Hunting with Dad
Postal service in my neighborhood isn't very consistent, so it can make for some interesting deliveries. The other day, a neighbor two blocks over walked to my door to personally re-direct a newsletter she also receives. It was touching, and perhaps something that would only happen in a small town or at least on the West Coast.
And just yesterday I arrived home to see the February issue of Field & Stream on the kitchen table, and was saddened a little to realize it was merely mis-delivered & if I were a good neighbor I'd head right back out the door and return. Which I did, but not before sitting down to read a cute FOB section in which readers submitted pictures of their sons tagging along for the hunt. Took me back to my rural roots, where a good third of school kids had November 15th off for the first day of deer season, and the best parties always seemed to happen at someone's deer camp. But thankfully that whole experience has been streamlined into "Dear Camp: the Musical." I'm told I went pheasant hunting when I was three, but ended up sabotaging everything when I insisted on charging the pheasants, shrieking to my dad & co. for back-up. Were any of you ever recruited for hunts w/your fathers or others?