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Squirrelly Sunday

Max On The Lookout

Grandson Max, his father, Matt, and his cousin Pierce came over a couple of Sundays ago to do some squirrel hunting. We gathered up our “22’s” (.22 caliber rifles), and headed for the hardwood stands out back.

Max & I Head For The Woods

It was overcast and cool, around 30, and as we walked the top of Widowmaker field, a few downy flakes drifted by. In just a few minutes, the mini flurry stopped. This season of hunting is better with a snow cover. It’s much less noisy when walking, and tracks in the snow can lead us to the haunts of squirrels and bunnies. Today, we’d be crunching around on a six-inch deep carpet of autumn leaves. Even thinking about walking made crunching sounds.

Little Beaver Creek

Matt took up residence in a tree stand at the transition line, where the forest meets fields. Pierce took a stand north of there, while Max & I “drove” the hardwoods from the south. For those unfamiliar with the term, “driving” is to have some members of the hunting party transit the area, working toward those on stand (in a fixed location). The idea being to drive the game toward the awaiting hunter.

Seasons Past

Max & I saw two squirrels on our foray, but didn’t get a shot off. Matt bagged just one, and Pierce went scoreless (we’re keeping score for the season.)

In days past I entertained some hunting interests. Over the last couple of decades, my preferences have changed. I don’t mind keeping a fish or two for a shore dinner at camp, but I am no longer interested in killing anything else.

For Max’s benefit and the camaraderie of men’s company, I tote my Savage .22 inherited from my father. It’s even loaded with bullets. I’ll let Max believe we’re hunting together, and I’ll congratulate him and other members of the party on their kills.

“Not sure what I’m going to do if I see a squirrel.” I confided to Matt out of Max’s earshot, “Maybe I’ll just shoot the branch below it.”

Luckily for me and the squirrels, not so much Matt, Max or Pierce, the little critters managed to elude us anyway.

After the marching about, the others headed to the rifle range as I walked around with Chuy the Wonderdog. He has always had a fear of loud noises. Thunder turned him psycho, and he’d climb up into the chair or onto the couch to hide behind me, trembling like a leaf. Thankfully, age has reduced his hearing, and he hardly seems to notice thunder anymore.

Likewise, in the past he was terrified at the site of guns, knowing they were loud. He’d run for the back door as soon as he saw someone carrying a long gun. During hunting season, with shotguns going off all around all day, he’d confine himself to the house.

His hearing may be diminished, but he watched from a distance as those guys milled about the place where guns were often fired. He watched for a few seconds. As soon as he heard the first discharge from the .22 magnum, he made a bee line to the house as fast as his 105-dog-year-old legs could carry him!

Is That What I Think It Is?

Happy Birthday to Chuy (originally named Scooby Doo by Ryan). January first is his observed birthday. As of the first, he’s officially fifteen!!

Birthday Boy

Take care, and keep in touch.

Paz

Merry Christmas Mr.Potter!

Big Saturday

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Barn & Cottonwood At Sunrise

I’m awakened by the whoosh of the bedroom door flying open, followed by some huffing and puffing sounds, followed by jingling of dog tags, and sometimes a wet nose nudge to my face.

It’s Big Saturday, and Chuy’s the first up, ready to make the most of it.

Any given Saturday will find me thusly occupied: driving to the “transfer station” with the trash, reviewing the list in my head; chores and demands of the day. On one of these Saturdays I suddenly remembered Saturdays as a child.

Saturday was the best day when I was a schoolboy. No school, Saturday morning cartoons (back in the when, they were a Saturday thing), and all day to play!

Riding along in the Funbus, I declared to Chuy “It’s Saturday!“, as if I was ten years old and had just leapt from my bed. Since that day I remember that spirit and make the same announcement aloud each Saturday. It reminds me to greet the day with a sense of excitement and wonder, ready for adventure, and to remember we have all day to do as we please.

First Frost

For quite a number of years now, the biggest thing after the dump run is Big Saturday Walk with Chuy the Wonderdog. On the Big Saturday Walk, Chuy leads the way. We go where he wants to and stay as long as he chooses. Sometimes we’ll make our way to the eastern extent of the trail, up to the hardwood forest. Sometimes we’re drawn down the side trails, or over the crest of Widowmaker field.

This is a constitutional walk for me, more so than one for exercise, though in snowshoes trodding through a foot of snow there will be a workout. We cover a regular circuit, much as a wolf pack would do on an occasional basis. Checking the perimeter, marking our territory. Chuy sets the pace, and I dutifully follow (often with Doone the Cat), usually remembering the camera.

This ritual is without a doubt the Biggest Big Saturday part of Big Saturday for me. This is a time when I can truly slow down and relax. We’re away from the homestead, so I can’t see all the chores and tasks that must be done. Aside from the camera, no other electronics are allowed. No phone, no music player.

My companion is quite reticent. He’s also hard-of-hearing, so calling out is pointless. That’s fine with me, as I rarely utter a word aloud, except perhaps an exclamation of wonderment at some magical moment afield.

The Pine Stand

Frosted Strawberry

Long Shadows

Between the walks, Big Saturday is filled with a wide variety of chores, labors of love, and adventures. In summer, we may spend most of the day mowing the lawns and nature trails. In winter, we might ride snowmobiles around the yard & trail, or perhaps do some ice fishing. In spring we’ll wade a couple of creeks stalking trout, in fall we’ll spend some time on the rifle range, siting in a new scope or just target-shooting for the fun of it.

When the time finally comes to take off our shoes and don some soft pajamas, I feel best when I can tell Chuy “We wrung the heck out of that day, didn’t we?”. Then it’s on to Big Saturday night TV-watching of Superman (the TV show), Star Trek (the original series), Lost In Space, and Svengoolie, an old-time hosted horror movie show.

For this Big Saturday, we’ll have a Family Game Night with two daughters, their beaus and a couple of grandkids. We’ll loudly play some board games around the big kitchen table, warmed by the pellet stove, the homestead of 31 years, and the love of family (and probably some hot chocolate!).