A MOST GRATIFYING HUNT

I seldom hesitate to find a title for a post.  Every little event is rattling in my mind, and I tend to spin them out in short order without a problem.  This hunt, of 2019, however, was different.  Not necessarily the most memorable (check out the hunt of 1963- in a 2013 blog), but very different and fulfilling, thanks in part to the contribution of Grandson Andrew.  Andrew is one of those "Eveready Battery" bunnies.  The kind that just keep on going and don't run out of juice.  He just keeps on going!  I could do that too "a short time ago", but my juice doesn't last that long, especially going up and down certain topography, such as our little woodland.

After standing quietly for a few hours on opening morning, Andrew started a stealthy walk through the forest.  "We call it still hunting". He came upon a fresh blood trail (wounded deer) and followed it for some time before it petered out.  We decided we would let it rest and come back to pick up the trail in the afternoon.

Andrew led me to the start of the trail, which he had marked with an orange scarf.  The trail led us down into a deep ravine which we refer to as the cottonwoods, an area invested with gnarly buckthorn and berry bushes.  After a while, I decided that I was entitled to a rest and chose a comfortable rock, upon which to repose.  Andrew proceeded on, following the quarry's chosen direction, toward an afternoon stand position.  After a short rest, I proceeded to a seldom used stand in  the far corner of the oaks and sat down on a well worn old and welcome lawn chair (left out there for just such a purpose).

Within an hour, Andrew furnished all of the gratification and satisfaction a hunt needs.  He not only recovered the mortally wounded animal, but kicked up a stealthy buck hiding in the oaks, causing it to run past the old hunter reposing in his lawn chair.  

Results, two for two, satisfying and gratifying.  Good hunt guy.

THE LOON- A TUCKED AWAY MEMORY

I was walking out of a swampy Hemlock forest, tripping and stumbling over various obstacles left by a recent bulldozer visit.  It had been clearing a path for loggers coming to harvest the landlocked forty acres that had provided us with a favorite hunting spot for several years.

I noticed a half buried eight foot long red cedar remnant poking its way out of the brush looking like a lost orphan seeking a ride home.  Red Cedar, being one of my favorite ornamental woods, prompted me to pull out my folding saw, cut it in half, and drag it a half mile back to the truck.

The above ground portion soon became coasters turned on my old wood lathe, but the root section sat in the garage, for- would you guess- about twenty five years, contemplating-on occasion-a suitable fate.

One day, my faithful brother looked at the long forgotten piece of cedar root and mumbled something like “it looks like a loon”. 

Lo and behold, prompted by his artistic conception, I embarked upon the transformation of the lowly cedar root into one of my favorite rustic creations, Mrs. Loon and her two chicks. 

She will probably find a spot to sit for years to come, and early on some mornings I think I hear her calling.  A beautiful cry.  A reminder that there is no such thing as an ugly duckling.  If we look hard enough, we can find beauty in everything.

THERE IS A DIFFERENCE

3/31/19

There is a difference between the “growing up” of today and the same “development” of yesteryear.  I am not comparing millenniums or centuries, but merely a few generations.  I am not comparing worlds or portions of our universe, but only those in our own little piece of humanity.  That being the one in which I was born and reside in to this day. 

It was not so many years ago that living in the outskirts of a city often meant the absence of municipal facilities, such as water, sewer and, yes, even electrical service.  Most of our neighbors drew all their household water from drilled wells.  And most of the water was hand pumped outside and carried into the house by the pail full.  Most bathroom facilities consisted of a remote outhouse, strategically located over a deep hole in ground which had been hand dug sometime previously, only to be relocated as found necessary. 

As society and mechanical aptitude progressed, some neighbors converted to electrically driven pumps and brought running water into their homes, but that did not become commonplace until into the nineteen forties, when municipal sewer systems started to appear in the suburban areas of Milwaukee.

Sidewalks were non-existent, as were paved roads.  Most roads were gravel, as were driveways.  Mobility was not a catch phrase and most travel was done, particularly by the younger generation, by foot.  Go to school by foot, to church by foot, to the park by foot.  And, during those travails, one had no device inserted into the ear providing soothing music or the news (or fake news) of the day.

If you have ever tried to convey a thought or voice an opinion to a member of a younger generation and been met with a “blank stare”, you may comprehend what the preceding thoughts were leading up to.  The basic grounding of “reality” was substantially varied, depending upon the “era” to which one’s youth was exposed during development.

 I, admittedly, only recently realized that I had slipped into the cesspool of un-realization as to the childhood exposures and experiences to which each generation is subjected.  My relatively antiquated generation, for example, could well be left with the same “blank stare” when confronted with the wide proliferation of acronyms oft utilized in our cyber world.  AI, IoT, etc. will often result in a sudden scramble for Google (excuse me-search engine), much in the same way our referencing a blackboard and chalk or the back of a shovel and a piece of charcoal results in a blank stare from much later generations.

So, henceforth, let it be known that a “blank stare” from one of the “now” generation, will no longer cause me to wonder if his or her hearing is as questionable as mine, but realize that generational experiences and exposures have merely resulted in a different data base.

THE RIDE HOME

7-16-2016

The Ride Home

The ride home is usually a non-stop ride.  This was an exception.  Tooling down old County M, we were suddenly called upon to brake and stop.  A young doe had been beckoned to nurse two 4 or 5 day old vividly spotted fawns right in the middle of the road.  They were, obviously quite insistent, but mom-noticing our stopped vehicle thirty feet away-rudely interrupted.  She walked into the tall grass alongside the roadway and called to her offspring who promptly pranced into the grass and laid down, heads at periscope height to watch us.

We proceeded another mile or so when forced to slow down again, allowing the crossing of two adult Sandhill Cranes shepherding their twin chicks to the other side of the road. 

After leaving the nursery area, we experienced no further delays.  So what's another five minutes travel time when nature calls.

REFLECTIONS ON RECENT BLOG

REFLECTIONS ON RECENT BLOG

You would have to dig deeply to find any political references in my blogs.  That is because I find it difficult to find anything particularly worthwhile in the current political atmosphere to elaborate upon.  I think it best to focus on trees, cabins and decks, rather than politics.  That is not to say that I am oblivious to the political climate currently enveloping our universe.  It would be more accurate to say that I would prefer to confine my memoirs to issues much more pleasant to contemplate.

I often opened personal discussions about politics or the cyber civilization with the oft cited tale about Abraham Lincoln having accomplished a good deal of his writing and ciphering on the back of a shovel with a piece of charcoal from the cabin cook stove.  Ah, how simple life was back then.

Now, our younger generations turn on the tube, or the cell phone, and hear about impending plans for prosecution, impeachment, Brexit, rioting crowds tearing down cities it took generations to build, bankrupt governments and trade wars.  And, would you believe it?  The messages even come in RAP!  What ever happened to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” or “Look for the Silver Lining”?

Come to think of it, could it be possible that all of the current political rhetoric  was the reason that one’s “get up and go” “got up and went”?  And could it even be possible that some effectively applied rationalization could help us all find the lost “get up and go”?  Possible, yes!  Probable, no!  Unless some people who call themselves politicians come to their senses and grow up!

 

RUNNING OUT OF ..........?

One could be sitting on the tailgate of the truck, see a pile of logs and imagine what one could create.

Or, one could be sitting on the deck at the cabin and see a pile of logs, get up and create a good stack of split firewood.

That would be twenty years ago, or maybe even ten, or possibly even five.

Then, one would get up and “create” out of nature’s bounty.

Now, one more often sits back to decide whether, or not, to get up at all.

Just seems to be a more frequently mislaid case of “get up and go”. It certainly couldn’t be old age.  As least not yet. 

Well, might as well get up and start looking for it.  It appears that I’ll need it before the wood pile is depleted.

THE PASSING OF SEARS ROEBUCK AND COMPANY

Elements of "time" and the "responsibilities of life" have cut down substantially on the frequency of my blogs, but occasionally an event of weighty importance prompts the quill be dipped into the ink  bottle.  This is one of those events.

Sears has filed for bankruptcy. With it goes the Sear's Catalog, several hundred pages of everything a family would need to survive. Whatever the need, be it socks, shorts, overalls or chicken wire, it could be found in the Sear's Catalog.

A new and current catalog was delivered annually, with prices valid through the entire year. When the new current catalog came, the old one was relegated to the "outhouse", where it served a very necessary purpose, for as long as the several hundred pages would last. Selection of pages used was very important, usually retaining the sporting goods section until last so that one could lust over the JC Higgins shotguns and other sporting equipment one would contemplate for the next Christmas Holiday.

I often thought that my excellent eyesight was partially a product of circumstance, since the lighting in an outhouse left much to be desired. Obviously, there was no electical power out there, so lighting was usually limited to whatever eked in through the partial moon opening grandpa cut in the outhouse door. I am not sure that was a valid assumption , but it will do until a better one comes along.

There have been a multitude of catalogs produced, as you can attest by the content of your mail box and bookshelves, but few would rival the excitement generated by the annual arrival of the "new" Sear's catalog.

It will surely be sorely missed, although, admittedly, Kimberly Clark has stepped in and assumed some of its important duties.

I have been reminded that some readers may have to put on their mid twentieth century thnking caps for this blog.　

Grandpa Hill