MIDWEST HUNTING MEMORIES

marina in ice

   My husband and I returned from deer hunting in the Ozarks.  We'd gone the day after Christmas.
     As I grew up it was considered sacreligious to hunt on Christmas Day.  But I don't believe there should be that stigma.  And as a young girl, I sure didn't know any better one way or another.  My grandpa would take me and my cousins rabbit or squirrel hunting during the holiday school break if there wasn't two feet of snow to trudge thru.
     We didn't have waterproof boots kids have now.  Oh yeah, we had the ol' galoshes style.  My feet stayed dry for maybe an hour till I tromped into a snowbank up to my knees, then dry tootsies was a lost cause.  One year Grandpa had 4 kids in tow, racing from brush pile to weed patch to scare out any rabbits.  So why deny kids that time with grandpa just to not hunt on Christmas just to adhere to such a silly rule?  I'm sure the pioneers of the Midwest left the comfort of the homefire to face the harsh snow and relentless wind even on Christmas Day if it meant having a hot meal for the family. And those hunters were not disrespectful of the blessed Jesus's birth.

     In late autumn, if the Iowa snows held off, Grandpa took me pheasant hunting. I couldn't handle the gun but I'll never forget then holding onto his coat while he slowed down the pace.  It was not the furor and fun of diving into the snow flushing out rabbits, but was hushed and purposeful.  He showed me how to stalk and listen to the wildlife.  Huntin' with Grandpa out in the Iowa back country taught me what wildlife is about, especially being near Christmastime.
     Grandpa was a big dude to a kid so I had to walk with big steps to keep up to his stride, although I'm sure he slowed down for me too.  He was a gentle giant, and such a crack-shot with his shotgun that his skill amazed me.  I watched his every move as a dog watches with a cocked head.  Sometimes I covered my ears from the shot blast when he shot an occasional squirrel - I was never prepared for that bang.   Squirrels were easier to find but he was actually hunting for the exquisite Iowa pheasant.   I love pheasant...

     From across the field I watched a pair of Bald Eagles perched above the shore.   I've taken photographs of Bald Eagles that did not turn out as stunning.  Or as well.   But the view is the same - it makes me feel protective and proud - Midwest nature at its best. 
 

   

BALD EAGLE PAIR

     This pair is nestled in the bare trees overlooking the Des Moines River shore behind the snow.  Regal and defensive of their territory, first one dives into the cold water, then the other to grab a fish.  Expertly swiping its talons into the icy current and instantly yielding a meal.  Lunch!
      Three hundred miles south, I sat on a downed tree and I watched a similar pair, smiled and shook my head in awe how swift and easy their hunt was!   I felt inadequate with my muzzleloader in hand.

Their whistles echoed across the lake as they hunted.  'Twas a beautiful sight to watch them soar the blue sky scouting for food.
     

      On the highway shortly after dawn, I had carefully hiked into the woods while Ed walked around the ice-covered cove in the opposite direction at the gravel marina.  That was a long day sitting on a stump, then still hunting, watching and chuckling to myself at squirrels playing, listening intently for deer movement.  I should've been squirrel hunting.  Time to put up the canoe, my gun and camo.

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