“Cover your ears”
These were the words I woke up to on countless Saturday and Sunday mornings as a boy and a young man. It was time to give thanks for the life given to continue ours.
“Don’t horse him”
The action was on. I was in a fight, but my opposition needed respect. Patience was paramount. My excitement wasn’t worth a needless waste of life.
“If you kill eat, you eat it.”
Rule #1. In addition to traditional game, I have eaten rattlesnake, squirrel, rabbit – both Cottontail (preferable) and Jack (texture like a tire), and every type of bird with the faintest appearance of a dove or quail.
During my formative years, I spent most my weekends 100 miles north of Austin (1) in the Texas Hill Country. My family has had a small ranch there since the early 1980s, when my dad acquired our little slice of heaven from a longtime friend and a man I consider a second father of sorts. Almost every Friday (or Thursday, if possible), my dad would pick me up from school and we would head to the ranch. My brother usually joined, and my sister came a little less often. I was a guarantee, though.
We would make our way up Highway 183 as fast as possible. No one passed us on the highway (2). Sometimes we would stop for groceries (cokes and snickers for both of us, Skoal Bandits for my dad), but most of the time there wasn’t anything more important than getting the hell out of town, especially not my dad’s patients. When we hit the road, he turned his pager off and his full attention on having fun with his kids.
Once we got to the ranch, we were free. There were only a few basic rules: Rule #1 (see above), treat every gun like it’s loaded, don’t point a gun at anything you don’t intend to shoot, and respect Mother Nature. We had dirt bikes, four wheelers, mopeds (3), an old Ford Bronco, an aluminum john boat with a trolling motor, fishing tackle, and all the guns and ammunition we needed (plus some, just in case). It was paradise.
I won’t get into the specifics of what all went down at the ranch in this post, but the point is we went, religiously. My dad always had the time, and there was nothing more important to him than spending time with his kids, somewhere the stars shine bright, away from the distractions of town and firmly planted in God’s creation.
My dad passed away in October 2016, and not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. I picture us in the deer blind, bass fishing on the lake, hunting squirrels on the river bottom, and all over our ranch (and countless other ranches). I am so grateful for the time we spent together. I lost my dad much sooner than I would have liked, but I was fortunate to spend a significant amount of time with him when he was here. I really knew my dad. I understood him, what made him tick. More than anything, I knew he loved me, because he showed me every weekend.
When I think about how I want to raise Townes, I look no further than the example my dad showed me. It’s completely ok with me if she doesn’t ever want to kill an animal, or if she is too afraid to touch a fish. None of that stuff really matters. Time does, though, and location is important. I want Townes to see and know me where I feel the most authentic and connected – not at a party or talking on my phone in the car – somewhere the stars shine bright, away from the distractions of town and firmly planted in God’s creation.
(1) 30 miles North of Lampassas, if you know Texas; 8 miles from Evant, if you grew up in the area; 5 miles from Star, if you’re one of the 12 people from Star.
(2) When I got my driver’s license, I realized its abnormal to ALWAYS be the fastest car on the road.
(3) Yes, we rode mopeds at the ranch. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it. They are smooth, quiet, and fast – perfect for hunting.
