Thursday, November 14, 2013

'Yak & Quack...

Two weekends ago I floated a local river here in Indiana, in an attempt to float hunt for ducks, in my Jackson Cuda 14.  Saturday a friend tagged along and he used my wife's Wilderness Systems Tarpon 120.  Saturday Scott and I flushed several wood ducks, but they were all out of shotgun range, and we ended the day with no ducks in the kayaks.  Nonetheless, it was a good day on the water and a lot of fun to spend some time with Scott.

Sunday after church, I asked my wife to drop me off so I could do a solo float hunt and she agreed (she's awesome).  The fall colors were gorgeous, I love my Cuda and I actually managed to shoot a wood duck that flushed too late for its own good and a hooded merganser (beautiful bird) that flew straight up river to me for an easy shot.

I can't say enough about how beautiful the river was this time of year.  Unlike last year, it seems as if our fall colors are hanging on longer and the yellow maple leaves that had fallen created a lovely carpet of yellow on the water's surface.  God is truly awesome.  Such a fantastic day to be on the  water.  Here's a few pics, although I didn't snap enough...

 Dragging the Cuda to the river...
 

 

Nice autumn float...
 
 
 
Scott in my wife's kayak (not exactly easy to sneak up on ducks in a bright green kayak)...
 

 
Checking out a side creek...


Hooded Merganser...


Great way to spend an autumn day...

Monday, November 11, 2013

My Favorite Veteran...

As I write, today is Veteran's Day...a day of honoring those who have served our country in the past, present and yes, the future.  Being a veteran myself, I feel this is the most important holiday in our country, not counting Christmas and Easter.  It's vital to our country's future to always remember our past and to be grateful to those who have protected our freedom, but I also feel that it is important to remember those behind the scenes who support our veterans while they serve.  Moms, dads, grandparents, wives, brothers, sisters, friends, etc of veterans are the support group that help our vets do what they do.  During times of war, these people serve in their own way and I am eternally grateful to have had the support I did during my years in the military.  So this post, this blog entry that I write today, is in honor of my favorite "veteran"...my mom.

No other person supported me more during my time in the military, especially during my deployment during Desert Storm, than my loving mother.  She went above and beyond when it came to encouraging me, worrying about me, praying for me, writing to me, sending care packages, etc.  Of the people in my flight, I don't think anyone received more mail than I did.  From letters to cards, from Halloween candy to Christmas decorations, my mom (and the rest of my family) really showed her support.  While I was stationed in a far away land serving my country, my mom was standing across the road from anti-war protesters with others and sticking up for what our military was doing in the Middle East.  She was tying yellow ribbons everywhere, sending me picture after picture of family gatherings that I missed so that I felt I was there, talking with other moms who had sons and daughters overseas, spending every free moment of her time writing me letters, praying for me and just making sure I felt her support and love from half a world away.

What I remember the most about how much she supported me is when I came home from Desert Storm.  When I walked off the plane onto the flight line, my family was there to greet me.  Hugs and kisses were in order, but when mom hugged me I remember she didn't let go.  She just kept a hold of me and we cried for the longest time, and I didn't want to let go of her either.  I can honestly say it was the best hug of my entire life.  I've never felt so much love in just one hug.  In that one instant, I could feel her love, her support, her admiration, her pride and also the worry she felt while I was gone.

Since that day many Veteran's Days have passed.  I hear a lot of people tell me thank you for my service every year and it fills me with great pride.  A few times, right on Veteran's Day, I've gotten an envelope from my mom in the mail.  I open it and this is what the letters always say...


"Dear Son,
 
                             I remember.
 
                                                      Love,
                                                               Mom"
 
 

I remember too Mom.  I'll never forget, and I will always be thankful for all you did during my time serving our country.  I couldn't have done it without you.  We served together and you will always be my favorite veteran.  I love you.





Sunday, November 10, 2013

Slimage x 2...

Originally posted on my old blog, on August 5 of 2013...

My brother and I both purchased new kayaks this past Saturday from Wildcat Creek Outfitters in Zionsville, IN...he a Jackson Kilroy and me a Jackson Cuda 14.  My brother Josh is totally new to kayak fishing and we were both anxious to get our new rides on the water for some bass fishing.  So we planned a Sunday afternoon outing on Silver Lake here in northeast Indiana and my wife joined us in her Wilderness Systems Tarpon 120.  Please excuse some of these pics as they were taken with a cell phone and some didn't turn out as nice as I had hoped.

A little background quick, but as you might notice from the following pics, my brother and I are total opposites in just about every way.  We have very little in common, but when we do find something we can enjoy together, we have a great time.  I was probably even more excited than he was when he bought his Kilroy Saturday, as I'm really looking forward to all of our future fishing trips.

The weather was just about perfect for a day on the water, except for a slight wind.  We started out paddling to the entrance of a little channel that leads from the big lake into the small lake, and fished the mouth of the channel for a bit.  A pontoon boat came out of the channel and my brother figured he would try casting into their wake.  Sure enough, his reasoning paid off and he caught his first fish out of his new Kilroy...





We then paddled back into the smaller lake, trying to get out of the wind...


The fishing in the smaller lake isn't that great and sure enough, we didn't catch anything while back there.  I don't know if the fish were just moody or...most likely...recent strong storms had them messed up, but the fishing was super slow all day.  My wife even tried a bobber and worm, but to no avail...



I wanted to see how stable the my new Cuda was so I stood up to fish for a bit.  As usual, getting up and down is the tricky part but once standing I was fine...


After we had enough in the small lake, without so much as a bite, we headed to my favorite part of the bigger lake.  This gave us time to really paddle our new rides and it was enjoyable just being on the water...




Once at my favorite spot, it was time to fish "The Jungle"...


9 times out of 10 I can at least find a few bass that will explode through the moss by dragging a weightless Zoom Fluke across the heavy cover in this spot.  Not today.  Bass weren't even hitting.
As the day wore on without any bites, I knew it was time to head home.  Sure enough I got a text from my wife, who was across the cove, saying we probably needed to head home soon.  I was pretty bummed as I REALLY wanted to slime my new Cuda.

Just as I was preparing to put my rod away and pick up my paddle, a bass hit something on top of the moss right in front of my kayak.  I cast the weightless Zoom Fluke past the spot and slowly reeled in.  Sure enough, this little skinny fella took the bait and became my first fish out of the new Cuda 14...



I took the time to admire the fish for a little bit and then quickly released him back into the water.  With a smile on my face, I put the rod away and began paddling to meet up with my wife and brother.  My wife remained fishless all day and Josh hadn't caught anything else, but we had accomplished our goal of sliming the new kayaks.  We headed into the launch with smiles on our faces and are already planning the next trip...

About Time...

Originally posted on my old blog, on August 3 of 2013...

I fully realize it's been quite a while since I wrote a Fletcher update.  It seems like this summer is flying by and I'm unable to keep up.  I swear it was just yesterday that we brought Fletcher home as a little pup.  He's no longer a little pup, but no where near full grown yet either.

I guess if I were to put him in human terms, he's become a tall, gangly teenager.  Unlike my last Labrador retriever, who was more of a blocky build, Fletcher is thin and his legs seem too long for his body.  Like I said, a gangly teenager.  Nonetheless, he has that special way of being adorable even when he's in trouble, like all puppies.

 
 
 
 
Fletcher's health has been great and he hasn't had any issues at all.  His visits to the vet went well and I was quite proud of him.  He warms up to people quickly and, like most puppies, gets plenty of attention from strangers wherever we go.
 
 
Training is going nicely as well.  Fletcher seems to learn much quicker than I anticipated and his instinct to retrieve is strong.  He learned "sit" and "stay" within minutes, and he follows these commands better than most pups.  However when it comes to the command "here", well he's a little stubborn at times but we're addressing it and it won't be a problem much longer.  He's made a lot of progress and again, I'm really proud of him.
 
 
Fletch has rode in the kayak and been fishing with me a few times and...no surprise here since he is a Labrador...loves the water.  Just like in the truck, Fletcher tends to ride for a while and then get sleepy.  When he gets tired, he just walks over to me and crawls up in my lap for a nice snooze.  I don't how well that will go over when he's full grown and 85 pounds, but right now I enjoy it.  I hope he never outgrows that habit.
 
 





 


 
While I'm trying not to compare Fletcher to my last lab, Kody, I can't help but to do so.  Whereas Kody was a bit more timid as a pup, Fletcher is less so.  He charges into tall weeds/grass to hunt for anything I toss in there and on a few occasions has jumped right out of the kayak without hesitation to get in a quick swim before I scoop him back up.  This brave trait will be great when hunting, unless of course we come across a porcupine or skunk.  Things might tend to get interesting then.
 
 
Fletcher has become my best buddy.  And that's his most important role in my mind.  I needed to smell wet dog fur and have a black dog at my side again after losing Kody, and I am really looking forward to our first hunting season together.  Fall can't get here soon enough.

A Better Offer...

Originally posted on my old blog, on July 21 of 2013...

This past Thursday my longtime friend Kevin called to ask if my wife and I would be interested in joining him for a float trip on the nearby Eel River.  I was planning on mowing the yard this weekend, but Kev's offer sounded a lot better and I figured the grass would be there when I got back.  His plan was to fish for smallmouth bass, a fish that I have never really fished for and wanted to desperately catch from the kayak.  Kevin recently purchased a Jackson Kayak SUPerFISHal stand up paddle board and wanted to try it on a river trip.  I asked Ginger if she wanted to go and she was all for it, so plans were made to meet up Saturday afternoon.

We arrived at the launch site at about 1:30 p.m. and dropped off the kayaks, paddle board and gear.  Ginger stayed at the launch site while Kev and I went to drop off one of the vehicles at the take out location.  After driving back to the launch site and carrying all of our gear to the river's edge, it wasn't long before we were on the water below the dam and casting for smallmouth...





 
I maneuvered my kayak into a small area near the old mill where the current just kept slowly spinning me in tight circles.  It worked perfectly so I could take my time working the nearby rocks with a small, white buzz bait with my ultra light rod & reel.  On about the third or fourth cast, I caught my first smallmouth bass from a kayak...



 
We fished the area below the dam for a little bit before deciding to keep moving.  Our take out point was quite a ways down river and we had to keep moving if we wanted to get there before dark.  After paddling for a little while, we beached the boats to do some wading and fishing, with a quick nap thrown in...



 
My wife has had very little experience paddling on a river, so she opted to just float and enjoy the day instead of fishing as much as Kevin and I were.  She did fish a little bit, but didn't catch anything, and she was perfectly okay with that.  I was just glad she came along and was having a good time.  So many guys would rather not hang out with their wives, but I'm blessed to be married to my best friend and I do enjoy her company...


 
Kevin was catching a few fish from his SUP board.  I'm not sure how many fish he ended up catching throughout the day but I do know that he caught both some smallmouth bass and a few rock bass...




 
The section of the Eel River that we paddled not only provided some fun fishing, but it was also very scenic.  Kevin spotted three river otters and Ginger watched an eagle soar overhead.  An old iron bridge went over the river at one point and some old train trestles reminded us of days long gone...


 





 
The smallmouth bass kept biting just long enough to keep us entertained, although none of them were bigger than 10 inches long.  I ended the day catching nine smallmouth bass, two 5 inch carp, ten rock bass and one tiny bluegill that was paper thin but absolutely beautiful with more coloring than any bluegill I have ever seen before...
 

 

 
We arrived at the bridge marking our take out point shortly before 8 p.m.  It was a wonderful six hours on a beautiful little Indiana river and, although the big fish didn't cooperate, the fishing was fantastic.  We all agreed we'll do this float again sometime.  Right before paddling to shore so we could begin the chore of pulling the kayaks up the mud covered river bank, I made one more cast and brought the buzzbait up behind a little ripple.  Sure enough, the last fish of the day hit the lure and was soon in hand.  As I released him back into the river current, I couldn't help but feel really blessed to have witnessed some of God's many creations once again...
 


Sliming the Tarpon...

Originally posted on my old blog, on June 29 of 2013...

A few weeks ago, I ordered my wife a new Wilderness Systems Tarpon 120 from Hook 1.  The day it was delivered, I had it set up in the garage when she came home from work and surprised her with it.  We had been out once with it, but she didn't catch anything that day.  So we headed out again today to a nearby lake and were on the water shortly after the sun came up.  A nice fog added to the scenery this morning.



I promptly caught two 12 to 14 inch bass on a white, weightless Super Fluke, but those were the last bass I would catch the rest of the day.  Shortly thereafter, my wife finally hooked up with a bass of similar size and it became her first out of her new kayak...



We kept fishing but the bass didn't want to cooperate.  I threw all of my favorite lures, but to no avail.  This 18" bowfin, however, decided to snarf up the white Super Fluke...


After that, we paddled to the south end of the lake and tried an area where a friend said the bass were hitting pretty good earlier in the week.  My lovely bride kept throwing the purple worm that she had caught her first fish on and it worked for her again...



...and again, and again, and again...she just kept catching bass in the 12 to 14 inch range.  They loved that purple worm and she ended the morning with 7 bass to my 2.  She was really excited to have caught fish and I was super proud of her.  I hope she outfishes me every time we go.  It was definitely a great day on the water!

Puppy Dreams...

Originally posted on my old blog, on May 10 of 2013...


Fletcher's first week here at home is almost complete and I have to say, it's been quite an adjustment for everyone, but everyone is getting a long just fine.  This first week has been simply time for him to adjust to his surroundings, his new owners and our miniature daschund, Abby.  Fletcher enjoys playing with Abby quite a bit and for the most part Abby enjoys playing with him.  However, like most older dogs being chased non stop by a pup, she eventually tires of the game and jumps up on the couch where he can't reach...yet.

There has been very little training this first week other than a few basics.  Tossing a puppy bumper for him in order to encourage his retrieving instinct is a game that he and I both enjoy, and it will pay off as he grows older.  Here in the next couple of days we'll introduce the wing of a chukar or quail, in order to foster his love of hunting birds.  I've started gently working him on "sit", but am not pushing it too much at his young age.  We'll get more into "sit", "come" and other commands soon enough.  Like most puppies, he is a tireless chewing machine and we're also working to correct that.  When outside, he feels the need to chew on every dandelion, pinecone, rock and blade of grass that he can get his teeth on.  We are getting quite familiar with the inside of his mouth as we work to get over this issue.  He has adjusted to his crate just fine and already realizes that's his space.  He no longer whines when put in his crate for the night.  He is also adjusting to going outside to do his business rather well.  I can count the number of times I've had to clean up a mess inside the house on one hand.  My getting up in the middle of the night to let him outside shouldn't have to last too much longer before he'll be sleeping all night without any accidents.

Fletcher has many puppy habits that are tiring, but he also has many that are absolutely wonderful.  The way a puppy plays and explores his world is filled with an innocence and zest that I think most adults miss about their own childhood.  Of all his habits and traits, there is one that has become my favorite in the short week he's been here.  At times when I'm sitting in my recliner and Fletcher suddenly decides he needs a nap he will run over to my chair, put his front feet up on it and want me to pick him up in my lap like a young grandchild would.  Once up in my lap, he will curl up into a ball and within minutes he's snoring.  I think my lap is his favorite place to sleep thus far, and I have to admit, it's my favorite place for him to sleep as well.  When he's curled up dreaming dreams that only puppies can dream, I'll gently stroke his soft fur and talk softly to him of the adventures we'll have in the future.  I tell him of future duck blinds, grouse coverts, hunting camps, places we'll explore and of course I tell him stories of times spent with my last lab, Kody.  Oh, I know he doesn't hear me or probably even care, but it comforts this old man to think that maybe, just maybe, the reason his tail wags in his sleep is because he too looks forward to those future adventures and days afield.

God bless puppy breath.

Home Sweet Home...

After a very long day spent driving, we finally brought Fletcher home yesterday.  This eight week old ball of black fur already has me wrapped around his little paw.  I look forward to our future adventures together.

There is just something about the smell(s) of a puppy.  I wish I could bottle puppy breath and sell it, for it's the only thing that heals the broken heart of a bird hunter who has lost a dog.  The smell of the pup's fur is also unique and I can't seem to get enough of it.  As for the few times that he has already used the kitchen floor as a bathroom, well I am even embracing that smell.

Then there are the puppy characteristics that appeal to my other senses...the softness of his fur, the sound of my daughter's laughter as she plays with Fletcher and the feel of his sharp little puppy teeth nibbling on my finger.  All of these are making for a wonderful morning at our house.  Yes indeed, there is nothing like bringing home a new pup.

Puppy Breath...

Originally posted on my old blog, on April 13 of 2013...


          Fletcher is my new male black Labrador retriever.  Actually, as I type this, he’s not quite mine yet.  He and his brothers & sisters were born on March 8, 2013 and we’re scheduled to pick the little fur ball up in three weeks.  To say I’m excited would be a serious understatement.
I’ve started this blog as a kind of journal and record of the adventures Fletcher and I will share.  I think it’ll be a fun way of watching him grow and it provides me with plenty of material to write about.  Fletcher and I will be sharing our hunting stories with you of course, but we’ll also share the off season stuff including everything from campfires to fishing from the kayak.  That's right, I plan on taking a big 70 pound Labrador with me in my kayak.  That should prove to be an adventure.  Based on my experience of owning my last lab…or him owning me depending on who you ask…I’m sure this blog will provide plenty of entertainment with more than enough humor thrown in.
Fletcher was originally going to be from the same breeder as my last lab, Kody, with Kody’s sister being the mother of my next pup.  However, the planned breeding didn’t happen as we thought it would.  A bit of research provided me with an ad from Hardy Lake Retrievers for the litter that I’m getting Fletcher from.  For those of you who are interested, here is a link showing Fletcher’s father, Hammerin’ Hank…
 
And here is Hammerin’ Hank’s pedigree…


While I don’t have any link showing pictures of Fletcher’s mom, Wake, here is her pedigree…


While Fletcher will have some good bloodlines that will really fuel his desire to hunt, retrieve and chase birds, I foresee him being an even better best buddy.  It’s going to be a long next three weeks.

Kody, I Remember...

Originally posted on my old blog, on September 29 of 2012....

Dear Kody,

            Well buddy, it’s been a little over three weeks since you breathed your last breath.  It’s been a rough three weeks for me, that’s for sure.  I can’t count the number of times that I’ve pulled in the driveway, glanced at your empty kennel, and shed a tear.  Ginger and the girls miss you too.  As you can imagine, the girls took it pretty hard.  You were a big part of this family and I hope you felt every bit of our love while you were here.

            I’m not sure why I’m writing this letter, other than I think I need a little closure and feel the need to say good-bye properly.  Somehow simply rubbing your ears and telling you you’re a good boy while you took your last breath doesn’t seem enough, although it’s all we had time for.

The leaves on the trees are beginning to change color and I’m finding it hard to focus on anything but hunting season.  It’s a bittersweet feeling, since we won’t be sharing a duck blind or a walk in the grouse woods together this year.  You know full well that I won’t hunt birds without a good bird dog, so it appears I’ll be focusing solely on bowhunting whitetails this fall.  However, the memories of our too few hunts together will be at the forefront of my mind.  Places with names such as Woodcock Haven, the Goose Pit, Mallard Hole, the Hot Spot, the Pulpit and Grouse Island will never be the same without you by my side.  Our adventures in those places are cherished memories, and in my dreams we will hunt them again.

Like I told you as we lay beside each other on the floor of the vet’s office during your last few minutes, five and a half years was way too short, yet we had a hell of a good run.  When I think back on our time together, a few special memories make me smile.

For example, do you remember our first grouse?  I do.  You were still but a pup at 8 months of age.  I remember the smell of the Wisconsin northwoods that day.  I remember the bird’s flush and my shot that just winged it.  I remember seeing the bird, still very much alive but unable to fly, standing among the forest floor and my calling you over to it.  I can vividly still see you approach the bird for the retrieve, only to have the bird flair up and charge you, and I can still hear the nervousness in your bark as you told that bird what you thought of it.  I can still hear Ed laughing at the entire scene.  I’m looking at that cocky grouse now, mounted on the wall, its wings spread as if in flight.  It is a beautiful bird and that was a beautiful day.  It wasn’t the perfect shot or the perfect retrieve, but together we were two very proud rookies.  That day is, thankfully, etched in my mind.
How about our first mallard?  Do you remember the sun glistening on the drops of water as the bird rose up off of the river and into the air?  I do.  I remember the wind blowing through the yellow leaves of the large maple tree on shore and I remember the sound of the 20 gauge as I squeezed the trigger.  I remember the look of surprise on your face as that bird folded and dropped to the opposite shore, since you knew better than anyone else how poor of a shot I am.  I remember you jumping into the water immediately, not needing any commands before doing your job.  I remember you eagerly swimming back to me with that drake in your mouth, anxious to show me what you had found.  I remember myself being overly picky about the photo of you and your first duck.  You were such a handsome dog though, and nothing short of the perfect picture would do.  I didn’t have that mallard mounted, but I wish now that I would have.  We were, once again, two very proud rookies.  That day also, thankfully, is etched in my mind.

Speaking of birds that I wish I had mounted, do you remember that Halloween day we walked along Pony Creek with Scott in an attempt to jump shoot wood ducks?  I do.  Do you remember how badly I wanted…and still want…a drake wood duck on my wall?  I remember seeing those wood ducks down stream a short distance, making the stalk and flushing them off the water.  I remember the sound of their wings flapping furiously in an attempt to escape danger and gain altitude.  I remember the feel of the shotgun against my shoulder and the sight of the bead on a drake in full color.  I remember the way he too, like the mallard, folded at the shot and the splash his limp body created as it hit the cold water.  I remember the pride I felt as you brought the bird back to me and delivered it right to my waiting hand.  I also remember the taxidermist telling me that he couldn’t repair the drake’s beak that had been blown off during the shot.  I am still without a wood duck drake on my wall, but maybe the new pup and I will manage to accomplish that task next year.

What’s that?  Yeah, I’m getting a new pup next spring.  I hope you’re okay with that.  No dog will ever replace you and I will forever miss you.  However, I knew the day you died that I would have another bird dog.  I always said you would be my one and only, but I never imagined you would leave us so soon.  There are too many things that you and I were never able to do together.  I hope you’ll help guide the new pup when he comes.  Together you and I should be able to make a bird dog out of him.  Oh, who am I kidding?  You know as well as I do that the only reason you became such a good bird dog is because of your breeding and instinct, not because of the training I gave you.  But I feel that I learned a lot with you.  I know some things that I should have done, and other things that I shouldn’t, as a trainer.  Funny, I never thought of it that way, but you trained me buddy.  I learned more from you than you did from me, that’s for sure.

Since you passed away, I’ve had a lot of people express their sympathies.  Many of them have said things such as how the loss of a good dog can be just like the loss of a child.  Sorry buddy, I mean no disrespect, but it’s nothing like that.  I have buried my own son and although I miss you terribly, it’s not the same.  But damn it still hurts.  However, it makes me smile knowing that you and that son of mine are probably chasing birds in fields and forests so beautiful that I can only imagine their glory.  I bet Jacob is a good shot, and I bet he’s shooting the finest of side by side shotguns.  I’m sure you two are getting along just fine and having a fantastic time doing so.
Kody, I feel the need to thank you before I let you go.  There it is; the tears and the true reason behind this letter.  I have never had a dog like you buddy.  I had wanted a Labrador retriever since I was 19 years old, and you didn’t disappoint.  You were well worth the wait and even if I had known you would only live such a short time, I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything.  Your love for my family and I was truly unconditional.  I knew you better than I know most people.  Now, as your ashes rest on the shelf in our living room, all I have left are the cherished memories and the love you left in my heart.  Yet, that’s an awful lot and I’m thankful for it all.  So thanks buddy.  Thanks for everything and I’ll see you soon enough.  And yes, when I arrive at the gates to Heaven, I’ll be sure to have a Milkbone in my pocket.

I’ll let you go now.  You have birds to chase and I have to write a letter to that new pup.
Now, hunt ‘em up Kody.  Good boy.

That Damn Hat...

Originally posted on my old blog, on September 3 of 2012...



There is something special about a good hat.  At least to a man.  Women don't seem to understand the need for the perfect hat, my wife included.  Recently I told her I wanted to buy a new hat.  She rolled her eyes and made mention of the numerous hats I already own.  In order to help defend my case, I wrote and then e-mailed my wife the below story.  It must have worked, because her e-mailed reply was "Buy your damn hat."  The pen is truly mightier than the sword!  Enjoy!
 
 
 
That Damn Hat
 
 
The elderly lady stepped up to the coffin and lovingly looked at the shell that was once her husband.  She knew that he was no longer here, but she wanted some time alone with “him” before the girls and rest of the family arrived.  She smiled at how peaceful he looked, laying there in his suit and with his worn bible in his hands.  She peered over the top of her glasses at the items decorating the casket and area close to it; lots of pictures, her husband’s favorite wool coat, the longbow that he made out in his wood shop three winters ago, a leather quiver full of arrows that he had also made and there, on top of the casket, was that damn hat.
The widow smiled to herself as she reached up and took the hat from its place.  Her mind suddenly filled with memories of her husband and she couldn’t help but to feel the heartbreak of losing him ease a little bit.  She remembered the day he said he wanted that hat, forty years ago.  The fool had enough hats to start his own store, but there he was wanting another one.

“Honey, this hat will be THE hat.  It’ll end my search for the perfect hat, I’m telling ya!” he had said.
 
“What about that hat hanging on the coat rack, out in the breezeway?” she had replied.

Her husband went on and on about how the hat in the breezeway wasn’t shaped right, didn’t fit right, didn’t look right, and blah, blah, blah.  She finally had given in and told him to order the hat he wanted, just to shut him up.  The day it came, he was like a kid on Christmas.  She just rolled her eyes as he jokingly asked if he could wear it to bed.


“You’ll understand someday baby.” he had assured her with a boyish smile.


Now, forty years later, she was holding that stupid hat knowing she would never again see her husband walk in the cottage door wearing it while his eyes lit up just seeing her.  Oh how she loved that about him.  It never mattered if he had been gone for two weeks on a hunting trip or just a half hour walk looking for blueberries.  He was always delighted to see the love of his life.
The old lady ran her wrinkled, soft fingers along the brim of the hat.  The worn felt hat was full of character.  There were stains and blemishes that held stories of her husband’s life.  He wore the damn thing everywhere, especially on his bowhunting trips.  She recognized one particularly dark stain on the crown of the hat, where her husband had carelessly removed his hat in the middle of quartering a moose.  His hands were covered in the animal’s blood at the time and the stain was a reminder of that hunt, as well as the hour the widow had spent trying to wash the stain out of the hat for her husband upon his return.
She glanced up at the pictures that her daughters had used to decorate the table near the casket.  There were lots of family pictures, pictures of just the two of them, vacation pictures, pictures of him with a few of his closest friends, and quite a few pictures of him bowhunting or fly fishing.  The lady noticed two things in every one of the pictures; his wonderful smile and he was wearing that damn hat.  The hat was as much a part of him as that charming smile, she thought.
“Mam?” came a voice from behind her.  It was the young secretary from the funeral home.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the secretary continued, “but a few weeks ago, your husband came in and dropped this off.”   She handed the widow a small box that had her name on it.
“He asked that when his funeral day came, that I give it to you.  Again, I’m sorry to interrupt and my sympathies over your loss.  He was such a nice man.  I’ll leave you alone.”

The elderly lady gave a polite but forced smile and managed a soft thank you as the secretary walked out of the room.  She still had the hat in one hand, so she laid it back down on top of the casket and opened the box.  Her eyes filled with tears as she pulled out a red glass heart.  Also in the box was a note in her husband’s hand writing and she clutched the glass heart close to her chest as she read…


Dearest Love,

            If you are reading this, then my time here on earth is through and I am dancing with Jesus.  As I have always said, please do not cry but rather rejoice!

            Enclosed in this box you will find “your heart”.  I hope you will see, that while it may have a chip or two, that I did indeed guard it safely and treasure it above all else.  Loving you was the greatest joy I ever had in life and I anxiously await your arrival here in heaven.  Until then, know that I will be missing you.  Please give the girls my love.
                                    Yours forever and always, no matter what,

                                                                                         -Jameson



At this the widow began to sob, but soon regained her composure.  She pulled a tissue from her pants pocket and wiped the tears away best she could.  Then she walked over to the casket and gently placed the glass heart in the pocket of her husband’s suit coat.

“You old poop.  My heart is yours forever.”

With that she took the old hat from the top of the casket, brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply, smelling her husband one last time.  Then she carefully slid the hat inside the coffin beside him.  That damn hat is part of him and that’s where it belongs, she thought.

“You were right my love.  I understand now.” she said out loud.  And with that she gently kissed her husband’s still lips and turned to go let her daughters in.  It was time for her and her family to rejoice.
 

The Chair...

Originally posted on my old blog, on June 12 of 2012...

If you walk into the living room of our humble home, you will notice a few things.  The first thing you may notice is that handsome pronghorn antelope on the wall in one corner, followed by the beautiful ruffed grouse on the other side of the same wall.  You will see our fairly new television, which serves to entertain my wife and daughters on a daily basis.  Personally, I watch very little television and feel the women in my house should be watching old westerns and Andy Griffith reruns instead of “reality” TV, which has to be the fakest stuff ever produced.

The last thing you may notice in our living room is an old, brown recliner.  It is “my” chair, the throne of my small castle.  It is as old as I am and I am not its first owner.  This old Lazy Boy recliner, which I am writing this from, used to belong to my grandfather.  It was Gramp’s chair for many, many years and I grew up admiring this one piece of furniture above all else in my grandparent’s house (besides my grandparents, of course).  My brother and I were welcome to sit in Grandpa’s chair if he wasn’t, but if he came into the room we knew to move ourselves to the couch or floor, which we did out of respect for Grandpa and with no argument whatsoever.  I don’t recall Grandpa, Grandma or anyone else ever telling us we had to vacate their chairs when they entered the room.  We just did it.  As much as this is going to sound so cliché and exactly like something us old folks are expected to say, this is part of what’s wrong with today’s youth…less and less respect for their elders whether it be grandparents, teachers, police or whatever.  I know that letting Grandpa or Grandma have their chairs when they came into the room served to teach us boys respect for an older generation and that’s why I require the same of my children, even as they grow into adulthood.  My daughter has always known this was a rule in my house, but my stepdaughters had to get used to it when my wife and I were first married and I moved in.  They didn’t like it at first, but they’ve learned well and I like to think they understand why it’s the right thing to do.  I still to this day will get up and move if my grandparents want to sit in their chairs.  It is respect that is due to them.

This old chair that I sit in doesn’t fit me.  Those of you that have been “fitted” for a recliner before know full well what I mean.  I look like a giant sitting in this thing, although I find it to be quite comfy.  The cushion where you sit has been long broken in and the footrest is a bit too close for my long legs.  Nonetheless, there is no place I would rather sit.  Each time I sit here, I am flooded with memories of my wonderful, precious boyhood.  Memories that seem as if they were centuries ago now.  Memories that I wish I could relive, because I truly had a wonderful childhood.

I recall the many times that Gramps would be sleeping in his chair, or rather pretending to sleep, and we boys would sneak up from behind him.  He would be reclined back with his feet up and his eyes shut, yet I’m sure he was aware of what was about to happen, and we would suddenly push down on the back of the chair and thus tip Grandpa backwards until he was on the floor.  He would act surprised and a wrestling match would ensue, usually resulting in one or both of us boys in what Gramp’s called the Crow’s Nest (a wrestling move more commonly called a Scissors Hold).  Oh what fun it was to wrestle with Grandpa on the floor while Grandma sat in her chair watching, with that loving smile and sparkle in her eye just knowing that her boys were having a good time.

I also remember the old CB that Grandpa had on a shelf beside his chair.  There were numerous times when baby brother and I would get on the CB when nobody was looking, just to ask for a radio check.  We really thought we were cool each time some trucker in the area replied that our radio was working fine.

Then there was the time when I, as a teenager, had a buddy over and we were watching a movie.  Gramps was downstairs in the basement taking his evening shower and I was sitting in his chair.  My friend, John, and I were watching the show when in came Grandpa walking from the basement to his bedroom, which took him right through the living room, in his birthday suit.  Apparently, he had forgotten his pajamas in his bedroom and felt that we boys weren’t going to see anything that we hadn’t seen before.  You have to know my Grandpa to really understand how very little of a shock that was to us.  John and I still talk about that to this day, although we don’t see each other often anymore.

There is a picture of myself when I was a boy, sitting on Grandpa’s lap while he smokes a pipe, in this chair.  I don’t remember that day, but I love that picture.  It’s funny how nowadays anyone smoking with a kid in their lap is a horrible influence and is going to kill the kid.  Sure, lots of secondhand smoke isn’t good, but an occasional pipe won’t hurt any more than drinking water from the garden hose instead of a plastic bottle will.  Now that I own Grandpa’s old chair and one of his pipes, I have every intention of having a picture taken of myself smoking a pipe with my future grandson in my lap, critics be damned.

Yes, this chair holds lots of memories, a lot more than I could ever write about on this blog.  They are memories that always make me smile and be thankful for such a wonderful childhood.  My grandparents were and still are very special people to me.  Without them, my boyhood would have been lacking many of the adventures that have made me the man I am today.  Someday I’ll be a grandfather.  I have no doubt that my future grandchildren and I will have many adventures, right here in this old chair.

Grandpa and Grandma…thanks for everything, and I do mean everything.  From the trips to Canada to the times you let me cry on your shoulder, from replacing the clutch in my old Camaro to the homemade cookies, from being at Jacob’s funeral to taking us boys fishing, from giving me my first job to babysitting the daughter of a newly single father while he worked the late shift at the factory, from the many bottles and cans of Pepsi to being firm yet loving with a foolish drunk teenager, from the wrestling matches to the many hugs…and everything in between, thank you.  You will never realize how much the love you’ve shown others, me included, has impacted future generations.  You’re the greatest and I am an eternally grateful grandson.


And I really love this old chair.