By
the time you read this, our dining room table will be piled high with
orange clothes, food boxes, gun cases - yes, we still case our
firearms regardless of the dumb law change, ammo, twelve packs of
pop, bottles of adult liquids, boots, field glasses, cameras, and
more. We will load it all into the Ranger on Friday morning, and
after getting Tom and Dan, our friends from Iowa, settled into the
house, we will head south to Barb and Chuck's Dutch Hollow farm near
Potosi.
The
Big One is upon us - the real start of the Holiday Season. The day
after tomorrow some 600,000-plus blaze orange clad nimrods will take
to Wisconsin's woods in search of, well, a lot of things. Many -
most likely all - have hopes of killing a big buck, some just filling
the freezer; for some it's quiet time on a stump in the woods, while
for others it's card games and partying at deer camp and in the north
woods bars; for others it is time with old friends and the shared
stories, jokes, food, and beverages. For most it has its tradition;
often I have heard comments like, “We always do this, have done it
this way, or we can't forget to do this or no, we can't change that,
it's tradition.” I think for our family, it is a little of all of
that but mostly family time; we usually do our share to reduce the
deer herd and hang some antlers up (we butchered 10 on the Monday
after opening weekend in 2013, but we have killed as many as 22 in
the same time period); we share old stories, pick on one another,
feast on copious amounts of hot homemade soups and cold beverages,
spend time covering hills and hollows we won't see again until next
season, but mostly it is about family, blood or otherwise.
For
almost as long as I can remember, Ellen's family has been starting
the holiday season with the annual deer gun season. Back in the day,
her dad Walt, her uncles Mose Hauk and Charles Uppena, and their kids
lead the hunting party known informally in the area as “The Hauks.”
The older ones met for a war council on the Friday night before the
season to catch up a bit, toast the hunt, discuss who would be where
and what time we would meet, and just let off a little of the
excitement so we could maybe sleep a bit before opening morning. The
first couple I attended were in Uncle Charles' warm farmhouse kitchen
on Irish Ridge. Over the 40 years I have been part of this group,
the war council has moved as the group grew so big it split into two
parties, Hauks and Uppenas.
Today
we meet in brother Bill's heated shed at Burton on the Friday night
before. The atmosphere is festive with people coming and going, lots
of peanut shells on the floor, cold beer in the fridge and hot soup
in a crock pot or two, deer jerky and sticks and cookies to munch on,
a constant euchre game, sports on the TV, and a big buck contest for
me to donate too. My scent memory calls up the aromas of sawdust,
smoked meat, simmering soups, dog, and tobacco. There are antlers
and pictures framing the walls, dogs curled up in corners, kids in
strollers and even basinets. The talk - when my rock and roll
damaged ears can make out anything over the laughter and general din
- runs from the bow hunt to the upcoming gun deer hunt to the Packers
(we might even have a couple Bear fans around for sport) and Badgers
and to the new babies and sometimes to people who have come and gone
- never politics (too many guns around). Some of them have moved on
to form their own hunting parties or have moved away to the four
points of the compass. I could tell stories about them all I think,
like Steve Uppena and Joe Kremer and their welding caps shoot at the
Bench many years ago, or the morning down along the Grant River when
Ellen's oldest brother Dick put on chest waders and floated his huge
buck across the river to get it out. I stood there and ached for my
camera as I was sure I had a cover shot for Field and Stream
at least.
I
keep a handwritten journal of each year's hunt including who
attended, who got what, and what stories and happenings occurred. I
recommend it for settling arguments and just general enjoyment.
The
old guys, Walt, Uncle Mose, Uncle Charles, Frank Patcle, Paul Adrian,
and Larry Reynolds have all passed. Last year brother-in-law Charles
said to me, “Greg, we're the old guys now.” A tad sobering I
guess, but I don't feel old, and I imagine they didn't feel that way
either, at least when it comes to the deer hunt. That is for another
journal I guess.
Ellen
and Barb planned food for the weekend over the phone this last week.
Ellen is going to make some ground beef sandwich meat that I really
like, and Barb will no doubt be making soup. I do know that Ellen is
planning to make my favorite traditional opening morning meal of
French toast casserole. Her mom, Marge used to make that for us. I
remember her often telling us that, “Lancaster radio just said the
DNR moved the opening back to 10 o'clock and we should all go back to
bed.” (I have to admit that often sounded pretty good.) Ellen's
sister Lori hunts with us and she will be making food too. Ellen's
sister Kathy doesn't hunt but she will be there to help butcher and
make the meal on Monday when we start cutting up deer.
Until
next time, get out - politicians claim that the gun hunt brings
something like a $1.7 billion in economic stimulus to Wisconsin.
While I suppose that matters, the quintessence of this hunt is
esoteric and far beyond what money can buy. If you missed it, you
can watch Deer Hunt Wisconsin with Dan Small online at:
http://tinyurl.com/k9mx8o7.
Have
a great hunt and be safe, so you can be around to tell the stories -
my favorite part. Enjoy.
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