The Old Man

elfiii said:

The Old Man

I don’t know when the “bug” bit me, but suffice it to say I was drawn to the Outdoors early in my youth. Like most young enthusiasts of the pursuits a field I had my mentor, my grandfather.

He was a South Georgia descendant of folks who settled that corner of the state, a long time ago. The son of a hardware man, he grew up in the hardscrabble world of barbed wire spools, nail kegs, hand tools, creosote fence posts and firearms. Winchesters, Ithacas, Remingtons and Brownings held their place on the wall and each could be had for the princely sum of $15 or so. There were no “criminal background checks” involved, merely the details of the transaction whether it be cash, trade, or “on account”. There was a clear understanding guns were not evil, but evil men might well use them. Right was right and wrong was wrong and everybody knew where the line was.

His father, my great grandfather was a sharp businessman who knew at noon on Saturday, business was done for the week. Come Fall, the doors of Ball & Son Hardware were locked and it was off to the dove and quail fields of Thomas County for a few hours of hunting. It was a ritual as constant as the rising sun. Like all young men grown up in a small town rural farming environment, hunting and fishing were as much staples of everyday life as family, work, and church on Sundays.

Thomasville, like other South Georgia towns had its’ rough side, but the populace were genteel and civilized. Everyone, regardless of race, religion, or status were treated both respectfully and graciously and not just in accordance to the “old ways” known by all Southerners. Like all American small towns, religion and worship were the focus of everyday life by everyone. The Word of God was not just spoken and prayed over, it was lived. There was no law or compelling “social hand” involved. They were all true believers and little distinction was made between Protestant and Catholic, Christian and Jew save for the obvious. What was important was that each worshipped in accordance with their beliefs in a Divine God. My grandfather was one of these.

Like others of his time, he was the “complete man”. While gentle and soft, there was a spine of stainless steel, tempered by years of “doing the right thing” based on lessons learned, one day at a time. There was a time and a season for all things under the sun, but always there was honesty in ones dealings, integrity in character, forthrightness in one’s bearing, humility in faith and respect for time honored traditions, morals and values.

In my younger years, he showered me with love and attention. I was the oldest of four, but no favoritism was ever shown. He loved each of us completely and indulged our childish interests and desires. He knew well his job as grandfather.

Years passed and the time of my “awakening” came. While my father loved me dearly, he was a stern taskmaster, determined his children would grow up with the same values passed to him and my mother by my grandparents. My grandfather understood this and used his position and my stage of development to “teach” rather than “discipline”. His object was to compliment the lessons my parents were teaching, using the “soft handed” approach. Our connection in this regard was the love of the outdoors we both shared and he turned this fact to his and my advantage.

Thanksgivings and Christmases were my opportunity to be with him and “Sport” in the late Fall harvested corn and hedge rows that were home to the bobwhite quail. We would walk for hours behind Sport as he worked the fields in search of our prey. We would talk about my interests and his. We would discuss right and wrong. When he caught my young mind straying from the straight and narrow, the course correction was accomplished by the simple statement “I don’t know chum. Maybe there is a better way”. It was my sign something deeper was about to unfold and the lessons my father had tried to teach to a recalcitrant youth were made clear to me by object lesson applied with gentle guidance.

I recall a time when I was 11 or so. We were walking the corn rows when Sport pointed a covey. My pulse went off the chart. Handing me a shell for my single shot .410 he said “Let’s close up quick son. Sport has found ‘em”. We took our positions on either side of the dog and the covey flushed. On the rise I hurried my shot in youthful impatience. My aim was sufficient to knock the bird down but not kill it. My grandfather meanwhile dropped one on the rise and one on the swing, a classic double, and a contrast in age and skill against youth and exuberance.

As Sport worked to retrieve the birds, he sensed my distress over having wounded the bird. When Sport returned with my bird still alive in his mouth, he quietly retrieved the bird and dispatched it. Turning to me, he smiled and said “You have to fold ‘em son. You can’t “rag” them down (Fluttering hand held high and descending towards the ground for added emphasis). It was all he said and all that needed be said.

On another occasion Sport was in rare form and pointed covey after covey and found all the “braces” and “singles” after the initial flush. It was magic watching the dog work to find them. We were close to our limit, but the dog was tiring. “Grandaddy, can we stay and get our limit?” I asked. “We’ve got enough for a meal son. We better leave some for the next hunt” was his reply. “Take only what you need”, another lesson learned. Over and over, time after time, he used such opportunities to instill in me all the values and teach all the lessons other adults were unable to reach me with, in a gentle voice with a smile on his face.

I love life. Mine has been full and rewarding. I have been undeservedly blessed beyond measure and each day of life is a gift, yet I do not fear my passing. When it is my turn, beloved family and treasured friends will be there to greet me. He will be standing in the back as each one of them welcomes me home. My grandmother will invoke him forward to welcome his grandson into the loving arms of family. He’ll step forward and smile, embrace me and ask “Are you ready? I’ve been waiting. The shotguns are here and the dog is ready.” I’ll wink at him, we will take leave of loved ones and together, once again, we will take to the field. Under a clear blue autumn sky, Sport will work the birds and we will watch and talk about old times as we walk the endless corn rows stretching into the November sun hanging low on the horizon.

Click to expand...

Nicodemus said:

Still as good to read now as it was then.

You know, Lee, there`s some here that are about to reach that "Elder" status.

Click to expand...