Pennsylvania Game News - February 2012 - 31

and running rabbits that didn’t make the briar patch. The hunters returned at 12 o’clock for lunch, and to describe it as a feast would be a gross understatement. The taste of Aunt Ruthie’s homegrown vegetables, her wide variety of relish dishes, the pickled eggs and beets, Uncle Mark’s own farm-raised beef, and the fresh baked pies was hard to describe. After Uncle Mark gave the blessing for the food, and for a safe morning hunt, it was time to eat and enjoy the conversation. The morning hunt was recounted in great detail, both the great shots and the ones that got away. I would visualize the hunt from all the talk. As I remember the hunters seated around the kitchen table on those opening days, many grew up during the Great Depression, some had fought in World War II or Korea, and many worked with their hands in various trades that helped build America. It was evident that they respected one another and thoroughly enjoyed the easy give and take of the conversation and gentle ribbing for misses. They were true sportsmen who enjoyed hunting but, more importantly, enjoyed the outdoors and the value of enduring friendships. Many were excellent, naturally-gifted shooters who had proven themselves over many opening days. But they never bragged about their shooting abilities, just quietly confident in themselves and those around them, not only as it pertained to marksmanship, but to safety in the field. I came to realize that this type of respect comes only from associating with one another over many years. The hunt would then resume in the afternoon until bag limits were filled or hunting time ended. As dusk fell, Uncle Mark and I would stand on the porch and listen to the cackling of the pheasants as they prepared to roost for the night. As time passed, I finally reached the age when I could join their ranks on opening day. For me this was, indeed, a milestone in my life, and the anticipation of that first
FEBRUARY 2012

opening morning took on the anticipation of a night before Christmas, when sleep was a precious commodity and the night was filled with dreams of pheasants and making unbelievable shots. My first morning as a hunter, the men around the kitchen table readily accepted me as a member into their fraternity, and in succeeding years they all encouraged, supported and assisted in my continued training as a hunter. As I grew and matured, I learned invaluable lessons about life from the men who gathered around that kitchen table. Time passed and I went to college and then entered the service during the late ’60s, and eventually moved away from Pennsylvania. The hunts at Uncle Mark’s continued, although the ranks started to thin, as my great Uncle Walt, my own dad, Aunt Ruthie and others passed away. Maybe it was a coincidence, but the pheasants seemed to thin out, too. Eventually, I moved back to Pennsylvania and Uncle Mark and I were again able to visit and talk about the “Golden Years” of hunting pheasants on his farm. I told Uncle Mark I would always remember the love and patience shown by the men who gathered at the kitchen table, and how each one in his own way, without even knowing it, influenced my life. They gave me a strong foundation of values and ethics on which to build a lifetime of hunting experiences. I hope that youngsters growing up today have a special place such as Uncle Mark’s, where boys and girls can grow into young men and women, and learn how to be citizens who are respectful and responsible. Each fall when the leaves begin to change, the pumpkins turn orange, a chill nips the evening air and I catch the first wisp of wood smoke, my mind goes back to my special place. I turn my face skyward and say thanks, Dad, Uncle Walt, Uncle Mark and all the others who gathered around the kitchen table for giving me so many memories and for showing me the way. 
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Pennsylvania Game News - February 2012

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