Time
By Chris Creed
I had been putting the turkeys to bed for over a week. I knew the roosting tree the pattern and even the bird we were after, so the night before opening day of youth turkey was filled with excitement for my 10 year old son Jonathan and I. As I left the house that evening to roost the birds one last time before opening day, I couldn’t help feeling that tomorrow’s hunt was a sure thing.
My parent’s 45-acre farm had only a few birds on it this spring, but one mature gobbler and two hens had been on the same pattern for weeks. I hit the crow call waiting for the familiar reply of the gobbler who had answered me like clock work for days, but tonight there was nothing. I tried an owl hoot, but to no avail, the birds had moved. My heart sank as I saw weeks of prep work go down the drain. I was even more disappointed in the fact that Jonathan’s opening day would be a bust.
I returned to the house and got an immediate “well Dad?” from Jonathan. I tried to remain positive but I knew Jonathan could hear the disappointment in my voice as I told him the birds had moved. “That’s O.K. Dad” he said. “At least we get the chance to go hunting together. I don’t care if we see anything”.
As I tucked Jonathan in, we prayed for success and set the alarm. I couldn’t help but feel proud that Jonathan was just as excited for the opportunity to go hunting as he was at the possibility of getting a bird.
My son’s enthusiasm over the pending hunt got me to thinking. What is it that gets a child interested in hunting? As a sportsman and a father, I want my kids to enjoy hunting as much as I do, but why do they want to hunt? I found my answer in Jonathan’s reply of “that’s O.K Dad, at least we get to go hunting together.”
The answer is time. Time together, time alone without phones or televisions, without work or repairs on the house. Quality time that is only interrupted by birdsong, wildlife and the excitement of a distant gobble.
In my youth, when things seemed simpler, there was always someone with time. My parents, my grandfathers, even aunts and uncles, someone always had time to take me hunting or fishing. As I think back on the memories of my youth it is the time I remember. Even more than the kill, it is the before and after that remain sharp in my mind and dear to my heart.
As Jonathan and I sat in our blind that morning I was thankful for time, thankful for a break in my busy work schedule and thankful for the freedoms we so often take for granted. The sound of a distant gobbler broke the silence and the hunt was on. The look on Jonathan’s face as the tom strutted into range was priceless. The sound of the gun, the yell of excitement and the adrenaline high of a 10-year-old holding his first gobbler made this a perfect morning. Even more perfect was the hug of congratulations and the whisper in my ear of ‘”thanks for taking the time”.
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