Now therefore take, I pray thee, thy weapons, thy quiver and thy bow, and go out to the field, and take me some venison;
Since Gage was a small baby, Jason has wanted him to be by his side. Jason has an almost obsessive hobby of hunting. Well, I don't know if it is so much hunting as it is sitting under an oak tree half the day watching the squirrels play and listening to the sounds of the woods.
Jason works long hours and despises being cooped up in the house on his days off. There is always some sort of hunting season going on, and whatever it is, he is partaking of it. And, if he's not hunting, he's fishing.
Now that Gage is big enough to be his daddy's sidekick, they go to the woods together in search of some sort of game. I have a dressed squirrel in the freezer. I keep putting off fixing it...hoping (in vain) they will forget about it. At any given time, there will be a duck, goose, turkey, rabbit, squirrel waiting to be fried. They like to varmint hunt as well, and get some sort of thrill out of making coyotes howl - to the terror of all the neighborhood dogs.
They have camouflage, boots, headnets, orange hats and vests, calls, rattling horns, scent blocker, bug spray, tick repellent, face paint, gloves, arm guards, insulated socks, thermal long underwear...quivers and their bows. For years, Jason hunted with a gun and compound bow. Then he decided to try a long bow. Not just any long bow, but a bow he made himself. He spent hours at the lumber yard and in the garage...sanding and shaping until it was just right. He ordered a bow string, wrapped the grip in leather with hand stitching and went hunting.
However, his project wasn't complete...another piece of wood, more hours in the garage with sandpaper, stain and files. A miniature of his bow emerged. One fit for a prince, worthy to be carried into the woods by his son.
Sunday afternoons are spent with me hearing the "thunk" of arrows hitting a target and hearing the excited little voice "Mom, you have to come look at this!". I lay down my Sunday paper and make the obligatory walk to see the new hole punched in the target paper. I brag on our young son, who is so happily training to be the Merry Man to complete his daddy's image of Robin Hood.
There is something about preserving the raw hunting skills of our ancestors...of being in tune with nature...seeing the turning leaves, the unfurling fern fronds, the scaly tree bark and sun dappled forest floor. I think the peace is what draws men to the woods. And being able to drag home something to eat is just a bonus.
