The Story So Far

I grew up in Arkansas, so I grew up around hunters.

Understand, my dad was never around. My grandfather was, though, and he spent more time outside than inside. So did my brother. So did my other male relatives, friend's dads, my sister's boyfriends (and, later, their husbands), etc.

I wasn't really a hunter, though. Mind you, I was taught to shoot early, and I was pretty good at it. But I never went to the deerwoods...and I didn't really want to, at the time.

My grandfather died when I was 12. I still miss him. About that same time my brother started skittering off to live his life, and I already knew that he probably wasn't a role model I wanted to have.

My older sister was married to man around that time. He wasn't the greatest guy, but he did take me hunting for squirrel and dove. I loved it. My friend Trey and his dad took me hunting for dove and raccoon. Awesome. Loved it, too.

And then I was a teenager. My priorities were

- Girls

- Booze

- Music

I really wasn't worried about hunting, I promise.

In college, I was married, and very enamored with my new bride.

(For the record: I still am.)

But between swilling beer and writing papers I still didn't give much thought to hunting. I was a vaguely liberal student, too, and I felt a few twinges of animal rights-related uneasiness about hunting, too. But I also knew that deer, at least, don't have any predators to speak of and if people don't hunt them you'll be running over them with your car and shooing them out of your yard every day.

After college I lived in Memphis and New Orleans. Sonya and I lived the life of childless young professionals in the big city. I assure you it kept me busy.

In 2003 my son was born, and in 2005 I came back to Arkansas. In that last year or so in New Orleans I had been considering taking the hunter education course just to have the certification in case I wanted to do something. After I was back in Arkansas and settled, I kept thinking about it. Soon I was looking at maps and thinking about places I could hunt.

Going native? Perhaps. And if so, I plead guilty. I am a native, after all.

However, it was all just idle thought without a gun. Or a bow. I had neither, and the price for a new one is high. While it's something I wanted to do, I couldn't justify paying the better part of a thousand dollars to get in the game. There are other bills to pay.

But I wanted to get out and explore some of Arkansas. Is it the richest or coolest state? No. But it's beautiful, and I wanted to know more about it. The in-laws gave me a big gift-card to Bass Pro Shops for Christmas, so I used it for camping equipment. If nothing else, I'd take pictures.

So today I go to my mom's house to weed-and-feed her yard. Afterwards, I'm digging under her bed to find my old .22, thinking it might be fun to take it out and shoot sometimes and, eventually, to teach John how to shoot, too.

"Well, you know," my mom said, "you've got a shotgun under there, too."

No, I didn't know that.

Apparently, after my grandfather died my grandmother put aside one of his shotguns for me. This was that gun - a Remington 870 20 guage. It's a beautiful old gun, in good condition if obviously well-used and well-loved. According to my mom, it was my grandfather's favorite.

So now what? Now we plan. And study. And ask the experts. And in the fall, I hunt.

Is this something I need to do? Something I need to prove to myself? No. But I feel like it's a good skill to have, and a good thing to know how to do. And I'd like to be able to teach John about it as he grows up. And I can't do that if I don't figure it out first.

So here we go.