“…but I’m never really alone; dad’s dead, not gone. He’s with me there, just like he’s with me when I’m sitting under a hickory in the Appalachian hills. And I always try to have a nice and shiny, big red apple to share with him.”
Lessons are hard things, no matter how many times you have to learn them. I hurt, she hurt worse. I felt calm, she made sure of that. I did not feel lost or alone; Grandpa prepared me for this. He was with me.
My family instilled the love for the hunt inside me. My mother loved to sit in a hickory patch—still as a mouse—squirrel hunting. My father and his trusty Winchester Model 12, 16-gauge prowled the West Virginia hills for squirrel, rabbit, turkey and deer. And my grandfather, with his prosthetic leg and cane, followed coon hounds from dusk until dawn. They always took …
