Hunting is not my thing

Do you see a path through these thistles and other tall weeds? Kenny thought he did.

Ever since we have been married, I have made the trip with Kenny to sight his guns before hunting season starts. I have fired a gun on occasion, but generally I am there just to spend some time with my husband doing what he likes to do.

The first year we were married, I decided I would go out with him on the first day of hunting season. I even bought camo clothes. That was the most fun part of the experience. We were in the deer blind before the sun came up on a day so cold that if I were allowed to speak the words would have frozen in mid-air and crashed to the ground.

I could not talk. I could not move. I couldn't read a book because it was dark. All I could do was internally document the level of cold as its freezing fingers scratched beneath my layers and wrapped around my spine. 

In a normal situation, I would jump up, stomp around, flap my arms and rub my hands together to fight the cold. I don't think Kenny would have shot me if I did that, but he might have been tempted.

Well, I stayed until about 8 a.m. and then I headed to the house for breakfast and to snuggle under the afghan on my mother-in-law's couch. This is my only time "hunting."

But I do make this other trip before rifle season comes in. He checks on his favorite spots and takes a little hatchet to cut back the invading branches and weeds. The last few years he has been going to a place in Rappahannock County that has not been hunted in many years. And it has paid off. He got a trophy worthy deer there last year which, I am sorry to say, is staring glassy-eyed over my shoulder as I type these words.

Last Sunday, we marched through the falling and fallen leaves along the Thornton River. It was a beautiful day. Warm and sunny, but not too warm. No pestering gnats or mosquitoes that we noticed. 

We walked quite a distance and ended up on top of a hill. Kenny decided rather than walking back the way we came, we would cut through some underbrush that didn't look too bad. The picture above shows what it looked like as we broke into the brushy area. I wish I had a picture of what it looked after we were 15 yards in. I could not take a picture, though, because I had both hands gripping the back of Kenny's shirt because he was breaking through brush as tall as he is.

It was miserable, awful. He would push through the tall weeds and thistles and they would slap me and shed little seed pods all over me. Then we hit a section that had thorny vines. Not good. Thankfully, we were both wearing jeans and my shirt had three-quarter length sleeves, so there were minimal scratches.

We had to ford a tiny creek or climb some rocks - I can't remember which came first. Anyway, we made it out alive and immediately stripped our shirts off because we looked like we had been plastered with tiny sunflower seeds. All over our backs, in my hair (not a problem for him), stuck to any exposed skin. 

He looked a little sheepish as he admitted that it would have been better to take the extra time and walk around rather than using the old formula "the shortest distance between two points is a straight line."

I pointed out that the shortest distance to an angry wife is to stick her in a field of weeds, covered with seeds and fending off briars and thorns.

Next weekend, he will be up before sunrise and on his way to Rappahannock and I will be firing up the Canon on the byways of Shenandoah County. As it turns out, we both like to shoot. 

 

Grandmom

 

Grandmom (top left) with her sister and parents.

I was very lucky to have a grandmother who loved me unconditionally. I never questioned her motives or wondered if she meant the things she said. She was the best grandmother a kid could have.

She was our safe port in the storm of childhood. We didn't always know what was going on at home, but we knew the minute we entered Grandmother's house that everything would be the same. 

Her home was warm and comforting. The floor furnace made ticking noises when it heated up and it was fun to stand on it and let the heat blow up our pants legs. We spent a lot of time playing games on the carpeted floor in the living room or sitting at the red table in the kitchen while Grandmom made us grilled cheese sandwiches.

Reflecting on it now, I know her house was pretty small, but it always seemed to be exactly right. From the Mr Kool-Aid red plastic pitcher on top of the refrigerator to the hard-backed books with the pretty covers that I never saw anyone read. Don't get me wrong. Grandmom read all the time, but I never saw her touch the pretty books in the shelf.

She was so smart. She did the crossword puzzle every evening. She knew all those arcane words (like arcane) that puzzle creators love. She was a great cook. She always wore an apron. Until she retired, which was in her 70s, she never wore pants when she went out in public. 

I can't say what I miss most about my grandmother, who would have been 100 years old today. There are too many things. Nobody pats my hand. She could convey more meaning in those little hand pats. She had bad arthritis in her hands and her fingers were swollen and twisted some. She hated how they looked, but I loved them. How many times did I play with her rings because they never stayed in place and always wound around her fingers? 

My grandmother was Reba Margaret Cross Smith. Happy birthday, Grandmom. I surely miss you.

Homecoming

Kenny (yellow shirt) with football buddies from high school.

I attended part of the Homecoming game at Central High School on Friday night and I wondered aloud why I have never gone to any of my high school reunions.
All around us were tents (very important because it rained through the first quarter) with classes celebrating the "5s." Class of 1969 was on one side and the class of 1999 was on the other. Both groups seemed to be having a good time.
Turns out I had good friends at both of these reunions. They appeared to be having a good time.
I came close to going to my 25th high school reunion. I don't remember what kept me from going. I heard that everyone had a great time.
I try not to have too many regrets, but I do regret missing that reunion because a classmate died a few years ago and it would have been fun to hang out with her in a setting like that one more time.
I took my first step at reunioning by going to Kenny's high school reunion from Hampshire High School a couple of weeks ago. My big concern when attending something like this with Kenny is that I will get lost in the background noise. He starts talking and I think I turn into a sofa. (Not that anyone sits on me, but I kinda becoming just part of the surroundings). Mom tells me that is a common female complaint.
I truly cannot make that claim about his reunion, however. He seemed a little shy and I was just dying to hear stories about my husband as a boy. I missed the first 44 years of his life, so I was ready to do some prime pumping.
We sat with men from the football team, primarily. I guess those were his closest friends. As you can imagine, he was quite the athlete, earning a football scholarship to JMU and numerous awards in baseball too.
I listened and laughed and really enjoyed myself. I was bummed that there was no dancing because we rarely have the opportunity, but overall it was a pretty good event.
I think I am ready for the next one. And there better be dancing!