thehundredlittledramas

Goodbye, Boy

Yesterday was my Dad’s birthday. He would have been 84 years old.

Today, my brother and I closed on the sale of the retirement home my parents built twenty-two years ago.

We said goodbye to my Mom in 1998. My Dad died seven years ago.

I suppose my life cycle with my parents is typical of many people. When I was a kid my parents made me feel safe and loved. Among many other things, they taught me the value of reading, laughter, and being thoughtful of others.

As a younger adult my Mom and Dad were my friends. I truly enjoyed hanging out with them.

As they grew old and cancer proceeded to destroy their bodies, I became their caregiver.

For better or worse, I am one of those people who never, truly, grew up. I find it hard to sit still, always in motion, looking for the next thing to do. I am inquisitive. I am naïve, particularly when it comes to human interaction. I will trust you before you’ve earned it. I am optimistic. I'd rather play than work.

In many ways I am still the boy I was many years ago. 

I also hate goodbyes. I am not very good at them, but not for lack of opportunity. I’ve said final goodbyes to both parents. An unborn daughter. Beloved family dogs. And now a home that was more than a physical presence holding memories I hold dear.

I’ve always sought solace in the outdoors. Our home on ten wooded acres was my playground and safe haven. The boy in me found comfort and joy there.

Goodbye, boy.

 

An Ending In The Snow

After a wildly successful bow season it was a predictable, if not true, statement that I would make to anyone who cared to listen that "It really doesn't matter if I shoot a buck during the gun season. I've already had a great deer season."

My statement sounded good, but rang hollow. I really wanted to shoot a deer during Wisconsin's gun deer season.

Opening Day dawned with me in a familiar perch in Washburn County. Few shots rang out across the big woods as the morning progressed. I had promised myself and my hunting partner brother that I was going to sit all day in my treestand. 

Pre-season optimism gave way to minor despair when by 11:45 I still had not spotted hide nor hair of a deer. All of the deer sign and live deer sightings from throughout the fall meant nothing now; the deer in our area simply were not on their feet.

However, at a few clicks before noon, the telltale crunch crunch crunch sound of a deer walking quickly upon the carpet of dead leaves made its way to my ears. I turned in my stand and spotted a large doe quartering away from my position. Minor despair, meet unexpected joy. I found the left front shoulder of the deer in my scope and squeezed the trigger.

The doe died quickly and just like that I had another deer on the ground. My brother helped me get the deer back to the house and we were back in the woods by the time the first snowflakes started collecting on the ground.

The snow picked up in intensity as the afternoon waned. A perfect afternoon sit. But, no deer sightings. 

Back home in the cozy cabin we warmed up and dried out. We prepared venison backstraps on the grill. We went to bed tired and without complaint. It had been a great day.

Sunday morning we were back in our preferred treestands. Again, a slow morning with no deer sightings by 10AM. I texted my brother that we should descend our trees and make some one man drives to each other.

I was driver on the first effort, moving slowly, stopping often, working across oak ridges and thick evergreen swamps. The fresh snow revealed fresh deer sign. But no deer worked past my brother on his stand.

Next we tackled a piece of the property that is more hilly and open terrain, but usually holds bucks during the rut. For this one, my brother did the pushing, and I took up my stand near The Ski Hill, a distinguishing landmark and pinch point where deer from our past have crossed a skinny grown over logging road.

When I had been waiting 30 minutes I grew more aware, knowing my brother would be approaching soon. Deer drives seldom work out as hoped for or planned. But guess what? This one improbably did.

In the exact space I was staring at a large buck appeared, dropping over the lip of a ridge, then plunging down and across the logging road, 40 yards to my left. I attempted to stop the buck with a vocalization of a doe bleat, but he ignored or didn't hear my call. In between a fast walk and a slow trot, the buck moved quickly through the wooded cover. I found him in my scope and he dropped at the report from my gun.

I quickly walked closer to the downed buck to make certain he wasn't going anywhere. A minute later my brother appeared coming down the same ridge edge as the buck. We walked up on the buck and could barely believe our eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Men of action are favored by the Goddess of luck. Good advice from an old deer hunter.

Migration

 

No spring.  There is no sun, no warmth.  There is no hope.

Dead ice stretches to the horizon; bruised, pockmarked, unsafe.  Traffic cuts through the center of Horicon Marsh along a frozen ribbon of blacktop backlit by a hint of sunrise far to the east. 

Ice and snow lock land and water.  Every day is numbingly the same.  Hospital corridors as white and blinding as the stubborn snow outside.  Lives reduced to waiting.

Spring migrations, driven by mystery and instinct, have begun despite an atmosphere insisting that winter lives.

Winterlong dead cattails own height from here to the horizon. Now, the geese have arrived, and they alone reach any significant height above this dead world.  I understand why the geese make frequent sorties across the sky. What creature would choose to be earthbound in this unforgiving frozen world?

The world turns, the universe advances, men wonder. Some things are unstoppable. This brings joy. This brings despair.

We drive when the world is dark. Our eyes locked ahead following the glare of headlights that cut a foggy March night. Dawn leaks light slowly until finally one realizes it’s a new day. Returning home our bed becomes our refuge. Hands are held and reassurances exchanged, some of which are actually believed. Sleep comes grudgingly, troubling dreams follow, until one day ends and another begins. We march on, but not forward.

I am mad at God. Not forever. Just for now. Don’t tell me “things happen for a reason” when the subject is our doomed unborn baby. You don’t want to have that discussion with me right now.

 

This marsh is world famous but it’s mine because I know it, remember it:  it's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. In a black and white world I plied the back bays and potholes with my Dad. We visited every fall because that's where the wild birds were. The world was hopeful, then. Even dead cattails and the end of a season could not dampen our enthusiasm. We huddled together in cold darkness, sharing sunrises and sunsets. Family.

I was a child. My Dad took me places that shaped the way I view the world. We shared a vision and a place and it wasn’t through words that we experienced the world and grew closer.

One night, long after returning home from a hunt, I became upset and couldn’t fall asleep. I was young, but not so young that my Mom should have had to comfort me. My father had shot a goose that day and it had not died well. The vision of this dying goose troubled me.

I have a quirky habit. When a flock of geese fly over me, whether driving or hiking or whatever, I will, very quickly and accurately, count the flock. I admire their flight, their strength, and the music they make.

 

Erin and I are the reason there is this sad story to tell, but it’s not really our story. This is a story that is too short, a story that ends before it truly begins.

This is Anna’s story, but she has no voice, so by default it becomes our story and I am left to write my way out of it.

I am damaged and lost. Without hesitation I would trade my life for Erin’s life; I would trade my life for any of my kid's lives.  We don’t get these choices, do we?

This story is about my baby girl that never had a chance. She has a story and I keep that story close and will tell it for as long as I can count birds in the sky.