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 fields on both sides of this road had turned brown with the autumn seasonal change, the wind was cool against our face and the sky was blue with a few puffy marshmallow 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 where we made our turn the old man who lived there was sitting on his porch sipping a glass of ice tea. As we had done for so many seasons past 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 as youthful curiosity had us wondering what the old timer could want of us to kids.

The cabin was made of old barn wood with a covered porch, its cedar beams showed the years of weather. Saws hanging on the wall an old wood stove in a corner and on the front post railroad lanterns, his rocking chair he was always in next to the stove. You could smell the fresh scent of bacon coming from inside the old cabin and the smell of hardwood from the stove.

His face told the story of many years working the fields; you knew he had seen many hard seasons. His beard was not neat or well kept well but that of a true hard working man. His eyes were narrowed from the years of sunlight and seemed to look in to you with a look that penetrated to your very soul as if he was reading who you were. He had a old pipe laying next to him and a guitar leaning next to the door. His jeans were not new and had the stains of the red dirt on them. Truly this was a man of the land.

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 wood duck we shot and he smiled at us and said have a seat on the steps boys while I get you some tea I have something I want to show you.

There were sounds of rustling coming from inside the old cabin and sounds of ice hitting the bottom of glass, when he walked out he handed us both a glass of ice tea. So sweet and cold you could tell it was homemade brewed hours in sun with just the right amount of sugar and a wedge of lemon 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 as he was flipping the book open you could see black and 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 each of the pictures in turn as if they were taken just yesterday, I suppose in his mind they were.

As he described each in such wonderful detail you could see a tear from time to time appear on his wrinkled hard face and a quiver in his breath. For you knew at this time some of those men and dogs were long since passed from this earth and only in his memories did they still linger.

One picture stood out toward the end of the book, you could tell it was this old man and a beautiful Chesapeake bay retriever with a goose in its mouth. He didn’t say a word but gently took the picture from the book and held it with a reverence of a Sunday School Preacher hold the good book. Looking at this picture brought tears pouring from his eyes and his hands trembled while holding it. He said this was the best dog ever loyal and loving always eager to please and keen nosed that could find a downed bird even in the thickest of cover.

I asked him if he still hunted as we never had seen him at the little farm pond? He smiled and just said no not anymore! When my buddy asked him why not? The old man explained; I hunted all my life but have 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 couldn’t do it anymore as age and strength had left him. He went on to explain that hunting may well provide meat for the table but it was about the company of friends to share the time and memories with that made it so special.

We invited him along with us on our next hunt, as we though very young in compare to him understood how special it was to share a hunt with someone else and to make memories that will be forever instilled in our souls.

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 wasn’t about the birds it was about being with my friend. He laughed such a laugh that ole Saint Nick would be proud of and said that is what it’s all about, BUT it sure is nice to get birds because the dogs would appreciate the time more.

He told us wait on that old porch steps and he would be back in a few minutes. We heard the rustling again from inside the house and when he appeared he was wearing brown on brown camouflage and had a pair of old canvas hip waders on, a Filson hat on his head and that old pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. An old Model 12 was in his hands and a hunting vest made of leather around his chest, old spectacles were now resting on the brim of his nose as 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 as this aged but powerful figure stood before us. For he could have truly been our grandfathers or his friends perhaps even a great uncle even!

We started to walk down the old road back to the pond when he said where you pups going? We stopped and looked back as he said this way boy’s. We went out past the back of his house and through an old gate that had a distinct squeak to it as you swung it open. We were walking single file through a corn row having a hard timekeeping up with the old man for he walked faster than us with a spring in his step not even us two youngsters could find. 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 rise over the crest before our eyes were thousands of ducks and geese and all types of other fowl, deer were feeding on the shores and drinking from the water. A couple raccoons were scurrying around looking for crawfish along the banks occasionally pausing to look for danger. Shore birds were running up and down like waves of the ocean all in perfect harmony looking for worms and grubs. There before us was a crop drainage pond about 10 acres in size and so full of life you felt as if you were there at the beginning of time watching the animals be made by the creator above.

The old man said boys this is where all those pictures came from and where since his great grandfather had purchased this land many years before his birth had hunted! As always there had been birds here for it was not just the drainage but a natural spring as old as time itself. Duckweed filled the pond circled by corn that during harvest rains washed in to this magical pond. So rich was the life in and around it you could not help but forget hunting and watch the display of life surrounding it.

We after some time gazing upon this site loaded our guns and slowly crept to a log sitting on the edge of the pond but hidden from view just inside some cattail reeds, never a more perfect place for a duck blind was thought of. The old man looked over at both of us and said those magic words. Take um! We started shooting as they got up our dogs were retrieving birds like guided missiles true to their targets.

The first volleys saw many a greenhead fall to the water the splash echoing in unison with the blast of our shotguns, feathers floating gently from the sky while others surrounded the birds laying on the water the ripples interrupted by those of the dogs rushing toward the fallen birds.

When all was done the dogs retrieving complete and the rush of water shaken all over us from the proud retrievers we sat in amazement looking at the magnificent colors of the birds! The red legs of fresh Mallards the vibrant greens on their heads and the soft brown of the pintail there was a powerful red to the canvasbacks head yet gentle white to its back. We were grateful to the old man for sharing with us this wonderful spot. We started to pick up and the old man asked us where we were going? We said to him all the birds were gone! He chuckled with a smile on his face and said to us sit down boys it’s only just began!

The old man understood from years past the birds will be back and he explained to us if we sat still and waited they would return in vast numbers as others from nearby ponds and fields would join them. He was not wrong for within a few minutes the skies again were full of whistling wings and the sounds ow wind rushing at high speed over our heads. He handed us each a small cup of coffee and said leave the guns down boys and enjoy this site for there will be plenty of time for shooting later, but this is the time for memories to be made.

The thought of limits seemed far removed from our thoughts as we pointed out to one another the birds as they flew in and landed here and there. Pintail warily circling and Mallards softly quacking! Canvasbacks flying like jet fighters wings barely above the water! There were wood ducks screaming as they flew past, and the calls of Speckle belly geese looking to find a place to join in. The sights and sounds filled our heads and the sweet smell of hot coffee in our hands just added to this portrait of life surrounding us.

When we returned to his house we thanked him for this special day and sat around talking about it with him for awhile. We asked if we might be allowed to hunt the pond again? He said yes if we would take him with a wink form his eye and a smile on his face. 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 no matter the time of day or night.

For years after Tim and I 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, and that oh so wonderful coffee! None before or after has ever tasted so sweet or smelt so good. 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.