Wet Weather Musings

Yesterday was cold, wet, and nasty in my little part of the world. As I was driving home, the weather got me to thinking back to similar days in my childhood, spent wishing I were a bit more warm, and a bit more dry. It was the cold, gray, slow-rain type of day that always reminds me of duck hunting.

Now, I grew up on the poorer end of the middle class scale, and when me and the old man went duck hunting (or any kind of hunting, for that matter) we did it on the cheap. Now out of the types of game I've hunted in my life, none seem to claim as much time and money as duck hunting. I spent many an hour of my childhood poring over hunting catalogs making a mental wish list of all the accoutrement's that I wanted for duck hunting. Of course, if I had gotten all of said gear, I wouldn't be able to move through a swamp bottom without fear of sinking under the weight, but that doesn't seem to slow the 16 year old mind much.

Anyway, I digress... The day that I came to think about due to the weather was a cold, wet nasty day in December, about 2000 or 2001. I had never been duck hunting before, and a few weeks ago, dad got to reminiscing about childhood duck hunts. I asked him to take me duck hunting, and he said he would, as soon as the weather got right. I slunk into the house after a tortuously long day in school, wanting nothing more than to drop onto the couch and forget about the rigors of algebra.

Pop looked at me and wrinkled his brow. "Wanna go shoot some ducks?"

I think it took all of about 3 seconds for me to get changed into camo and grab my boots, shotgun, and a hand full of shells.

Dad pulled on a sweater against the chill.

"You gonna wear THAT, dad?"

He considered the fire-engine red sweater. "What? I'm don't wanna get cold."

I knew we weren't going to get a single thing with dad dressed like that, but I wanted to go hunting, so I went along with it, just for fun.

We hunkered down against the wood line and waited as the temperature dropped and a front rolled in. We shot two ducks that day. I like to think I shot a duck, I really do. I emptied my gun at the sky, at any rate. When we walked over to pick up the ducks, Dad unloaded 1 shell.

"That's it. That'll be the only flight tonight. Unload and we'll walk home."

I hurriedly unloaded the 2 shells I had just loaded.

"I got one, dad!"

He chuckled. Yeah, boy, looks like.


Dad was a good shot.

But I've thought about that day many times. Dad knew another front was coming through, and made sure we were out there a half hour before it reached us. He also knew that the treeline would hide that bright red sweater he was wearing. And, he knew that there was a slough about a hundred yards from our treeline that small flocks sometimes would roost in if they were pushed in by rain.

I'll take hunting advice from a man feeding his family, who knows the land and the local weather patterns over the advice of one of those guys on the Outdoor Life Network any day of the week.

Monmouth Cap

A few months ago, I made a set utensils for Nancy. She was happy to have the treenware, and asked if I wanted anything. Now, I'm no great knitter (ok, I'm mot a knitter at all...), so I asked her if she'd make me a Monmouth-style cap. She helped me sort out a style and color, and right before Christmas, a package showed up.

The cap nestled within was beautiful.... and .... Large. Now, I'm no small guy, topping the scales at around 280 pounds, and standing over 6 feet tall, but this thing would have fit two of my pumpkin-sized heads. If you look closely, you can see that the hat is rolled up about 3 times, just so I can see.

Nancy sent me an email, which I got a few days later, telling me to 'full' or wash the hat until it fit. Now, to full a wool item, you apparently have to wash but not dry the item. If I would have dried the hat, it probably would have been to small to fit my 2 year old son. So I washed it. It shrunk up nicely, but was still a little too big, so I washed it once more, and hung it up in the laundry room. Ta-da! The hat now fits nicely,the knitting is much tighter due to shrinkage, and I now have a period-correct piece of headgear for those cold days up at the fort. AND.... it's in french colors.

Go check out Nancy's site. She runs a great blog, and she'll probably do a post on the hat real soon.

New Years Eve

New Year’s Eve was a blast. Before I went to bed the night before, I put on a brisket to cook, real low, in the oven, so I woke up on New Year’s Eve to the decadent smell of freshly cooked brisket. I puttered around the house for a few hours in that heavenly smell, and kissed my wife goodbye, as she was taking the kiddo and going to spend a few hours with my grandma to ask her some stuff about gardening.

Then my dad and brother, Barrett showed up. We had 12 handguns between us. If you look at the picture, starting clockwise from top right, you’ll see: A Ruger Mark III .22, a S&W M&P in .45acp, a Ruger LCP .380, a Springfield G.I. .45 1911, a Kimber CLEII 1911 .45, S&W Model 66 .357, Ruger Super Blackhawk in .44 Magnum, Model 28-2 6in. .357, Model 28-2 4 in. 357, Ruger Security 6 .357, Taurus Tracker 627 .357, and a S&W 638 in .38spl.

Also, my brother Matt showed up a little later, and brought a Ruger P89 as well. We had an even baker’s dozen. We shot, both copious amounts of ammunition and the B.S., and had a great time.

And suddenly someone walked up. My neighbor Tony showed up. He had been hearing us shoot for over an hour, and decided to come see what we were doing. He’s originally from California, and doesn’t know much about guns. It took all of about 45 seconds for him to want to shoot. I gotta hand it to him, he shot everything we handed to him without complaint. Everything from .22's to .357's to 1911's to............

.44 Magnums.

When we got done shooting and were standing around b.s.ing, I slipped off and put some sausage on the pit. Tony joined us for lunch, and we ate some excellent kielbasa. Then I broke out the brisket, so I could slice it for the get-together I was having later that night. We had to sample it too, of course.

I invited Tony to come over anytime we he heard gunfire and join me on the range. I think he will.

Then I put the brisket, sliced, on the pit, along with the baked beans, and smoked them both for a few hours. My brother Barrett showed back up a few hours later with his girlfriend and her children, and so did my aunt Margaret and Uncle Chuck, along with their girls. We ate brisket and beans and mashed potatoes, along with a nice salad, and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company. There were several fine desserts there, including a King cake, which is a Mardi Gras delicacy that is damn hard to find in Florida. Yay!

After everyone left, and I cleaned up, me and the wife sat on the couch and watched Dick Clark’s New Years Eve special on TV, and the kiddo fell asleep between us. We kissed when the ball dropped, even though it was 11pm for us, and went to bed, exhausted, but satisfied with the day.

It was a great day.