Conference vmsnet::hunting$note:hunting

374.0. "A father's treasure" by NITMOI::DAVIS () Fri Mar 10 1989 20:31

    Below you will read one of my treasures.  My son wrote this one day
    last fall and until then, I didn't quite know how he felt inside about
    hunting.  Before this I knew that he understood how much love his dad
    had for the sport and how much of a part of me it was, but I didn't
    know that he too shared deeper feelings toward it.  Please take
    particular note after reading it that even though the words don't
    come right out and say it, he feels as I do that the hunting's not
    in the killing but rather in the feelings of what it's all about...

    				Tom "LL" Davis
    
  

    
                      Hunting in the Berkshires of New England
         
               When I grow older,  I will look back on my life and re-
         flect on many fond memeories of growing up in New England.
         Perhaps one of my fondest memeories will be that of going 
         deer hunting with my father every year at Gramp's house
         in the Berkshire Mountains of Massachusets...
              
              "Wake up!  Come on Bryan, time to get up!!" 
         I felt my father shaking me as I tried to stay asleep, "I'll
         be up in a minute..." I replied.
         
              I rolled over and my alarm clock greeted me with the
         display: 4:01am.  I groaned and rolled over again and tried
         desperately to fall back asleep.  Just about the time I could
         feel myself drifting back into dream land, it felt like the
         entire room was shaking.  I sat upright in my bed watching my
         father leave the room saying, "I better not have to come in
         there again..."
         
              Slowly I rolled out of bed and slipped my ice cold
         sneakers and bathrobe on and plodded downstairs to the
         kitchen.  My dad and I were staying at my grandparents
         house in the Berkshire Mountains for the week to hunt for 
         deer, a passion shared by my father, his dad, and myself.
         I sat at the kitchen table staring into what would be my
         first and undoubtedly not my last cup of coffee (cream, no
         sugar).  I brought the cup to my lips and took a sip, and
         then another, and another.  Suddenly, I was feeling more
         human.  As I was pouring my second cup of coffee, I felt a
         slap on my back followed with a hearty "'Mornin' George!
         Sleep well?".  My grandfather walked past me not waiting for
         a reply to get himself a cup to fix some tea. (My grandfather
         had given me the nickname "George" since I can remember, a
         name that I really can't explain).
         
              "Good old timer, and yourself?", I replied.
              "Not bad for a few hours sleep.", the voice said on the
         other side of the wall that divided the the kitchen in half.
         Dad joined us for breakfast, fully dressed and ready for the
         day as usual, and the three of us discussed the plans for the
         day as to who was going where, when and where we would meet
         in the woods, etc. over a hot breakfast that usually
         consisted of eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, milk and juice.
         
               After breakfast, we all went our separate ways about
         the house getting ready for the day out in the woods.  I put
         on several layers of clothing, and, in trying to decide if I
         should take an extra shirt, went out onto the porch to check
         the thermometer.

               "What's the temp?", my dad asked in passing.
               "Eighteen degrees.  We're having a warm spell!", I re-
         plied.  Dad agreed.
         
              I stepped outside into the fresh December air.  It was
         pitch-black outside and the sun had not even started to rise
         in the Eastern sky yet.  I took a deep breath and the cold
         air burned the inside of my nose and bit into my lungs, but
         it felt good.  You could see your breath quite cleary, al-
         most as if when you talked, your words might freeze right in
         front of you.
         
               I went back into the house and up to my room trying not
         to make any noise so as not to wake my still sleeping grand-
         mother.  My dad came around the corner into my room saying,
         "You have been elected the job of loading the Jeep and getting
         it warmed up."  He tossed me the keys and went about the rest
         of his business.  I really didn't mind the job actually, it
         would get me used to the cold air quicker.
         
               Taking my gear, I went down stairs, put on my hunting
         boots, went outside and started the Jeep.  We always took
         my dad's Jeep when we went hunting.  He says it's because a
         Jeep is a practical thing to have if you need to go in the
         woods, but I always suspected it was because the idea of a
         Jeep just adds to the air of the hunting experience.
         
               After loading the Jeep, I went back inside the house
         and found my dad and my grandfather making final preperations
         for the day.  Looking at my father, I could not help but
         think he looked like the typical American Outdoorsman.  He
         looked like one of those pictures you might see on the cover
         of a hunting magazine or in a portrait of a Norman Rockwell
         painting.  I have always looked up to him. 
         
               The three of us piled into the Jeep and headed for the
         place where we hunted every year.  I had gotten to know the 
         area pretty well in the years I have hunted it and always
         looked forward to seeing it each winter.
         
               With our flashlights and shotguns, we ploded our way up
         an old logging road that would lead us to the stands we had
         prepared the day before.  Getting to the place where I was to
         spend most of the morning before heading up the north
         side of the mountain, I turned and gave a whispered "Good
         luck!!" to my dad and grandfather before settling down in my
         favorite stand.  After my dad and grandfather departed, I sat
         on my Hot Seat, watching the sun rise over the top of the
         trees and thinking that maybe this was going to be the
         year...

				Bryan Davis
    

    
    
       .... Well where's the buck????  Nice story..
    
    
                      Jeff

    As a matter of fact later on in the fall that my son wrote this
    story, he my Dad and I were hunting that same area.  I wound up
    shooting a nice 115 lb, 4 point buck.  My son was there to help
    me dress it out and my Dad showed up a little later to help drag
    it out.  It was an exceptionally beautiful day all around.  It
    was great sharing a cup of coffee, admiring the deer and what it
    meant to be able to have three generations hunt together and then
    to take turns dragging it down the mountain, through the apple orchard
    and then of course tying it onto the Jeep.
    
    That was an exceptionally good year for me too.  I took three deer
    in different states.  A really nice 8 pointer in Maine in November,
    this 4 pointer in the Berkshires the first week of December and
    a nice doe during the Muzzleloader season just before Christmas.
    The three animals provided many tasty meals for family and friends
    in the months that followed.  Last year was followed by one fat
    130 lb 5 point buck from New York State.  This corn fed fellow was
    by far and away the tastiest venison I've ever had.  Soooo, in answer
    to your question...the buck wound up in my freezer along with some
    cousins for company.
    
    				Tom "LL" Davis
    
    P.S.  Just bought a new home notched into many acres of state forest
    land.  And guess what lives just beyond the swamp on the ridge a ways
    behind the house...

    Tom,
    Nice story.  I hope that my 4 year old has similar values when he
    reaches your sons age.  You are indeed a lucky man.
    
    Dave

    Thanks Dave.  I'm a believer that values are absorbed rather than
    taught or imposed.  I know I'm lucky because not only did my son
    hear the messages, he feels them for himself.  I hope too that your
    son has similar values when he's in his teens...somehow I think
    he will.
    
    		Tom "LL" Davis
    

    Great story.  My 12 year old just got his first .22 and we are already
    planning trips afield in the fall.  I've been taking him plinking
    and duck hunting since he was about 4 or 5.  Not only am I raising
    a son, but will soon have my best hunting partner.
    
    Pete