Posted on 11/12/2003 4:44:37 PM PST by SJackson
Ronald K. Tauber as told to Margaret L. Tauber Appleton (Outagamie County)
The older a deer hunter gets, the more he appreciates the true beauty of nature and its effect on his life. This past fall, as my orange-clad sons and grandsons gathered around to listen to the last-minute instructions before dawn on opening day of hunting season, I found myself smiling. I could recall my older brother, Marvin, giving me those same instructions I now was passing on to my sons and grandsons.
I thought how different they looked in their orange getup compared to our old, smelly red wool jackets, three pair of long john underwear (if we were lucky to have that many) and old work pants. My feet would be so cold that I'd put on every pair of socks I had; then Marvin told me that only made my feet colder, because I was cutting off the circulation, because it made my boots too tight.
That was 45 years ago. We had no backpacks in those days. We just stuffed our peanut butter and jelly sandwich wrapped in paper into the pockets of our jacket. It turns my stomach now when I think of how gross that sandwich looked and how it nearly always was squished and soggy by the time we ate them. But back then one of these peanut butter and jelly sandwiches - along with an apple and a candy bar - was a feast fit for a king.
As I watched my sons and grandsons pair off and go to their respected stumps, their cheeks flushed with excitement and the anticipation of what they were about to encounter, I felt a lump in my throat and that old twinge in my heart as I recalled the last fall I had hunted with my brother.
I had begged Marvin not to go hunting that year because he was having trouble with his legs, but nothing would keep him out of the woods. His pain showed in his eyes but he made light of it, saying the fresh air and exercise would put him right again.
His face was all drawn in pain as he tried to walk straight to impress me. He looked like a very old man. As he walked to his post, he had turned and pointed into the direction he would be going.
The sun was streaming through the pines and as my brother boosted his gun onto his shoulder, the sunlight reflected onto the barrel. For a moment, it was as if there was a halo around him.
I had sat watching till he was out of sight. I found myself studying the footprints he had left. I remember I got off my stump putting my boot into his print. It gave me a really safe feeling. I sat in silence asking myself why my brother would come out hunting when he was in so much pain.
But then I knew. For him hunting had never been just about getting his buck. It was the unexpected privilege of seeing nature at it's best. What hunter hasn't sat in awe on seeing a mother deer with her fawn or having a brave little chickadee perch on the bill of your cap or the barrel of your gun? There is a peacefulness that forces you to see with your soul, not just your eyes, the beauty that is before you.
I was uneasy as I thought about my brother, so I left my post. It wasn't a smart thing to do, and I was sure he would bawl me out and lecture me about responsibility. So when I walked up on Marvin, I was surprised that he hadn't heard me. He was just sitting on his stump, his gun was laid down beside him. The trees were heavy with snow and were hanging down all around him.
My brother had a look on his face that took my breath away. I had to stop myself from calling out to him; he looked as though he was in a trance. His face was so pale against his red jacket and he looked like a young boy; years younger, all the pain seemed to have left his face. He had kind of a smile on his lips.
At first, I thought Marvin was talking to himself. As I walked closer to him he saw me and looked up at me and smiled - not angry, but as if he was grateful that I had come to him. I sat down beside my brother.
The trees looked glorious as if they were decorated with tinsel. As the sun shone through them and onto the snow and brush, our surroundings were transformed into a sea of diamonds. It was a scene that a hunter gets to see, maybe once in a life time.
As I sat beside Marvin, neither of us saying a word, I felt at peace. I don't know how I knew that this was his last deer season, but I did.
As we sat together, guns laid aside, we both knew he hadn't come to hunt - he'd come to gaze once more on the glorious wonders of nature. For both of us, time had stopped as we watched as the chickadees put on a performance for us and the field mice played around our feet. Even a buck walked majestically past as if to pay his respects.
I'll always savor my brothers words when he expressed his love for the woods, for the stillness and peace he had always found and his words when he said "We are so lucky to have been a witness to peace and order that is far beyond our understanding."
Although three months later I had to face the pain of losing my brother, I was so privileged to have shared and witnessed his joy of his last hunting trip. As I sat with him through his last hours, I knew that when he closed his eyes that last time he was walking in his beloved woods that he had romped in as a boy and hunted in as a man.
I'll always remember the peaceful look on Marvin's face that afternoon in the snowy woods. We all have that secret place where we long to be. I know that for my brother, he had found that place on his last hunting trip.
The greatest fallacy the "enviornmental" lobby has foisted on our nation is that the hunters, fishermen, backpackers, miners, lumbermen, hermits et al, true enviornmentalists and stakeholders (and the fee generators), should be silenced, that enviornmental caring comes from the leftist urbanite behind his desk. Kind of like Bill Clinton as Commander in Chief.
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