Hunting is, and probably always will be a right of passage for many young men. I haven’t been hunting for years, but one of my favorite memories from the farm, was to go hunting for the first time with Dad and Pop. It was that day, that I felt like I was grown up.
I was still pretty young, so I could not actually carry a gun, but I had the important job of being the “bird dog”. My job was to stir up the pheasants or quail in the grass along the edge of the field. (No, I was not put into harms way, I had to walk behind, I was too young to know that I was just tagging along).
None the less, it was a great day, trudging thru the snow, quietly, I might add, waiting to see that pheasant or quail, or maybe even a rabbit, come out of the grass, and then find it’s way to our dinner table.
The best part of the hunting experience was coming back to the house. After an hour or so, the cold soaked into your bones. We all were looking forward to getting back to the house, getting out of our hunting garb, and backing our fannies up to the stove in the living room, by now, Jim had that thing glowing red, and I have to tell you, it felt mighty nice to soak up that heat. Of course once we got warmed up, the heat in the living room was pretty intense. Jim liked a warm room……