Sometimes, in the midst of life’s traumas, it is good to take a walk down memory lane. A change of scenery is a good thing. Even if it is only in the mind.
So—is it hunting season yet?
The headlights got swallowed up in the fog as my Dad “made tracks” one early late autumn morning. We were going hunting. This high treat had my sister (aged 6) and me (aged 81/2) bouncing with excitement—even though Dad woke us up at 3 AM. We picked up his buddy, Paul, and got on the road.
The darkness pressed in around the cab of the truck—a lone vehicle on the road. Us girls were in the back seat.
To go hunting with Dad was rare. Occasionally, he would take us on a Sunday afternoon, and usually ended up yelling at us to tread softly and not make the leaves crunch. Of course, our jabber and his lost patience defeated the whole purpose of quiet and we would go home. Still, a love of the woods and hiking was born in us.
Going hunting on a “real” trip like this meant a breakfast stop in a little town north of us called Chewelah and then onward to wherever we would find game—whatever that was.
Fast in the Fog
Dad liked to drive fast. It’s a family legacy. Grandpa raced stock cars. He even won some races and we have trophies to prove it. I loved the shaking ground and thunder at the start of a race—before Grandpa or somebody else spun out.
I drive fast. But not crazy. I am a careful driver. I defy anyone who says other.
Dad and Paul bumped up and down on the seat in front. No seat belts were required back then.
Paul cleared his throat. “Uh, sure is foggy.”
“Kinda hard to see the road.”
“I can see the road.”
“Uh huh. Where is it, then?”
I don’t remember if the conversation continued, but I doubt it. However, I do remember watching the road after that. I could see the road right in front of the headlights. Yup. It was there.
A bit later on that same trip, still dark in the fog, two little girls had cold feet. We’d trekked around in the ice and snow and we must have been shivering because Dad and Paul dropped their gear and built a fire. Each of them had a child on a knee. They removed boots, rubbed feet until we could feel our toes again.
I think we went home, then.
So much for catching any game.