Preparing my thoughts, it’s just that the calendar went into overdrive. Didn’t we just finish hiding Easter eggs and planting tomatoes? This summer, though extreme with temperatures and drought at times, was nothing even close to what we endured last year. Dead pine timber is still standing everywhere you look but at least we had enough rainfall this summer to keep the trees from being so stressed that they were susceptible to pine beetles. I still see crews with trucks and trailers removing dead trees and debris from last summer’s infestation. But back to being “slipped up on.”
Stacey and I were leaving the restaurant when I heard someone call my name. I turned around wondering if it was someone I owed money to. Bubba Powell and Greg McDade were all smiles, and we began visiting in the parking lot. Greg mentioned they were just talking about me on their way back from their deer lease in the Midwest. I asked why, did I owe them money? That generated a laugh and they asked me wasn’t it about time for me to start back writing again? Funny you should mention that, I replied.
Our conversation turned to dove hunting, and Greg reminded me of a late season hunt we participated in years ago together. I vividly remember finding doves pouring into a harvested soybean field one afternoon in December. I made a few calls that night and put a small group together for a hunt the next morning. We gathered around a black walnut tree in the middle of the field just as the sky began to turn pink in the east. Coffee cups were still in hand. I can’t remember everyone that was there, but I do recall Mr. John McCormick and Mr. Billy Primos meeting us at the tree. Of course, Ford Day and John Hartley were there with shotguns draped over their shoulders. Trey Whitfield was there with his Labrador retriever Cody. I already mentioned Greg, and of course our host Creede.
The morning came to life, and we were still standing around the tree watching to see where the birds would concentrate, if they showed up at all. You dove hunters know what I’m talking about. Fifteen minutes later, and still no birds. Was this going to be a bust? Always prepared, I did have my scattergun in hand when a lone, gray speedster flanked us about 45 yards out.
He folded at the report of my old shotgun. I made my way around the walnut tree to retrieve my prize and I noticed hundreds of birds flying into the field about 400 yards south of us. A mad dash to the trucks for game vests, shells, and stools, and it was on. It was a hunt for the books and afterwards, the tailgates were dropped for Edam cheese, crackers, summer sausage, and bloody Marys. This is what it’s all about.
I told Stacey I’ve got to get in the study, for it’s that time again. For those of you that have been following me and my stories, you already know. For those of you that have not, it’s once again time for “Outdoors in the Sun.” That’s right, for the next six months I will be bringing to your homes and offices topics about our great outdoors.
This will include, but not be limited to, tales from the kitchen abounding with recipes, stories from excursions in the duck blinds, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas memories, informative articles about our flora and fauna, and more, all in written form for your enjoyment.
Can you tell that the most wonderful time of the year, at least in my opinion, is just around the corner? I knew we were getting close when I put the finishing touches on the pear preserves while listening for the “pop” of each lid indicating the perfect seal. They are stacked neatly on the shelves of the pantry awaiting those biscuits and country ham. I long for the first morning when I can see my breath drift downwind along with the steam from my coffee. It won’t be long until the faint cry from migrating snow geese will be heard overhead. I’m ready to lift the collar on my jacket when the north wind sends a chill to my exposed neck. Campfires with good friends when no words are spoken will be cherished. Orion will cast a subtle light upon the dark antlers of an ancient buck as he prepares for the upcoming rut. Mallards, with cupped wings, will be arriving in the delta in a few months. I can only hope the migratory waterfowl numbers are up and this summer’s hatch was successful. There will be an article on what the avid duck hunter can expect too.
Football, and all her splendor, is upon us, too. As with the opening of hunting seasons, there will be hugs and handshakes exchanged, for many of us have not seen each other since the last season closed and the last kickoff was returned. What a reunion it will be. Are you ready for those jeeps to get stuck in the mud? How many of you will be taking new hunters to the field for their first season? Make sure you capture photos of your granddaughter’s first dove or your son’s first squirrel. Record all the details so the stories can be told for generations to come around the fireplace and the Christmas table. Ahh, indeed they will be cherished for decades.
First and foremost, I want to thank you in advance for allowing me into your dens and around your fireplaces to share with you what is so dear to me. Keep in mind, I’m always looking for topics that may be of interest to you and our readers. If you think of something, I would love to hear from you. For now, sit back and relax, and take a few minutes each week to leave our chaotic lives behind and decompress. Welcome back, it’s going to be a good one. Until next time enjoy our woods and waters and remember, let’s leave it better than we found it.
