THANKSGIVING TRADITIONS

In the United States, our Thanksgiving Holiday is celebrated on the fourth Thursday of November.  Families have their traditions--each of them singular to each "nest".   The morning tradition at our house is "Dad's gone hunting".  By the number of other hunters I meet, I'm convinced that few --around here--have the same tradition. 

I used to hunt deer, and often carried a rifle.  I remember one Thanksgiving hunt during a fierce snowstorm.  (I was young and made of iron.) Walking in the gathering snow was very quiet as I still-hunted in hemlocks and thickets where I thought that bucks would be bedded.  I was surprised to find that walking soon became difficult.  Snow was falling at a frenzied pace and visibility was barely twenty yards. I became aware that I couldn't safely tell what laid beyond any possible target.   Figuring that 'discretion was the better part of valor', I pulled out the compass and struck a line back to my grandparents' farmhouse.

Apparently my wife and others were worried about me getting hurt and being buried under the accumulating snow, ..that no one would be able to find me,.. etc.  (It's seems funny how people dream up such scenarios.)  As I stepped up onto the porch, the women of the house met me at the door, chastised me for worrying them and demanded that I shake off all the snow  -- the pent-up anxiety had found its mark. 

I didn't have to hurry.  We were "snowed in" until the weekend.

These days, I hunt with a shotgun and dog. It feels more pleasurable to me.  

Sometimes, I even load the gun.  

I love watching 'bird dogs' work, and the  companionship they provide. 

Then too, there's the aspect of teamwork between the hunter and canine--a muse best left for another time. 



This past Thanksgiving found me in another snowstorm--though not nearly as onerous as the aforementioned one.  The dog and I  found only one bird--any others were either long gone or sheltered in the trees.  

I was reminded of that Thanksgiving day so long ago as the snow began to fall.  At first the K-Lee and I didn't mind it much, but as it continued, past experiences told me that we had hunted enough.  Since our mission was accomplished and we 'kept the tradition alive', 
we hiked to the truck and headed home.  Our hearts felt 'the pull' of loved ones gathered near a warm fire.

For such things and more, I thank Providence.

WHAT HAPPENED TO AUTUMN?

Since the last post, my speedster pigeon that flew "hell's bells" all around the house met up with a migrating red-tailed hawk.  Poof!  White feathers all over the place!  As my friend said, "That's pretty dramatic." 
  
Having anticipated such events, I took it in stride. (However, the other occupant of our house was ready to hold a funeral for the bird.)  A little later, two more were taken out as hawks moved through the area.  One night, a weasel got into the pen and we lost a two more.  To discourage further predation, an "oldies" radios station is playing in the shed and a constant light burning. 

Maybe it will work. 

Grouse hunting in the 'Great North Woods' was marginal at best.  Folks found that there was a lot of walking between birds.   



Friends who hunted primarily woodcock said it was a regular season for them--though they didn't seem to encounter many "flight birds". 

A lot of walking indeed, but I can't think of a better time and place to do such a thing!










 
Snow fell on the north woods early this year, and 'access' is problematic.  There is just enough snow  to make walking in the woods quite treacherous.  Some roads have already closed.

With the promise of better days next season, we look past the winter...and dream. 

October and November are already blocked out in the 2017 calendar and the camp is ready. 


The dog and I will be too.