Danuwoa
Redneck Emperor
It has taken me longer to sit down and start on this than I would have thought. Several reasons why, normal stuff like work, family stuff and whatnot but I think part of it is writing this story means it’s really over. I don’t want it to be over.
Late last Wednesday night or very, very early last Thursday morning, depending on how you look at it and who you ask, me and one of my closest and best friends departed for Wyoming for a turkey hunting trip.
This trip was something we had planned for the last year and even though I got up at three that morning and the Atlanta airport also known as the seventh ring of Hades as far as I’m concerned was as ridiculous and awful as it is any other time, none of it dampened our excitement.
My buddy Daniel and I were in the Marine Corps together, served in Iraqi Freedom together and both being Georgia boys we made each other a promise we would get together regularly after we got out of the Corps. We have made good on that promise and have hunted and fished together for the nearly twenty years that have passed since then. When my daddy died and I went to the funeral home for his visitation there was Daniel when I walked in. Got off work, drove from Atlanta, put on his Sunday best in his truck, and drove home after. They don’t make many of em like him and I’m blessed to have him as a friend. He has been on several hunting trips out west. This was my first. As much as I wanted to go he had to talk me into it. I can be like that sometimes. I’m glad I listened to him.
After waiting around in the airport, running up with two of the three others who were going with us, it was finally time to board our flight. We had to fly to Minneapolis, catch another flight to Rapid City South Dakota, and rent a car and drive to Alzada Montana which is where we were actually staying with the hunting taking place right over the state line in Wyoming.
I was fired up. If you know much about me you know there are few things I love as much as hunting turkeys. And the prospect of killing a Miriam was really exciting. But beneath my enthusiasm was something else. I was nervous. Not much scares me. I have long since shed any fear I ever had of death. But I was nervous about the flights. I couldn’t understand why. I’ve flown many times. Always enjoyed it. But I was dreading these flights. After trying to force myself to think about something else, I finally just decided to confront it. I was worried about my daughter. I’ve got a ten year old daughter who means more to me than anything in the world and the thought of leaving her too soon was gnawing at me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. As excited as I was, Driveby Truckers’ song about the Lynyrd Skynyrd plane crash, Angels and Fuselage, was playing on a loop in my head. Patterson Hood’s almost whispered lyrics about what must have been going through Ronnie Van Zant’s mind as that plane plummeted toward the Louisiana swamp and his untimely death were almost audible.
Lookin out the window
The trees are gettin closer it seems
I’m thinkin bout you darlin
Addin up the cost of these dreams
That sure was hitting home. What was I doing leaving my family for such a self indulgent act as a hunting trip out west? I’m no rich guy. What if this was how I left them. I thought a fitting epitaph would be, “Here lies a selfish, stupid man.” But my wife and daughter had encouraged me to make this trip as they both knew how much it meant to me. I finally drove my negative thoughts away with the lyrics to one of Mike Cooley’s songs from the same album which has long served as something of a personal mantra for me.
Dead is dead and it ain’t no different
Than walkin around if you ain’t livin
Livin in fear is just another way
Of dyin before your time
I put those negative thoughts behind me, shut my mouth, and got on the plane headed for an adventure of a lifetime.
To be continued…
Late last Wednesday night or very, very early last Thursday morning, depending on how you look at it and who you ask, me and one of my closest and best friends departed for Wyoming for a turkey hunting trip.
This trip was something we had planned for the last year and even though I got up at three that morning and the Atlanta airport also known as the seventh ring of Hades as far as I’m concerned was as ridiculous and awful as it is any other time, none of it dampened our excitement.
My buddy Daniel and I were in the Marine Corps together, served in Iraqi Freedom together and both being Georgia boys we made each other a promise we would get together regularly after we got out of the Corps. We have made good on that promise and have hunted and fished together for the nearly twenty years that have passed since then. When my daddy died and I went to the funeral home for his visitation there was Daniel when I walked in. Got off work, drove from Atlanta, put on his Sunday best in his truck, and drove home after. They don’t make many of em like him and I’m blessed to have him as a friend. He has been on several hunting trips out west. This was my first. As much as I wanted to go he had to talk me into it. I can be like that sometimes. I’m glad I listened to him.
After waiting around in the airport, running up with two of the three others who were going with us, it was finally time to board our flight. We had to fly to Minneapolis, catch another flight to Rapid City South Dakota, and rent a car and drive to Alzada Montana which is where we were actually staying with the hunting taking place right over the state line in Wyoming.
I was fired up. If you know much about me you know there are few things I love as much as hunting turkeys. And the prospect of killing a Miriam was really exciting. But beneath my enthusiasm was something else. I was nervous. Not much scares me. I have long since shed any fear I ever had of death. But I was nervous about the flights. I couldn’t understand why. I’ve flown many times. Always enjoyed it. But I was dreading these flights. After trying to force myself to think about something else, I finally just decided to confront it. I was worried about my daughter. I’ve got a ten year old daughter who means more to me than anything in the world and the thought of leaving her too soon was gnawing at me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. As excited as I was, Driveby Truckers’ song about the Lynyrd Skynyrd plane crash, Angels and Fuselage, was playing on a loop in my head. Patterson Hood’s almost whispered lyrics about what must have been going through Ronnie Van Zant’s mind as that plane plummeted toward the Louisiana swamp and his untimely death were almost audible.
Lookin out the window
The trees are gettin closer it seems
I’m thinkin bout you darlin
Addin up the cost of these dreams
That sure was hitting home. What was I doing leaving my family for such a self indulgent act as a hunting trip out west? I’m no rich guy. What if this was how I left them. I thought a fitting epitaph would be, “Here lies a selfish, stupid man.” But my wife and daughter had encouraged me to make this trip as they both knew how much it meant to me. I finally drove my negative thoughts away with the lyrics to one of Mike Cooley’s songs from the same album which has long served as something of a personal mantra for me.
Dead is dead and it ain’t no different
Than walkin around if you ain’t livin
Livin in fear is just another way
Of dyin before your time
I put those negative thoughts behind me, shut my mouth, and got on the plane headed for an adventure of a lifetime.
To be continued…
