For years, I hunted with my Daddy. We hunted birds...quail, dove and on the rare occasion, duck. I realized on my very first, uneventful and unsuccessful duck hunt that regardless of how cool it was for me to tout it to the boys, it was way too cold! Quail hunting was my favorite; I loved the time that Daddy and I spent in the woods walking and talking. I am sure that is why I have such a long stride in my step today because at 12, you had to bust it to keep up my 6' 2", long-legged father! I loved to watch the dogs work and I loved the sound that only a flushed covey of quail can make. I will never, ever forget the first time I heard that flutter. I couldn't even shoot, I jumped just about all the way out of my three layers of clothes! We had great times together those days and those are the memories I will always treasure.
It soon became evident that quail had no where to live in our area so as the dogs passed, so did our time in the woods. By the time I was in high-school, dove hunting was my only opportunity to sport my camo. Note that when I was hunting, you didn't find a "ladies fit" camouflage anything, anywhere. That Mossy Oak fitted ladies hat with a pink insignia that I wanted so badly yesterday, was nowhere to be found while I was picking off birds!
By this time, Jenny was becoming quite the experienced shooter as well and people took notice when "those girls" entered the field. What the boys didn't know is that we started early. As soon as Henry Horton opened for the season, we were blowing through shells and targets making sure that we'd be on fire come September 1st. It wasn't really about being better than the boys; it was about making Daddy proud. It was just icing on the cake when our trophy pile was bigger than theirs.
When Derek was little, he spent many an hour outside shooting at anything that moved with his little red rubber band-shooting-wooden-shot-gun and we were positive he'd follow in our footsteps. We knew he'd have the passion and the love for the game that we did. At five years old, we even took him with us to the dove field. By this time his red gun had shot its last rubber band, but he fashioned himself a new one with a nearby tree branch and shot up the sky. He fetched downed birds all afternoon and could have given even the best trained four-legged-retrievers a run for their money. Back at Mom and Dad's, he climbed into the back of the truck where we were cleaning birds. This particular season, I was a million months pregnant with Russ and the size of the truck itself. Derek just burst out in tears; "Mom, what if that bird were pregnant like you?" What do you say to that? My sweet little 5-year old boy couldn't imagine loosing his mom and his soon-to-be bother or sister for what he considered "sport" and he was positive that the bird families felt exactly the same. For some reason, the standard, "population control" and "habitat" speeches just didn't really work for this objection. Derek's bird-hunting passion ended right then and there.
Fast forward to fourteen years of age. The boy has decided that as long as they are going to be eaten, it's okay to pluck a few birds from the sky and protect their habitats and control their population. He wanted to hunt last year and in true Loftin-form had practiced and practiced. His name was drawn for the TWRA juvenile hunt and he was ready. The rain was ready too and the only thing that fell from the sky last year was water! 2008 is a different story and we're calling it the inaugural season. Today, Derek and Grandaddy took to the field at the invite of Aunt Ninny and Unc. He looked so old decked out in his mix-matched camo, toting gun cases, stools and coolers. My mind dashed back 19 years ago when I was doing the same and those memories flooded my thoughts. I so badly wanted him to have the same experiences, the same memories, the same love for the sport; I wanted it to be a great day in the dove field.
Hours passed and I was nervous to even call and ask. Finally, I reached Dad and asked the fateful question. Spirits were high and dove were on the ground! I asked quickly, "His dove or my and Jenny's dove?” You see another Loftin trick was that on our first few trips to the dove field, Dad would shoot right along side us and often "we" killed birds that there is no way we were able to. That was Dad for you, always encouraging us and always building our confidence. There was no doubt that he would be willing to do the same for my boy. This time though, there was no need, the birds on the ground belonged to my baby, my very big boy who has come so far from his red-rubberband-gun.
33 - A recap of the last year
12 years ago
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