My Father Was a Hunter

I was reminded of that fact recently.  We went to our friend Lulu’s house where her son Matthew was selling copies of a book he had just written.  I was not keenly excited about the book, because I have never been interested in hunting.  But we were wanting to support him for various reasons.  Plus the book was written about southern Louisiana by someone who grew up in the area.

Matthew read a short passage from his book (“The Duck Camp” by Matthew Wemple) about when he was a child and his father came home from hunting.  It brought back so many memories of my own that I hadn’t thought about in years.  I don’t really have that many references to hunting to jar those old memories of mine.

But his writing brought back plenty.  For one thing, it reminded me of this old photo from around 1963.  I’m pretty sure it was an instance of my dad coming home from hunting.  He’s got his hunting cap on as well as his rubber boots.  That was some of the standard hunting clothes that he had back then.  There were a few photos taken of this event.  I posted one of them on Facebook last year for Father’s Day.

There was another article of clothing that Matthew reminded me of in his excerpt – my dad’s old hunting vest.  For some reason, I remember being intrigued with that thing.  It seemed like there were pockets all over it for various things and there were even places to store shotgun cartridges on it somewhere.

There are other vague hunting memories that I remember.  He and my mom’s dad would prepare for duck hunting by getting decoys ready.  My grandfather would make some of those decoys himself and also carved ducks that could be hung on a wall.  He and my dad would sometimes test their aim with a pistol by tossing a coin up in the air and shooting at it.  I seem to recall them actually hitting it at least once.

Then there were the unpleasant memories associated with hunting.  They were always getting up really early on cold mornings.  Who wants to do that?  Then they’d bring all those birds home and you’d have to pluck them.  That wasn’t so bad until you had to singe them.  Not a smell that you’d want to be around too long.

Those things were enough to keep me from wanting to go hunting.  The desire just wasn’t there.  But you can see from this photo of my dad that he enjoyed it.  I can see how it can be an enjoyable diversion.  And I was glad to be reminded of those long ago pleasant memories of my dad that were lurking in my brain.  Thanks Matthew.