Dad

“My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing.” --Aldous Huxley

My dad was not one you would find sitting still very often. In fact, the first time I remember him truly motionless for any length of time was when his back gave out, a victim of his strength not meeting the demands of the task. It must have been a huge task that did him in, as I remember the lean, tremendous physical strength that he possessed.

That strength--at least in part--came from his love of the outdoors and all that it involved. And working a day job pushed him to find things to do that were evening or nighttime activities.

When he hunted raccoons with dogs, it was a physical act. You waded through swamps. He traveled through pitch-black woods guided only by the sounds of the dogs. He lugged 30-pound animals out of the woods back through those same swamps and dark woods dragging a couple hounds as well. Then at the end of the night with dawn approaching, he skinned, stretched hides and maybe grabbed a couple hours sleep before it was time to get up and work the auto mechanic job that was his profession.

Or he spent his evenings floating rivers, spearing or pole-fishing for catfish, carp or gar. Hauling the flat-bottom boat and equipment from beds of pick-up trucks or off the roof of a family’s car to launch and reversing the process at the end of the float fishing excursion.

Trapping was another sport he squeezed into his evenings and mornings scheduled around work. Traps would be set and checked and the harvested animals prepared for the fur market. He hauled a basket of steel traps and the trapped animals, down edges of creeks, around lakes in his waders and edges of forests and field, breathing in the life of the active outdoorsman.

Most of the time when I woke in the morning, the only proof of my Dad’s existence was what he had harvested during the time he was away. Animals and fish mysteriously deposited for processing or the families consumption.

I remember my first pheasant hunting trip with my Dad. I was 12. We went all day and we went at his pace. I knew that was expected and it was also what I expected of myself. At the end of that day, I could barely finish walking out of the fields. My gun felt like I was carrying a military field piece of huge caliber. I honestly had never been more exhausted in my entire life. I also knew that what I had experienced was a beautiful look inside the mystery that was inside of my father. For probably the first time, I shared an exact experience on his terms of what it was that he did when he was doing.

He was evangelizing me--challenging me--to experience living the outdoor life from his view of life. And I was saved.