I’m writing this on Wednesday evening, November 26, the night before Thanksgiving, 2008. For the past few months, I’ve tried to complete my post to have it ready to publish by the first day of the month. For December I’m a couple of days ahead of schedule. The main reason is I’m out of town and I know I won’t have an Internet connection on December 1st because I’ll be in the woods!!!

I’ve spent the past 6 days in Central Texas and a good part of each of those days in a deer blind. Yes, I’m a hunter. I’m a Life Member of the Texas State Rifle Association and a Life Member of the National Rifle Association and I love to hunt. But this post is not political. I could climb on my soapbox given the anti gun administration that will take office in January but I won’t. Instead, I want to share with you what I’ve been thinking about these past 6 days while I’ve been in the woods: my Dad.

My Dad was born and raised about 16 miles West of Fredericksburg, TX on a 300 some acre place his father purchased back in the 1930s. I remember as a kid visiting my grandparents and hunting with my Dad on the home place. I particularly remember one cold clear afternoon hunting on an oat field with my brother and my Dad. Dad harvested a good buck that evening. I was probably 5 or 6 years at the time. Tonight I sat on that same oat field and I reminisced.

Much of what I saw this evening is still just as it was that cold November afternoon almost 50 years past. The brilliant colors of the red and orange foliage of the Spanish oak trees contrasted with the vibrant green of the live oak tress outshine any photograph. The native pasture grass has gone dormant and turned brown as a result of an early autumn frost. The deer, now many generations since are still plentiful. A bonus for me this week has been the turkeys. I spotted a bunch of turkeys by a water trough and watched them for the next half hour as they watered and then fed their way down to where I was sitting. They came within 15 yards and never saw me. There were 16 turkeys in all including 3 gobblers.

I considered taking one of the gobblers for Thanksgiving dinner but decided not to even try. Just the sight of these animals working their way through the woods was more than enough for me. That hunt has now become one more good memory that I can recall in my mind’s eye whenever I want. And I think that’s what I like most about hunting. Many non-hunters think that every time a hunter goes into the woods it’s to kill something. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

The memories I bring back from a hunt many times have to do with getting into the woods before daylight, getting settled down and still to watch and listen to the woods wake up. For me, it’s like a prayer to be present as the dark stillness changes to first light and to hear the sounds of nature starting a new day as birds begin to chirp, squirrels start to scurry through dried leave and the deer begin to feed. The completion of that prayer comes in the evening as the process reverses. The light fades, the wind lies down and the stillness once again falls on the woods in anticipation of the process starting all over again tomorrow.

The process of dawn to dusk is no different now than it was that cold November afternoon years before in a deer blind with my Dad and my brother. I count it as a blessing to have been taught at an early age an appreciation for the outdoors by my Dad. I’m twice blessed to still be able to hunt that same oat field.

My Dad passed away in August 2006. I wish he could have been in the woods with me this week. He would have gotten a big kick out of watching those turkeys trot past two nights ago. Thanks Dad.