Almost all of my most cherished childhood memories are from the times I spend walking the woods with a .22 or .410 in my hands. Sometimes with my grandfather and later, many times alone. In the fall and winter I was huntin squirrels, in the spring and summer, tins cans would die by the dozens. Mostly I was just growin up without realizing it. What do I remember most? Man that's a tough one because there is so much but let's see....waking up at 4:00 am at my granddads to the smell of coffee, grits, eggs, North Carolina country ham, homemade biscuits and red eye gravy, watching the sun come up thru the mostly bare oak limbs, wondering if my fingers, toes and ears would fall off if they got any colder, hearing leaves rustling on the ground just out of sight and wondering if it was squirrels or birds making that racket, my grandfather climbing a "squirrel tree" and using a long green stick stuck down the hole and twisting it to pull out a squirrel so I could "shoot'em on the run, throwin a rock on the far side of a tree to fool the bushy tail into running around so I'd get a shot, getting to hunt with a squirrel dog for the first time, the first hunt with my brand new "Ted Williams" single shot .22 that I picked out from the Sears catalog, that wonderful CRACK it made in the dead winter air, so much nicer than the just plain loud BOOM my H&R .410 made (that "Remington" green of the shotgun shells is still my favorite color though), the smell of a fired .22 shell, squirrel tails on my bike, fried squirrel, gravy and biscuits that I killed, cleaned and cooked. GrandDaddy also taught me to make a whistle from the branch of a spring sapling, build a fire with flint and steel, tell the best ghost stories and to "call up" that great big hoot owl that lived in the abandoned barn. I'll never forget the sound that ole owl’s wings made in the night when he would fly up and roost above us and our fire and our ghosts. Probably my best childhood memory is the day that my grandfather gave me his cherished Remington Speedmaster .22 auto rifle. I guess I was 14 or so. It was, and still is the most accurate, most reliable and prettiest .22 rifle I've ever owned. It's got to be nearing 60 years old by now.
My Grandfather has been dead for over 25 years. True to form he waited until his favorite grandson got home from the Marines before he went. I got to spend a day or two with him in the hospital before he died. Most of "our" hunting spots are now housing developments. For the life of me I can’t remember which tree we used to make the whistle. My children never knew Granddaddy or our favorite spots but I made sure that they have their own "shootin tin cans, huntin in the woods with dad memories". I ain't much of a golfer, never had the time, but my kids are good kids, mostly grown up now. No drugs, dependable, responsible, good grades, fine athletes and much better looking that their old man. I know that when I’m gone I will have done my best to leave the world a little better because my kids will do there best to make it so. All because of a few .22 shells (later 5.56 and 7.62) a little love, some time well spent and a few good memories.
Semper Fi
Rocketman