Grandpa’s Rifle

It was just a few very long days ago I said goodbye to my hero, my Dad. An emotional roller coaster to be sure, and its long from over.  Oh, I’m perfectly at peace with the fact that Dad is in The Kingdom, and at peace. My faith assures me of that.

Anyone who has traveled this road knows there are so many details to take care of after the passing of a loved one. While with my Mom today, she gave me a few things Dad wanted me to have. There are a lot of things, but one was Grandpa’s rifle.  I have several that were my Dads that he gave me many years ago, Sweet 16, an Ithaca  Model 37 16 gauge pump action shotgun that I cut my hunting teeth on popping pheasants and rabbits as a young teen. Then there is the Stevens .22 single shot bolt action rifle that I learned to shoot with. Dad bought it when he was 14.  To this day, shouldering that gun is akin to slipping on an old pair of slippers. It just feels good in the hand, and shoots dead on. Many a rabbit was introduced to the stew pot by that gun.

My Dad, and his Dad, hunted off and on together back in the day. By the time I became old enough, my Dad had given it up, for various reasons. The least of which was the simple fact that he didn’t like being cold, and he was busy working his ass off. So, as I got interested, it more or less a self learned recreation. Dad never killed a deer, and I oftent joked with him that its probably a good thing he didn’t teach me to hunt. We both got a good laugh.

But what Dad did teach me is a love of the shooting sports. He was always a stauch supporter of the right to bear arms, and we spent many hours together shooting holes in an old steel barrel behind his shop when work was slow. We would compete for the tightest groups, or hitting a bottle cap hanging by a string. Then we would try to cut the string. Thousands of rounds went into his burn barrel. Dad loved to shoot, and taught me a lot about shooting, and safety. Screw up a safety rule, and there would be hell to pay. Thats just the way it was. Guns weren’t toys, and I knew it at an early age. But Dad trusted me, and never kept his guns a “secret”. My kids were reared in the same way, with the same predicatble results.

Anyway, when Mom handed me that gun case this afternoon, I was speechless, and felt a tear well up in the corner of my eye. I first saw that rifle after my Grandpa has passed when I was 14, when my Grandma gave it to my Dad. To my knowlege, it has not been fired  since Dad got it. It was his Dads, and its been cased since. Dad did have a scope mount put on it several years back, but never put the scope on, and didn’t shoot it. He told me then that when he was gone, it would be mine.

Sadly, it now is. I slowly took it out, made sure it was clear, and worked the bolt a couple times. Smooth, tight, smelled like Hoppes #9. I closed my eyes and could see Grandpa slipping through the northern Michigan swamps with it, in his plaid red wool hunting suit, stalking deer.

The rifle is a Remington Model of 1917 .30-06. Bolt action beauty. Its stock is not fancy, as it was orignally a military rifle. Its going to take me some research to find out its true age, but its in great condition. The leather sling strap is a little dry, but they  just don’t make ‘em like that anymore.  I shouldered it, and it is naturally steady in the hand, and no doubt a fine shooting rifle.  I remembered Dad saying to me once, when I get it, maybe I could do something with it.

I don’t hunt deer in the rifle zone in Michigan. In fact, I’ve only deer hunted with a rifle once in my life. I hunted many seasons with Sweet 16, until I bought a newer 12 gauge slug gun, and lately, a muzzleloader. As I looked over this beautiful rifle, now in its 3rd generation in our family, a few things came to mind. My Grandpa loved to hunt,and fish, and that is for sure still alive in me, and my sons.

Dad was stationed for a time during his military service at Lowry AFB in Colorado, and I remember his love of the Rocky Mountains from his stories he told.  I have bowhunted the Colorado Rockies several times, and they are forever burned into my heart as my favorite place in the world.

While I really prefer to hunt with my longbow over a firearm, I thought, wouldn’t it be awesome to take Grandpa’s rifle, Dads rifle, out west one time, and hunt elk with it. One hunt. One time. One shot. One elk. I know Dad and Grandpa would be looking over my shoulder the whole time.  When I get to the top of the mountain, I can scatter some of Dads ashes over the mountains he loved, carrying Grandpa’s rifle, in a place as close to Heaven as I can get here on Earth. feel the cold steel, the smell of Hoppes #9, gunpowder, oak brush and juniper.

Yeah, I think I’ll go huntin next fall, with Dad and Grandpa.

Go Rest High, On That Mountain…

 

Son your work, on earth is done. Go to Heaven a shoutin, love for the Father, and Son. 

These are lyrics to a song by Vince Gill. Anyone who has lost someone close, and has heard this song, no doubt put a few tears on the floor.

On March 22, 1934, Lloyd and Mary McIntosh welcomed into this world a son, Douglas.  Doug proudly served his country in the United States Air Force as an Ordinance technician during the Korean War. He was not drafted, he volunteered. He was always proud of his service to his country. He should be, he served his country well at a time America needed him.

On December 7, 1956, Doug married Beverly Gibb, and together raised 4 children. I am fortunate, and blessed, to be one of them. Doug was a hard working man, marking out his place plying his trade in the auto repair business, particularly the radiator and air conditioning business. When I was 10, Dad moved the family to a small farming community in Michigans Thumb, and started his own shop. He busted his tail, often working  late into the night, to get his customers cars, trucks, and farm equipment back on the road. I remember many times he would load tools into the truck to make an onsite repair at a farm, so the farmer could get back to getting his crops off.

When a fire wiped out his business, and landed him hospitalized with serious burn injuries, it could not keep him down. He rebuilt, and reopened his shop. He ran it until 1982, when he decided he could no longer keep the pace.

I remember coming home from school, thinking I was gonna sneak out for a little rabbit hunting. Dad, having a few chores for me, had a trick up his sleeve. I reached for my .22 rifle, and damn if the bolt was missing! Yeah, Dad was one step ahead of me. He took it out, and said I’d get it back when my chores were done. If he wasn’t hiding the bolt to the .22 he was hiding my shell bag for the 20 gauge I  used pheasant hunting. Now Dad had never been much for small game hunting, and had given up deer hunting when i reached the age. But always, he would encourage me in my adventures afield, and a smile would spread across his face when I brought home game, happy in my success. Then for him, it was back to work. But he often had some miserable chore for me, be it straightening cooling fins on a ‘dozer radiator, or chipping ice from the walkway in front of the shop, so his customers wouldn’t slip and fall. When those were done, to his satisfaction, then I could go hunting.

Dad always had a saying, ” If you can’t do the job the right way, then its  not worth  doing at all”. If I heard that once, I heard it a thousand times. He would not tolerate shoddy work. Especially from me. He taught me to take pride in my work, and to expect more of myself than anyone else would. Then, he told me, you’ll have a satisfied customer.

Dad would occasionally sneak away to do a little salmon fishing, but for the most part, I grew up watching my Dad bust his ass every day to keep the bills paid, a roof over our head, and food on our table.

About 5 years ago, Dad was diagnosed with throat cancer. It was through a freak sequence of events that it was discovered. He had fallen in the kitchen and broke his leg. While in the hospital with a broken femur, he developed a GI bleed from a bleeding ulcer. They went in to cauterize it , and the doctors noticed a tumor on his throat. Chemo and radiation followed, and a fight began. They got it at first, and in a few months, it was back. They took out his larynx, and Dads voice was lost. eventually a prosthetic device gave him a rough ability to talk. Over the next 4 yrs there were reoccurences, more surgery, and a lot of fight.

Dad is the toughest man I have ever met. I do not mean “lift a lot of weight” tough. He’s TOUGH mentally, and emotionally. He’s stared death in the face, and firmly said- Not today. its not time. He trusted his doctors unconditionally. He did what they said. Along with that, he had hundreds of people praying for him . Many had never met him, but knew his kids through one venue or another. Networks of friends, and family, keeping him in their prayers. 

Now I don’t care what someones particular religion is, but I know one thing, prayers by that many do not go unnoticed by God. Whether you believe , or choose not to, thats up to you. But faith and prayer are the two most powerful things I can think of. Those prayers,intended for the toughest man I know, gave us almost 5 more years with Dad. It gave us time to grow stronger as a family. To express our love every day, and appreciate each other. Through all of Dads struggles, Mom has been at his side. Every day. every hour. Every minute. She busted her ass to give him the best care he could get at home. She got plenty of help from my sister, who lives very close by. But all of us pitched in when needed. dad was surrounded by his family. He had busted his butt for years taking care of us. Now it was our turn.

Over my life I learned a lot from Dad. I learned first and foremost to be my own man. To stand up for what I believed, and be willing to fight for it when necessary. Dad was never afraid to speak his mind, and while that may have ruffled some feathers from time to time, he rarely left you wondering about what he thought about any given topic. I guess I got a double scoop of that from him .

Throughout his struggle with his health problems, he never once complained. Not one time. And there was a lot of pain, and a lot of emotions. He treated his caregivers well. And he had a lot of them. He also never lost his sense of hunor,

God called Dad home on Sunday night, 11-24-08.  Dad was cancer free at the time of his passing. But the battle scars weren’t hard to see. He breathed through a hole in his neck. It was alot of work to maintain that. God decided he had had enough. His Work, On Earth Was Done. Dad passed ever so peacefully as he slept, and now rests, High on the  Mountain. 

I have been on an emotional roller coaster for the past 2 days. But as  I type this, tears cloud the screen.  Of one thing, I am certain. I can feel Dads love around me, like he’s giving my heart a hug. Telling me he’s ok.

Dad, we will take care of Mom, I promise you that. I will never forget the lessons you taught me, and will do my best to pass them along to your grandsons.  I know you will be with us in our daily travels, looking over my shoulder, guiding me along the way. Or kicking me in the ass, what ever be the case.

Today I said goodbye ( for now) to Dad. I love him, and will miss seeing him. God will welcome his sense  of humor. Even angels need a good laugh.

 

 

MISS ME – BUT LET ME GO

When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me.
I want no rites in a gloom-filled room.
Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little but not too long,
And not with your head bowed low.
Remember the love that we once shared.
Miss me, but let me go.

For this is a journey we all must take.
And each must go alone.
It’s all a part of the Master’s Plan,
A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely and sick of heart
Go to the friends we know.
And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds.
Miss me – but let me go.

- Helen Steiner Rice -

 

I am not there

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on the snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die….

-Mary Elizabeth Frye-

 

In loving memory of my Dad,

Douglas O. McIntosh

1934-2008

I miss you .

The Mistress and I

Back in June, in a blog I posted entitled ” I Wait No Longer”, I wrote of the delivery of my newest longbow, the coveted Arrow Inlay Thunderstick longbow. I promptly named this bow The Mistress.  Since then, The Mistress and I have been inseparable, every shoot I attended, any time I feltthe need to unwind and fling some arrows, its been with The Mistress.

This October, when the time came for archery deer season, you can bet your best dozen arrows that we were in the woods together. It was my desire to initiate The Mistress by taking a worthy whitetail deer with this awesome shooting longbow. In preparation for the season, I built a couple dozen wood arrows. I don’t believe in shooting no ugly arrows, so these were complimentary to the bow from which they flew./ we attended several 3D shoots, along with basement and backyard practice, as well as trips in the woods stump shooting.  By fall, we worked as a team, The Mistress and I.

Come opening day, we started our quest. Without replaying our entire season, lets just say we had an incredible season. Several close opportunities came and went, and before I knew it, the firearm season was just 2 days away. Yet, we had not fulfilled our quest.

The evening of Nov13th was the beginning of the Hunters Moon, a cool evening with fair winds and partly cloudy skys. The Mistress and I found ourselves perched in a ladder stand between an overgrown wild apple orchard, and the edge of the woods. This place, known to those of us who hunt here, is called The Production Line.  This stand has been a regular producer over the years, including several bucks.

About 5pm, I heard movement in the woods behind me. Turning slowly, I spotted a buck working towards me. I reached and The Mistress was in my hand, poised and ready . A lot could happen before the buck gotto my shooting lane, adn I hoped he would not spot me. When he turned up the trail that would brinmg him to me, I felt my pulse quicken, and my breath seem a little harder. I closed my eyes and breathed in a few deep calming breaths. The buck closed the distance, oblivious to my presence. He stepped behind the apple tree, and I raised my longbow, and slowly drew the string to my cheek. I focused hard on a spot behind the bucks shoulder, and silently offered my prayer- Lord, a clean kill or a clean miss is all I ask. Amen. 

The buck stepped clear of the last branch. I squeezed my back muscles together, and felt, if only for an instant, my finger touch the corner of my mouth. It was at this instant, that allthe practice, all the preparation, and the dreams of a season all came together. Time slowed to a crawl, and I watched my arrow, fletched with the feathers from a wild turkey, split and ground by by own hand, bury tight behind the bucks shoulder. The razor sharp broadhead undertook its sole purpose, to bring a quick death to the buck. He dashed through the orchard, and was down in less than 15 seconds.

It is always with mixed emotion that only a hunter can understand, the feeling after takingthe life of such a magnficent animal. The whitetail deer is as challenging a quarry as one can pursue with the stick and string. It will provide many a fine meals for my family, 100% natural, lean, healthy venison, free of any of the miriad of chemicals found in store bought meat.

As is my practice, as I affixed my tag to this buck, I said a silent prayer of thanks for the food he will provide, and the lessons learned from a difficult hunt leading up to taking of this buck. Hunting the hard way, with a simple stickbow, and a wood arrow. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

From A Friend A World Away- Encore

A while back I posted about my good friend serving in Afghanistan, who would be bringing home with him anmd American flag flown in combat, to give to Camp Wilderness.  Well thanks to God wathcing out for him, he returned homke safely to us a couple weeks ago.The night he got back here to Michigan on leave, he came over to the house, and as he had promised, presented to me a crisply folded American Flag, along with the certificate bearing the mission and crew names who flew this flag into combat.

To me, seeing my friend home safely, nad seeing this flag left me speechless and humbly honored. The flag will be proudly hoisted up the flagpole at Camp Wilderness, to honor those who have served, and those who gave the ultimate sacrifice in Operation Enduring Freedom. The othet thing about it is, Jameson will be the one to raise that flag at Camp, as he is taking leave to come bne part of this summers Camp Wilderness.

It was good to spend time with him while he was home, tossing back a few beers over a good steak dinner. He needed to unwind, and unload a bit after his tour in combat. We talked about what he did and went through while there, and he, not unlike every other service man and woman in theatre, bore an incredible service to our country.  I for one am grateful that we have young people in this country willing to bear the cost every day.

Not to be outdone, I also had a special gift for him. I’ve had it since June, but cannot take full credit for it, as there are a couple dozen fine folks who made it happen. I was just the catalyst to get it started.  Let me first give a little background to this surprise, so you may begin to understand the value of his surprise.

AS I had posted in the past, Jameson has always pitched in to help Benefit4Kids since he was just a young boy. That is how I got to know him. Anyway, as the story goes, every year at the B4K shoot/fundraising weekend, a very special custom longbow is auctioned off. This bow is only available at this type of venue, and connot be bought in any other manner. The bow, a Thunderstick Arrow Inlay longbow, brings a typically hefty price, which is used to fund Outdoor Wish trips for terminally ill kids. The bowyer who makes them, Jim Reynolds, has supported B4K for many years by donation of these wonderfully longbows for the auction.

This was the first year Jameson was not in attendance, as he was busy serving in Afghanistan. As  I was seting up the tables with auction items, I was struck with an idea. I conspired with our aucioneer and longtime supporter to see how many people we could get to pledge $50- $100 each, and see if we could win the bow in the auction, and present it to Jameson upon his return as a thank you for his service to B4K, and to our country. In short order, Kenm and I had pledges from a bunch of people, and the stage was set. we ended up getting the winning bid, which broke all records for the price this bow would bring to B4K, and jameson had his surprise. All told, we raised around $1,900 for B4K.  A few others also threw in a dozen arrows, a bow sock, back quiver, and target to go with the bow.

So, after Jameson had given me the flag for Camp Wilderness, I informed hjim of a surprise we had for him. As I gave him the bow, and told him the story, that tough ol’ Marine was pretty speechless.  It was a good way for him to start out a couple weeks leave time at home. We spent the evening tossing back a few beers, and even found time to shoot a few arrows.

He’s on his way back to duty, who knows what tomorrow’s call will be. But we’re glad to see him home safely.

Thanks Bro, for all you’ve done, and continue to do.

From here on out

Most who know me will tell you that I rarely hide my conservative beliefs, and rarely miss an opportunity to point out the misgivings, and  plain hypocrisy demonstrated by the liberal left. I have been following this upcoming election campaign fairly religiously, as the options we have for future “leadership” of this country to me, seem bleak. Granted, I will likely cast my vote for McCain, butI’ll hold my nose when I do it. Lesser of two evils indeed, but my right and duty to participate in the process was paid for in advance by the blood and lives of true patriots. For me to not vote would, in my mind, be a disservice to those who fought and gave thier lives for our way of life.

Plain and simple, I have no use for Barack Hussein Obama. Hes a left wing socialist, a liar, and a fraud.His very eligibilty to hold the highest office in the land is questionable, as it appears now he’s covered up the fact that he was actually born in Africa. Regardless, that will be hushed my the media.

On the other hand is McCain. His nomination was the result of media biased during the primary process. To me, this whole financial meltdown flap our nation now faces, is the result of combined underhanded dealing and political pandering by both parties, and McCain is just as responsible for it as the rest of ‘em. In reality, Obama might not be, as he is never around to vote, but his blind eye and silence speak louder than words. The seeds of this collapse were sowed by Democrats, and fertized by Republicans. They are both working to bankrupt America, and doing a fine job of it.  One from the top down, the other from the bottom up. We in the middle are gonna get doubled tapped, that is for certain.

But where conservatism has failed, in my mind is within our education system. We have allowed over the past 25-30 yrs, the left wing liberals to take over our halls of education. We are now about to fully reap the results of that, unchecked by the right.

Liberalism has permeated our schools, by gradually filling the ranks of teachers with liberals who espouse the thought that the role of govt is to provide for the people. Teachers unions, which are in and of themselves cesspools of liberal/socailist wannbes, have strong armed our schools into pushing thier agenda into the classrooms. They have been allowed to re-write curriculum, and filter history to paint a promising picture of a nation where govt is the answer to all of our woes. They have attacked personal accomplishment, snuffed free thinking, re-written history and over a period of years, now are controlling the minds of  our youth. Colleges and K-12 schools alike are staffed with educators which ranks find conservatism to be a very small minority. When private alternatives to govt schools are proposed, the unions and left wing fight viciously to quell their success.

That chicken, has come home to roost. The result is that a growing majority of our nation actual now believe that the function of our govt is to provide for us. Health Care insurance, food, housing, education, security, etc. They are now actually beginning to believe that via class warfare, the “rich” must pay more. That Capitalism is a bad thing, and we must tax those who make more that their “fair share”. Thus, they are going to vote for liberal candidates that will enact those ideals taught to them by our liberal school system.

Now lets not be lulled into thinking the Right is blameless. They have , along with the left, sold our our manufacturing industry, and created an inability forthem to compete with foreign competition. They allow CEO’s to reap ridiculous bonuses and salaries, while taking the jobs of those who worked so hard to make a business successful, and export them to Mexico. They support those who would strip employees of benefits and retirement after years of loyal service to a company in the name of profits . Don’t misunderstand me, I believe those who work hard and take on the risks and expense of running a business, large or small should be able to reap the rewards and riches of thier hard work. That is, and has been, the American dream , and the American way for 232 years and running. But the corporate greed needs to be reigned in, especially when it begins to erode the fabric of capitalism, and the dreams of the workers who put the names of these companies on the map.

Lets look at this whole  bail out of wal street and the banking industry. Since when is it supposed to be a functioin of govt to pay for the collective screw-ups of the banks?  We have made a huge leap away from our Founding Fathers ideals. Banks, through their own mismanagement, lost thier collective asses. govt buys/bails them out, and thus takes over an entire private sector industry. I find that troubling to say the least.  Corporate welfare, plain and simple. When Pres. Bush could not get the votes through the Senate, they sweetened the deal with more pork to buy the votes of the dissenting Senators, Democrats and Repulicans alike. What this proves is the depth of corruption and greed in Washington. Neither candidate, McCain or Obama, will do anything to reverse that. The way I see it, we’re screwed no matter which way we go. The only real differences are social issues such as abortion, 2nd Amendment, and the like.

In 4 years, we will be living in a very different America. Of that, I am certain.  WE THE PEOPLE, have allowed it to happen, and now  there is truly little we can do to stop it. 

Yeah, this post is a real Debbie Downer. I am usually quite optimistic. But I’m also realisitic. And to me, in this instance, realism trumps optimism.

Come Nov. 4th, we the people, are screwed!

Balls.

I admit, I have not added to, or updated this blog in some time.  I’ve been busy, and since I don’t make any income from my rants and ramblings, I needed a break. I have burned out out on the political decay in this country. This campaign season is the worst I have ever seen.

It has exposed this country’s Representative Govt for the incompetent, greedy, self serving bunch of arrogant panty-wastes for what they really are.  They are ruining this country as fast as they can. Wall Street welfare, Govt takeovers of or attempts thereof of many of our biggest capitalist institutions.

 

CHAnge, change, change.  I’m going to freakin puke if I hear that word one more time.

I have a better catch-phrase or slogan I’d like to hear out of one of these pompous windbags- BALLS!

Have the BALLS to stand up, and do something that actually does something good for the people.

Have the BALLS to tell liberals to take their socialism dressed in Obama clothing to F@(&* Off.

HAve the BALLS to tell corporate greed CEO’s to quit screwing the very workforce that has made theem successful.

Have eh BALLS to bend NAncy Pelosi and Harry Reid over, and shove the Constitution up thier asses. They can’t read it, maybe that would get thier attention.

Tell John McCain he should have had the BALLS to vote NO on the Wall Street Bailout Wefare Act.  But no, he went along, earmarks and all, with the Libs.

 

This country is being neutered by these gutless pricks.

When are we the people going to have the BALLS to do something about it?

I have never missed a Presidential election. I feel many good men shed their blood, or gave thier lives for my  right to vote.  But I’m having a hard time getting behind either of these too shitheads. Hell, Sarah Palin has more BALLS than either of them. But she’s playing 2nd fiddle to McCain, who I believe left his in Hanoi.

Dingin’ Doun the Doo

I found this site while websurfing. As a enthusiast of the longbow, this sounds like a greatway to spend the day.  Of course the pub crawl afterwards would be a perfect end to the day. This gets the the AutumnArcher Seal of Approval!  Hoist a glass to the Kilwinning Archers.

http://www.askarts.co.uk/aska.html

The Ancient Society of Kilwinning Archers is the oldest archery organisation in the United Kingdom if not in the world. Its first recorded Papingo shoot was in 1483 and the Society has been in existence ever since. In the event of there being no shooting members the Town Clerk took the office of Secretary so that the Society could continue. The shooting at the Papingo was somewhat of a civic occasion as witness this account from old records::

The day started at Smithstone House, which is about a mile North of the town. The Archers formed behind a band and the burgh mace-bearer who hoisted the Papingo onto the head of his civic Lochaber Axe and led the procession to the butts. After a round had been shot there the procession reformed and marched round the town with a free drink being taken at each of the 25 or so inns . Each archer shot one arrow in his turn until the “doo” had been
“Dinged doun”, The new Captain – the first to knock the Papingo
off its perch – was invested with his “Benn of Crimson Taffety”
and presented with the Kilwinning Silver Arrow.  When the “doo” has been “dinged doun” it is replaced on its horizontal pole at the top of the Tower, the wings are loosened and the hitting of each wing is rewarded with a rosette. If, after two hours shooting, the Papingo has not been knocked off its perch then the result is recorded as “The bird flew” and neither trophy nor rosettes are awarded. The honour of being the person who “dings doun the doo” does not necessarily go to the most experienced archer – the trophy has been won by a Junior Archer on more than one occasion in recent years.

 

Lunch was then taken at the Masonic Lodge (The Mother Lodge) followed by the Society’s Annual General Meeting. This having been completed the Archers proceeded to the Abbey Tower. The outgoing Captain faced away from the Tower and shot an arrow into the middle distance, thus discharging his duties The Papingo was then flown from the Tower and the Archers endeavoured to “ding doun the doo”. They shot in order of merit decided on at the butts and had to keep one foot on the lower step of the Abbey entrance. Each archer shot one arrow in his turn until the “doo” had been
“Dinged doun”, The new Captain – the first to knock the Papingo
off its perch – was invested with his “Benn of Crimson Taffety”
and presented with the Kilwinning Silver Arrow.

When the “doo” has been “dinged doun” it is replaced on its horizontal pole at the top of the Tower, the wings are loosened and the hitting of each wing is rewarded with a rosette. If, after two hours shooting, the Papingo has not been knocked off its perch then the result is recorded as “The bird flew” and neither trophy nor rosettes are awarded. The honour of being the person who “dings doun the doo” does not necessarily go to the most experienced archer – the trophy has been won by a Junior Archer on more than one occasion in recent years

Keeping In Touch- Much Easier These Days.

I well remember as a young Navy Seabee, tossing by seabag on the truck, and climbing into the plane for my first overeseas deployment. Granted, it was during peacetime, but the anxiety and anticipation of  venturing to another country for the first time was very real. Soon enough I was on the ground at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba for a 9 month deployment.  I soon found that the only way to keep in touch with friends and family  back home was either via US Mail, or making a very expensive phone call on the weekends. I don not remember the exact amount, but seems to me it was well over a buck a minute. That was in 1982.  So, a monthly call home to Mom and Dad was about it for phone calls.

I don’t remember ever seeing pre-paid phone cards in those days. No cell phones either. Al Gore had not invented the internet yet . The highlight of the week was mail call. We would all gather around anxiously waiting to see if we had any letters from home. Girlfriends and wives would season their letters with perfume, and guys would retreat to a quiet place  to read and smell thier mail.  Care packages were ripped open with the delight of a small child on Christmas morning. Phone calls and mail call. That was it.

Thank God, today things are different for our armed forces. While my good friend Jameson has been deployed, I have corresponded with him in so many differnet formats its mind boggling. first, I learned i could send an email, it would be downloaded and printed and delivered to him within a day or two.  He has called a few times, as they have much better access to phones that we ever did. Now he can email via hotmail, yahoo or whatever server he chooses. Instant messenger too. I was driving home from work just the other day, and my cell phone beeped to signal a text message. I figured it would be my wife telling me to pick a jug of millk up on my way home. NO- it was Jameson. texting me via hotmail from Afghanistan! His message? Hey- I need some more Copenhagen, can you send me some??? Unreal.

Your chew will be in the mail tommorrow Bro.

Yeah, he can read my blog over there too.

From A Friend A World Away

A while back I posted about a dear friend, a young man mature well beyond his years who is now serving his country in Afghanistan. I keep in close contact with him, we exchange emails regularly, and some of the stresses of his first overseas deployment remind me of my own, so many years ago.  The difference is the stark reality we are at war, and the stakes for Jameson are much higher.  He has endured some personal struggles as well, making it all the harder. But knowing him as I do, he will prevail, and be a stronger man for it.

Anyway, he had commented to me about really missing being at Camp Wilderness again this year, and I told him not to worry, the Marine Corp. flag will fly at Camp this year to remind all of us of his sacrifice, so we can live in freedom and security.  When I got home from Camp, I asked him if it would be possible to get a flag for Camp Wilderness that was flown in Afghanistan. He assured me he would handle it.

I recieved this email from him today-

 

hey john,
  i was planning on waiting till i got home but i cant wait! that flag that you requested, i picked on up at the px and it is going to be flown on a C-130 on a cargo mission. it will come with a certificate made out to “Camp Wilderness” and the certificate will state the mission, destination, cargo, date, bird, crew, and the crew signs it. hope you like it i am however going to hold on to it to give it to you personally
                       Love ya man
                              Jamie

It will be my distinct honor to hoist this flag up the flagpole at Camp Wilderness next summer. Knowing where it has been, and who it represents makes it a very special flag indeed.

Thank you Cpl. for your service to us all, and for the flag. Godspeed my friend.

A Tree Falls In The Woods

My son and I spent today up at the property we hunt, mending a few fences for my friend/owner who can’t get around so good anymore. After fixing a few bad spots in the wire, we were driving around checking on my ladder stands I was too lazy to take down, when something caught my eye.

I have played on this property since I was 10 years of age. As a young kid, we stomped through the woods, rode horses, and all the usual kid stuff. We climbed to the top of this one particularly large Maple tree at the center of the property. It sits on top on a hill, and sitting in its limbs affords a great view of the place. It sits in a great place, and each fall, as the colors of the leaves turn, its blaze orange leaves signal that its time to hunt. Every season, I spend at least a day or two in the shadow of its branches, or in view of its awesome fall colors. Asa kid, I’ve camped under it. this old Maple tree, its the epicenter of a piece of ground I’ve found recreation on most of my life.

Today, as we drove around, that old tree, with its trunk pushing 5 feet in diameter, caught my eye. Something was different. I parked the truck, and walked to it. As I approached, my heart sank. Half of that majestic old maple layed on the ground. The trunk is divided into 3 massive sections about 10 ft up. At that point, one section was snapped off, and crashed to the ground. It was within the last few days, as the leaves were still green.Obviously a victom of the many recent thunderstorms, and trunk rot.  At the point it gave way, there is a hole going down into the trunk, a sure sign that while much of it still stands watch over the property, the end is near.

Next time I go up there, I am going to cut a few sections of the fallen limbs. My hope is to someday make a bow  from its remains.

Interestingly, where the limb snapped off, it created a flat spot perfect to stand on, and watch the deer trails that run beneath it.
I’ll be in that old tree opening Bow Season.

Spending some time with a dying friend.