Spring Hunt

(ROCKWALL, TX – March 22, 2016) Spring is the season of new life, and for me, last spring that new life took on the form of righting a regret and reliving a memory, and it all happened on a turkey hunt. Turkey hunting in spring may seem odd, for folks often associate turkeys with fall and Thanksgiving; however, for hunters, the spring turkey season is the pinnacle, the final pursuit of the season.

I took my oldest son, Philip, to experience the unforgettable strutting, the puffed chests and fanned tails, as the Tom turkeys dance to impress hens. It is a nature must-see and quite a challenge to coax the wary birds close while camouflaged from their incredible eyesight.

It would be our first hunt together. Years of grad school and being broke in my kids’ childhood hindered me from passing down my hunting heritage until they were nearly grown, truly, one of my regrets. Nevertheless, while in college, Phil got hooked on the hunt, and as I returned to the field, I couldn’t wait to take him along. Being the oldest son, we locked horns a lot, but hunting and fishing became a shared passion and I prayed this hunt would be as memorable as ones I experienced with my father.

I cherished those times with Dad. Last spring marked a year since he passed and this hunt would be the first time I had ever used his prized shotgun. It had rested under my bed, nearly as forgotten as his Alzheimer’s-robbed memories. Dad received the gun as a gift while working as Tennessee’s Commissioner of Conservation, the head honcho of all state parks, wildlife refuges, lakes, and wetlands. With his name etched on the receiver, he wielded it proudly on duck and goose ventures during my teenage years. Now, it was mine to brandish as I hunted with my son.

We split up that first afternoon and within an hour Philip spotted a big Tom prancing, turning, showing off. I heard the echo of his shotgun, one he’d bought with his own hard-earned money just a month before. I texted to find out if he was successful, and it seemed forever before my phone buzzed in response. Yet, a picture lit up my screen with Phil posing behind a big 20 lb. Rio Grande turkey. It would take me all morning and afternoon the following day, chasing birds in woods and across pastures before I connected with Dad’s gun, and it happened just minutes before I’d call it quits.

It was a weekend where everything crescendos to greatness; a moment in time where you know the Almighty intervened. I watched my boy experience the pride of pursuing and providing food for the table, and I did it washed in memories of my hero. I wished dad could have been there to see a new hunter come to life in our family and while I looked at the gun, I realized he probably was, probably smiling his tobacco-chewing smile as we enjoyed that glorious spring together.

By guest columnist Scott Gill of Rockwall, a teacher, coach and author of Goliath Catfish. Follow Scott’s blog at scotttgill.tumblr.com and read all of his “Front Porch Ramblings” at BlueRibbonNews.com.

Your #1 source for positive hometown stories, entertainment and events.