A New Line
From the Pendergrass Library
My son informed me that many of the stories that we’re involved in shouldn’t always end with the phrase - “but we had a good time” - because in his mind it isn’t always true.
Jack said sometimes it’s not even a marginally good time when we come up short of our goal of catching a fish, bagging a deer, or knocking down a duck. “Often it isn’t any fun at all,” he said. In other words, come up with a new line Dad.
So let me set the scene. It is 5 a.m., the sun is beginning to rise up over a harvested field of corn, little birds flitter about as they begin setting the chorus for the day, and we’re prepared to shoot a turkey should one appear. Our trusty hen decoy is out, we’ve managed to find enough camouflage clothing to blend in with the edge of the woods, and the shotgun is loaded. We’re as ready as we’re going to be.
Of course, this moment almost didn’t happen. Several months ago when everyone else was getting their notifications in the mail that they’d qualified for a turkey license Jack did not. That’s right, we didn’t get our card. We just assumed the DNR had passed on us this time around. No big deal. It happens. We’ll move on.
Then, this spring, while out trying to restore order in the yard, after the worst winter known to mankind, there, under a nearby pine tree, I saw a 3X5 faded yellow DNR license notification card. And it had Jack’s name on it. Evidently it had blown out of the mailbox during one of the many gale force storms we had this winter and landed here. Well, good for us, we’re going hunting.
Our best-chance morning to bag a turkey woke at about 4 a.m. We slunked into the kitchen, downed a cup of coffee, and headed to the field. It’s better to be early than late for these things.
It wasn’t long before the turkeys made it known they were nearby; seemingly they were all around us, at least five were gobbling as if their lives depended on setting up a date with a hen. From where I sat I imagined these manic toms were whipped into a frenzy over the possibility of making a love connection, and they were descending on us. I was actually a little nervous, to tell the truth.
With the gobbling we burrowed into the tree line a little more. Anticipation swept over us, and breathing deepened. At any moment something could happen. We were sitting on the proverbial pins-and-needles.
Using our box call we answered the gobbles with a few clucks and purrs of our own, encouraging the boys to come over and visit for a while. They could definitely hear us, judging by the volume and level of their gobbling. They were crazed. However, our potential date couldn’t seem to move past simple conversation, perhaps this was as far it was going to go. The guys would gobble, and we would cluck, but nobody was willing to take the next step to seal the deal. This back and forth went on for a while, until the toms wandered off without ever actually showing themselves.
Now, this is normally where I’d write about how beautiful the day was shaping up. I’d probably mention that after the horrendous winter we’ve had how nice and how lucky we were to be out of doors. I’d talk about the thrill of the possibilities, the warmth of the sun and the splendor of spring.
It would also be like me to be a bit sappy, and ponder how many more father-and-son days Jack and I have left together; he’s becoming a young man right before my eyes. It won’t be long and he’ll be living his own life, he’ll be chasing his dreams and he’ll be making his own way.
But I won’t. To do so would be to make more out of something than it was. I won’t do any of that, because we didn’t have any fun whatsoever.
And I can hardly wait to do it again.
Darrell Pendergrass lives in Grand View.