The Old Man

[Feathers and Fins]

We were returning from a morning hunt walking down the old red dirt road as we had many times in the past. The corn fileds on both sides of this road had turned brown with the autum season change, the wind was cool against our face and the sky was blue with a few puffy marshmellow white clouds in it. Our labs were walking in front of us from time to time darting in to the corn fields as the scent of something interesting caught their attention.

As we came close to the familiar old cabin the old man was sitting on his porch sipping a glass of ice tea. As we had done for so many seasons before we smiled and waved at him, normally he would just nod his head and smile back. But this time he signaled us over. Never had he done this or even attempted to talk to us, so we walked toward him. The cabin was made of old barn wood with a covered porch. on it was some saws hanging on the wall a old wood stove in a corner and his rocking chair he was always in. His face told the story of many years working the corn fields and of many hard seasons on him. His beard was not neat or kept well but that of a true hard working man. His eyes were narrow and seemed to look in to you with an inteligance only age and the season could give you.

We walked up to the foot of his porch and said hello he said hello back and asked us how we did. Proudly we showed him the two mallards and woodie we shot and he smiled at us and said have a seat on the steps boys while i get ya some tea and bring ya out something i want to show ya.

There were sounds of russling comming from inside the old cabin and sounds of ice hitting the bottom of glass, Whe he walked out he handed us both a glass of ice tea. Sweet and cold you could tell it was home made brewwed hours in sun with just the right amount of sugar that it brought a smile to your face. He then reached back in the cabin and pulled out an old and tattered leather bound photo book and sat between us. flipping the book open you could see black n white pictures of waterfowl pictures. Ducks and geese filled the picture with young men and old men smiles ear to ear. The old man explained to each of the pictures in turn. As he did you could see a tear from time to time appear on his wrinkled hard face and a quiver in his breath.

One picture stood out toward the end of the book, you could tell it was this old man and a beautiful chessie with a goose in its mouth. He didnt say a word but gently took the picture from the book and held it looking, tears poored from his eyes on sight of the picture and his hands trimbled while holding it. He said this was the best dog ever loyal and loving.

I asked him if he still hunted as we never had seen him at the little farm pond. He smiled and just said no. When my buddy asked him why not he explained. I hunted all my life but had lost all his friends, He told us how Jim and Mike were killed at Normandy and Jerry in Korea. How others had died from cancer and a couple from old age. He was the last and without hi friends to go with he just couldnt do it anymore as age and strength had left him.

We invited him along with us on our next hunt, A smile as wide as the ole mississippi river is long came across his face. He told us how every time he saw us walking back he was reminded of his youth and his friends, Then he said he had to chuckle at us youngsters as the old pond we hunted hardly ever had birds in it. He was right if we managed 4 birds between us we were lucky. I told him it wasnt about the birds it was about being with my friend. He laughed such an laugh that ole Saint Nick would be proud of and said that is what its all about, BUT it sure is nice to get birds too.

He told us wait there and he would be back. We heard the russling again from inside the house and when he appeared he was wearring brown on brown camo and had a pair of old canvas hip waders on. A old Model 12 was in his hands and a hunting vest made of leather around his chest. He said leave your birds on the porch and let me show you something. Our eyes were as big as dinner plates at this site of an old time hunter memories of our great grandfathers surged in both of us.

We started to walk down the old road back to the pond when he said where ya going. We stopped and looked back he said this way boys.. we went out the back of his house and through an old gate. We were walking single file through a corn row. He walked faster than us with a spring in his step not even us two younsters had. We must have walked for 30 minutes when we came to a rise above us he said get down and come here.

As we came to the top of this crest beforeour eyes were thousands of ducks and geese and all types of fowl deer and a couple coons. There before us was a crop drainage pond about 10 acres and full of life. He said boys this is where all those pictures came from and where since his great grandfather hunted has always been the birds. Duckweed filled the pond circled by corn.

We loaded our guns and slowly crep to a log. He looked over at both of us and said take um. We started shooting as they got up our dogs were retreiving birds. When all was done for the day my friend and i had limits field as did the old man. Ducks and Geese what a shoot!

When we returned to his house we thanked him for the hunt and sat around talking about it with him for awhile. We asked if we could hunt the pond again. He said yes if we would take him... We both gratefully said yes and we would call him. He said he had no phone but to just knock on his door and he would get up and go...

For years after we would knock on his door and he would always get up and make a pot of coffee and the best home cooked breakfast for us Fresh eggs from his hen house and bacon from a fresh slaughtered hog. The hunts were always good because of good company and the stories in the blind we made could never be replaced as Old man Smith would tell them and us two youngsters would listen. But nothing beat those home cooked breakfast he always made for us or the smiles seeing an ole hunter smiling at the site of a greenhead fresh in from Canada.

[junkman]

Never hunted ducks, but that was a great story.brings back some memories from days gone by for myself. Thanks for sharing Feathers and Fins.