell off the majority of his stock at half price during the year of Y2K. Amongst the sale items I found a decent Saint Patrick's Day, number 106, for eight bucks short of a fifty. The grain is predominantly bird's-eye, definitely attractive in its own manner. This pipe has since come to represent the tension between sin and sanctification. I wound up keeping the thing for myself primarily out of selfishness, but also because passing it along would have resulted in the continuance of a relationship injurious to my soul. Mixed motives can be quite the challenge for God's peculiar people.

The third Peterson is a precious gem. Every few months I do business with The Connecticut Valley Tobacconist in Enfield, Connecticut. Mike, the proprietor, began putting System pipes on the shelf last year, inclusive of a small bowl 303 I couldn't refuse. The grain is the grandest I've ever seen on the Irish maker's wood, strong enough to allow me a comfortable feeling in putting down the cash without Amy's consultation. Fortunately, I know my wife.

Although I maintain a critical stance towards Peterson's quality control, I remain confidant in praising the company's product. The so-called "system" works exceptionally well at facilitating coolness and dryness, with the end result of a thoroughly pleasurable puffing experience. A novice pipster could fare a lot worse; an experienced hand would be hard pressed to do significantly better. Only my opinion, of course, but one which seems entirely reasonable.

In the next issue of THE CHURCHWARDEN, My Pipes (Part 3.) will be about thin bowl briars.