Field stripping grit

Morning light broke over the fence. The clay parapet held solid through the night, but the damp yard soil had worked its way deep into my rifle's receiver. Unacceptable. I sat back against the cedar post, set my boots flat into the turf, and cracked the housing pin with a firm tap of my thumbnail. The action slid open with a rough, grinding scrape. Found a dry, stiff pine needle caught in the thatch beside my knee. Using its tough tip, I systematically worked the packed loam out from the bolt teeth and extractor groove until the metal clicked clean and free again. Snapped the plate shut. Ready for whatever moves next.