R F ROM A POUND of hamburger to a box of shotgun shells, the general store in the small town in which I grew up could supply just about anything. And the rotund, apron-clad storekeeper who pumped gas and trimmed your Sunday roast, also presided over the issuance of hunting licenses. 2 In Clearfield County in the mid1900s, getting your first hunting license marked a rite of passage. While my dad and the storekeeper had commenced this same ritual for three older brothers, there was no hint of lessened solemnity or importance when my turn came. WWW.PENNGAMENEWS.COMhttp://WWW.PENNGAMENEWS.COM