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Son, you gotta light?
The old Ford pickup kicked up dust as he headed down the dry dusty farm road. I watched the dust and took another long cool drink from the Igloo water jug. The dust made me feel more parched. 105 degrees and I did not care to know the humidity, hot as hell is just damn hot period.
He pulled up alongside the other two vehicles, let the dust settle then got out. He was sweating profusely, having no air conditioning in the truck; he had driven the 2 dusty miles with the windows rolled up. I noticed the eyes first. A shade of grey I had never seen before, a set of eyes that told me he had lived life, been places and done things – and some things he could never talk about. I later found out this was true and correct.
I had taken off my bandana and soaked it with cool water, cooling my neck I offered him the jug, he took and pulled a long cool drink.
Our eyes met not a word was said, though a few chapters from each of our lives has just been exchanged. “Son, you gotta light?". I handed him my Zippo, he fired up remnants of a cigar. He pulled out two well worn cotton duck gun cases with leather handles – yep the gentleman knew , he noticed my look and knew I knew, eyes can speak volumes about a person.
“Well hell, lets run ‘em boysâ€. So three fellows on a farm; with a skeet range ...well two ran 50 straight. Third was still learning. the two that did "run'em" had exchanged a few words - more had been learned from observation - including eyes. We took a break, during which he refilled his Zippo lighter , "damnit to hell bad enough it’s hot, a man don’t need a fuel burn AND no light for his cigarâ€.
He wiped off the Old 870 Wingmaster, well, what bluing was left, the stock, hell I just thought my stock had character. He then pulled out an old Ithaca 37, from the other gun case – well actually he kept it from falling out. I figured that zipper hadn’t worked in a decade or so. “Lets step it up a notch, ya’ll want “Stepping and Fetching†or you want doublesâ€. “Doubles first to get warmed up then lets Step & Fetch†I replied. He grinned; yea we shared another chapter with our “grinsâ€. Third old boy was going to pull and not shoot, he said – “Ain’t gonna learn as much watching as shooting – ‘sides you got the idea, need to fine tune ‘em is allâ€.
One of the black farm hands showed up, he pulled, we shot. “I heard of Step & Fetch, just ain’t ever seen it, much less pulled it. The old boy gave a quick lesson and we three proceeded to shuck and shoot. Puller learned what Step & Fetch was all about.
Later after the others had left and before the skeeters came out, we stuck some clay targets “ out yonder†with a well worn old Model 36 J frame produced from his Khaki britches pocket we shot clays from near and “yonderâ€.
This older fella and I busted quail, felled ducks, and kept some grey missiles from reaching – wherever they headed in such a hurry. We busted a “few†clay birds over the years after that first meeting. He taught me a lot, be it with a shotgun, handgun, rifle or just about living…some of which was how to keep on doing so – the getting home and still breathing part.
Well he finally quit breathing. He wasn’t through living, just the body called it quits before he wanted to. Yeah that old “if you ever draw a breath – someday you won’t†gets us all eventually.
“Get a cigar and promise me something. When I’m finally laid to rest here shortly, fire up that cigar and think a good thought or two about me if you will."
< “Flickâ€â€¦thumb the wheel on my Zippo…puff, puff, puff…smoke wafting>
Yep, we racked, shucked pumps, open and closed cylinders, inserted 1911 mags, snicked safeties off model 70’s in ’06. We cleaned game with Case Trappers, and KaBars.
Back then I drank, we imbibed a few drinks, okay we tossed a few lids aside and finished a few fifths of fine Scotch, Tennessee or Kentucky sipping whiskey…none of that blended crap mind you; always after the guns were put up of course.
We sweated summers and froze our butts off in winters. Our teary eyes exchanged stories and memories of faithful dog of his; we couldn’t talk with the lumps in our throats, we were having a hard enough time digging the final resting place. Damn dog gave us the strangest look when one afternoon shooting doves, we actually tied braided fishing line to that 37’s bbl…not very limber mind you…will pull a bream out of a reservoir though.
Still think that dog was sullen on the way home because we tossed the bream back in , older feller figured the dog upset the thunderstorms rolled in quick and halted the hunt. Who know which of us was right – or wrong, hell that dog just got an “attitude†at times.
Nephew later stole some guns for dope. Fella had to borrow a gun from me to hunt with that day, first and only time I ever saw him short shuck a pump. Can’t blame him, Ithaca 37’s, 870’s, Model 12’s…don’t want to think what the nephew got for ‘em, or how they ended up…if those guns could talk…
"Remember that one 'ol dove we both took a bead on...the one coming in right at us...dog got pissed 'cause nothing left to retreive but feathers..."
"Never forget the day you had some buckshot in that old Filson of yours...damn that greenhead felled hard Steve..."
" ...yeah I always carried some slugs out hunting...paid off that day when that Buck stepped out remember..."
" Don't think we could have buried that truck anymore if we had tried..."
" Well I damn near yanked that forearm off that SX1 of yours that day...ya know I bet I'd still try to shuck that thing...damn son that SX1 ever gonna quit?"
"Told you a 28 ga gonna get you hooked..."
" Well I always leave a fella gas and phone money , no matter if I did win that side bet...he shouldn't bet ...ain't no bluing for a reason...reacon he figured that out too late tho'..."
" Can't eat a trophy, told you drop one and get the ham...didn't mean three, I said one...can't eat a damn belt and shell pouch either dumb***..."
Goodbye my friend…damn my cigar is out…
Son, you gotta a light?
The old Ford pickup kicked up dust as he headed down the dry dusty farm road. I watched the dust and took another long cool drink from the Igloo water jug. The dust made me feel more parched. 105 degrees and I did not care to know the humidity, hot as hell is just damn hot period.
He pulled up alongside the other two vehicles, let the dust settle then got out. He was sweating profusely, having no air conditioning in the truck; he had driven the 2 dusty miles with the windows rolled up. I noticed the eyes first. A shade of grey I had never seen before, a set of eyes that told me he had lived life, been places and done things – and some things he could never talk about. I later found out this was true and correct.
I had taken off my bandana and soaked it with cool water, cooling my neck I offered him the jug, he took and pulled a long cool drink.
Our eyes met not a word was said, though a few chapters from each of our lives has just been exchanged. “Son, you gotta light?". I handed him my Zippo, he fired up remnants of a cigar. He pulled out two well worn cotton duck gun cases with leather handles – yep the gentleman knew , he noticed my look and knew I knew, eyes can speak volumes about a person.
“Well hell, lets run ‘em boysâ€. So three fellows on a farm; with a skeet range ...well two ran 50 straight. Third was still learning. the two that did "run'em" had exchanged a few words - more had been learned from observation - including eyes. We took a break, during which he refilled his Zippo lighter , "damnit to hell bad enough it’s hot, a man don’t need a fuel burn AND no light for his cigarâ€.
He wiped off the Old 870 Wingmaster, well, what bluing was left, the stock, hell I just thought my stock had character. He then pulled out an old Ithaca 37, from the other gun case – well actually he kept it from falling out. I figured that zipper hadn’t worked in a decade or so. “Lets step it up a notch, ya’ll want “Stepping and Fetching†or you want doublesâ€. “Doubles first to get warmed up then lets Step & Fetch†I replied. He grinned; yea we shared another chapter with our “grinsâ€. Third old boy was going to pull and not shoot, he said – “Ain’t gonna learn as much watching as shooting – ‘sides you got the idea, need to fine tune ‘em is allâ€.
One of the black farm hands showed up, he pulled, we shot. “I heard of Step & Fetch, just ain’t ever seen it, much less pulled it. The old boy gave a quick lesson and we three proceeded to shuck and shoot. Puller learned what Step & Fetch was all about.
Later after the others had left and before the skeeters came out, we stuck some clay targets “ out yonder†with a well worn old Model 36 J frame produced from his Khaki britches pocket we shot clays from near and “yonderâ€.
This older fella and I busted quail, felled ducks, and kept some grey missiles from reaching – wherever they headed in such a hurry. We busted a “few†clay birds over the years after that first meeting. He taught me a lot, be it with a shotgun, handgun, rifle or just about living…some of which was how to keep on doing so – the getting home and still breathing part.
Well he finally quit breathing. He wasn’t through living, just the body called it quits before he wanted to. Yeah that old “if you ever draw a breath – someday you won’t†gets us all eventually.
“Get a cigar and promise me something. When I’m finally laid to rest here shortly, fire up that cigar and think a good thought or two about me if you will."
< “Flickâ€â€¦thumb the wheel on my Zippo…puff, puff, puff…smoke wafting>
Yep, we racked, shucked pumps, open and closed cylinders, inserted 1911 mags, snicked safeties off model 70’s in ’06. We cleaned game with Case Trappers, and KaBars.
Back then I drank, we imbibed a few drinks, okay we tossed a few lids aside and finished a few fifths of fine Scotch, Tennessee or Kentucky sipping whiskey…none of that blended crap mind you; always after the guns were put up of course.
We sweated summers and froze our butts off in winters. Our teary eyes exchanged stories and memories of faithful dog of his; we couldn’t talk with the lumps in our throats, we were having a hard enough time digging the final resting place. Damn dog gave us the strangest look when one afternoon shooting doves, we actually tied braided fishing line to that 37’s bbl…not very limber mind you…will pull a bream out of a reservoir though.
Still think that dog was sullen on the way home because we tossed the bream back in , older feller figured the dog upset the thunderstorms rolled in quick and halted the hunt. Who know which of us was right – or wrong, hell that dog just got an “attitude†at times.
Nephew later stole some guns for dope. Fella had to borrow a gun from me to hunt with that day, first and only time I ever saw him short shuck a pump. Can’t blame him, Ithaca 37’s, 870’s, Model 12’s…don’t want to think what the nephew got for ‘em, or how they ended up…if those guns could talk…
"Remember that one 'ol dove we both took a bead on...the one coming in right at us...dog got pissed 'cause nothing left to retreive but feathers..."
"Never forget the day you had some buckshot in that old Filson of yours...damn that greenhead felled hard Steve..."
" ...yeah I always carried some slugs out hunting...paid off that day when that Buck stepped out remember..."
" Don't think we could have buried that truck anymore if we had tried..."
" Well I damn near yanked that forearm off that SX1 of yours that day...ya know I bet I'd still try to shuck that thing...damn son that SX1 ever gonna quit?"
"Told you a 28 ga gonna get you hooked..."
" Well I always leave a fella gas and phone money , no matter if I did win that side bet...he shouldn't bet ...ain't no bluing for a reason...reacon he figured that out too late tho'..."
" Can't eat a trophy, told you drop one and get the ham...didn't mean three, I said one...can't eat a damn belt and shell pouch either dumb***..."
Goodbye my friend…damn my cigar is out…
Son, you gotta a light?
