Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Certain Times of the Year, I Miss Him



My father has been gone for 23 years.
Nearly half my life.

I've written about him before.
Thankfully, the memories that remain are all good ones.
I read a blog post this morning by Bev at Bee Haven Acres about Morel mushrooms on her place.

My nephew, John, in Missouri is posting pictures on Facebook of his Morel hunts as well.

It makes me miss my dad.
This picture makes me teary-eyed.

Everything about my dad is in this picture.


His L.L. Bean hunting boots.  

Every year, in late August, they'd get oiled and put in the oven on the lowest setting possible, to waterproof them for the coming hunting season.


His Brittany Spaniel.
That's the only hunting dog we'd own.  This dog was Lady.  
Man, she was a great dog! 
She'd hold a point on a covey of quail 'til the cows came home.
She'd retrieve them once they'd been downed--always with a soft mouth.
She gave kisses, too.

His Weber grill.
Oh, the magic he could work with charcoal and meat!

His Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. 
 What a dorky little bottle. 
 Mostly the beer came to our house in cans.  
"CARLA, BRING ME A BEER!"  was a common statement at my house when he was downstairs working in the garage. 
 I hated that.  
Why was he so blasted lazy that he couldn't come get his own danged beer?
I do the same thing now, but not with beer.
"Quinn, can you please go upstairs and bring me the iPad?"
I'll bet he hates it too, and wonders why I'm so danged lazy.

His chamois cloth shirt from L.L. Bean.
Christmas present from me, probably.
He didn't get ties and button down shirts for birthdays and Christmas.
Hunting and work clothes were what fit the bill.

Painters pants.
Probably some paint on those, but probably some blood stains from various wildlife--hunting and fishing, too.

Lastly, the Morel mushrooms.
Spring was for fishing and mushroom hunting.
Fall was for bird hunting.

At the time, I wasn't so keen to haul out of bed at O'Dark-Thirty to get where we were going.
It was freezing cold or it was hot and sticky.  Seldom was the weather perfect.
There were ticks.  
Lord, were there ticks!
Imagine feeling like you'd hit the jackpot because you got to use the bathroom at a gas station instead of behind a bush.

I was so very, very lucky to have been included in these journeys each year.

I can very nearly smell the mushrooms cooking now.
Lightly dusted in flour, salt and pepper, and then fried in butter.
So crispy and nutty and amazing.

Worth every tick.
Worth every tick.


6 comments:

  1. Carla, I don't often get to your blog, but I am so very glad I did this morning... what a wonderful post and paen to your dad! I could just see him! Thanks for sharing your wonderful memory!

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  2. What super memories. Your dad looks like a great guy. No wonder you miss him so much.

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  3. I love this, Carla. I love your memories. I love that you shared them. Very sweet post.

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  4. Thank you for sharing your wonderful memories of your Dad with us. It made him come to life.

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  5. I so understand...I miss my Dad the same way!

    ✿♥ღLinda
    http://coloradofarmlife.wordpress.com

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