A Hunting We Will Go

| 11/16/2017 8:57:00 AM

farm sign 

As I've said before, country people live by the seasons, both natural and man-made. Its hunting season here in the Ozarks. One of the favorite times of the year.

I was hunting long before it was really acceptable in my neck of the woods for a girl to hunt. I grew up in the '60s and '70s, and at that time girls were still treated like porcelain dolls. We were not allowed to play baseball, full-court basketball, or any other strenuous sports. And we certainly were not encouraged to hunt! But I was the only child of a wonderful man whose best friend had been his sister. So he taught me all the things he would have taught a son, including how to shoot and hunt. In her younger days, my mother was Daddy's hunting companion, but when I got old enough, I took over the role.

1 Mom  dad

Daddy and Mom with a brace of squirrels

Daddy was a crack shot. He was so good in Army basic training that they wanted to make him a sharp shooter, but he declined. He became an anti-aircraft gunner instead. His first rule of hunting was kill it with one shot. My Daddy loved wildlife and could not stand for anything to be wounded and in pain. He also told me that stray bullets were a dangerous thing. At age 11 he gave me a .22 and told me to learn to bull's-eye every time. Then I could go hunting.