{"id":2298,"date":"2012-11-23T16:27:00","date_gmt":"2012-11-23T16:27:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/admin.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html"},"modified":"2012-11-23T16:27:00","modified_gmt":"2012-11-23T16:27:00","slug":"in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html","title":{"rendered":"In praise of rabbit hunting"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<\/head>
<\/a><\/div>\n

My Dad was a hunter. \u00a0He got it from his Dad and brothers. \u00a0Growing up in the depression, hunting was no mere sport. \u00a0It literally meant food on the table or no food on the table. \u00a0As my Dad said, when his own father and oldest brother went hunting, if they took five shells, they came back with five animals. \u00a0There was no sport about it.<\/p>\n

Nonetheless, as their fortunes improved along with America\u2019s, my Dad still found time to go out and hunt. \u00a0Now Dad was one of those 10% who much preferred a cold, icy winter day to basking alongside the beach in the blistering summer. \u00a0So hunting appealed to his fondness of the season. \u00a0I can\u2019t help but think it also brought back memories, maybe not for memories of things he did \u2013 I never heard him tell of hunting with his own Dad. \u00a0But memories of when he was young, when no matter how rough the life, there is that notion of innocence still worth grasping.<\/p>\n

When I was little, and we lived in a small house in the country \u2013 a house that Dad virtually rebuilt by hand \u2013 I remember him out hunting, when my Aunt Dorthy would tell me that was my Dad whenever we heard the distance echoes from a shotgun. \u00a0When I was old enough, Dad took me hunting. \u00a0Perhaps it\u2019s my nature, but I didn\u2019t care for it, not one bit. \u00a0I just didn\u2019t like shooting and killing little furry animals. \u00a0I understood the whole keeping the animals in check\u00a0arguments\u00a0 \u00a0And Dad was sporting \u2013 he always gave an animal a chance. \u00a0He wouldn\u2019t shoot something just sitting there. \u00a0He gave it a running chance. \u00a0Plus, he made sure the animals were taken back home to be fixed (a gamey meal to be sure), or gave it to whoever owned the property on which we ventured.<\/p>\n

Despite my distaste for hurting things, ironically\u00a0I\u00a0was rather a good shot. \u00a0In a sort of Sundance Kid sort of way, I couldn\u2019t hit the side of the barn if it was standing there. \u00a0But if I suddenly reacted to something, I hit far more than I missed, and\u00a0usually\u00a0with precision. \u00a0I always thought it ironic that I was good at doing something I couldn\u2019t stand. \u00a0Sort of like public speaking. \u00a0I\u2019m told I\u2019m not altogether bad at it, in fact many say I\u2019m rather good. \u00a0By my introverted ways make me dread and loathe getting up in front of groups of people. \u00a0Figures I would be good at only those things I find no\u00a0pleasure\u00a0in\u00a0pursuing!<\/p>\n

Anyway, back to the hunting. \u00a0So I grew up going hunting with my Dad. \u00a0We usually focused on rabbit hunting, as that was Dad\u2019s specialty. Deer hunting was too full of city slickers who knew nothing of guns or hunting safety. \u00a0And\u00a0squirrels\u00a0 \u00a0Have you ever eaten\u00a0squirrel?\u00a0 \u00a0So we focused on hunting rabbit, which involved\u00a0trekking\u00a0through\u00a0endless miles of woodlands, kicking through brush and undergrowth, trying to scare up any rabbit that might be\u00a0hunkered\u00a0down at our approach.<\/p>\n

We were usually Thanksgiving to December hunters, with the later weeks in January going by the wayside. \u00a0I wonder if Dad hunted because of the seasonal feel of it all. \u00a0I know for me, even if I wasn\u2019t a fan of shooting\u00a0things,\u00a0 I can\u2019t help but associate hunting with the smell of turkey, or the ring of Christmas bells in the not-too-distant future. \u00a0I can still remember the hot chocolate, the coffee for Dad, trudging through the snow cloaked woods with Slim Jims that we would pack in plenty.<\/p>\n

Eventually, as all things do, our hunting days came to an end. \u00a0When I moved to Florida, I made no effort to renew my hunting license. \u00a0In Ohio, Dad kept my Ohio license renewed. \u00a0Finally, when I moved back to Kentucky to go to seminary, I went up to visit over Christmas time. \u00a0For old time\u2019s sake, we went hunting. \u00a0All day we found nothing at all. \u00a0Maybe we did and I just tried to avoid shooting it (I\u2019d do that sometimes). \u00a0Then on our way home, just minutes from the car, a rabbit darted out from some bushes. \u00a0Without a second\u2019s hesitation, up went the guns. \u00a0Dad hit it before I had a\u00a0chance\u00a0to do more than react. \u00a0Down it went. \u00a0As we went over, Dad\u00a0expressed\u00a0his regret, almost as if he, too, was hoping we\u2019d get on without hitting something. \u00a0We field dressed it and brought it home. \u00a0But it was the last time we would ever go hunting together again.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/div>\n

And now that Dad\u2019s gone, I can\u2019t help but say I miss hunting. \u00a0I miss going out into the world and enjoying the fresh outdoors. I remember one particular day, we were\u00a0hunting\u00a0just off the railroad tracks in Galion. \u00a0We often went along the railroad tracks, Dad playing some employee card to justify hunting on railroad property. \u00a0We\u00a0veered\u00a0off into some woods that were owned by a farmer he talked to ahead of\u00a0time\u00a0 \u00a0The woods were light, mostly\u00a0smaller\u00a0trees and some light brush. \u00a0It was late November, I think the weekend of Thanksgiving. \u00a0There was already a covering of snow (for we\u00a0didn\u2019t\u00a0 hunt without snow for tracking). \u00a0Dad was ahead, plowing through the brush, while I was supposed to be on the lookout for our\u00a0quarry that might try to circle back.\u00a0 <\/p>\n

I eventually came to a stop. \u00a0As I stood there waiting, it began to snow. \u00a0It was one of those slow, downy snows that Frost wrote about. \u00a0It was already late in the day, and the last place we would hunt. \u00a0I just stood there, looking. \u00a0The snow muffled the sound, even the slight crunching of branches as Dad made his way around. \u00a0The sky was winter grey, and there was no breeze. \u00a0Just snowflakes floating down. \u00a0I stood there then, just taking it all in. \u00a0At least until Dad roused me with a reminder that I was supposed to be helping. <\/p>\n

It\u2019s as if it were yesterday. \u00a0And it was quite refreshing. \u00a0Even now, all those decades later, just remembering it is refreshing. \u00a0Perhaps it\u2019s an American thing, but it\u2019s difficult to think of actually just going out into the woods unless I\u2019m doing something. \u00a0Fishing. \u00a0Hiking. \u00a0Camping. \u00a0Something. \u00a0And since those aren\u2019t popular in the wintertime, getting out into nature seems to take a backseat to indoor activities once the weather chills. \u00a0But by doing something like hunting, there is almost an excuse, a reason to be out and about. \u00a0A call to do more than just step out for five minutes then duck back in as soon as the elements begin to take their toll. \u00a0There\u2019s something that presses you to be out past comfort, until when limbs are cold and digits frozen, you make it past that point of caring. \u00a0Like running a race, when you make it past the first moments of pain and hurting, you reach that\u00a0numbness\u00a0that allows you to step back, stop worrying, and enjoy the world t
\nhat God made, instead of relying on the machinery made by man to interpret it for you. <\/p>\n

So I must admit, I miss that reason to get out on a cold winter day. \u00a0I thought of that as I scrambled about today, cleaning the deck after\u00a0squirrels\u00a0blackened it with a feast of walnuts. \u00a0There I was, the frozen flakes beginning to fall, the wind picking up, thinking how foolish I was to be out on a day like today. \u00a0But after the first moments of being cold, I had to admit I was somewhat enjoying it. \u00a0Just like I did all those years ago. \u00a0So here\u2019s to you Dad, it turns out I enjoyed it more than I thought back then, and would love one more time to do it all again \u2013 even if I had to pay attention and actually try to shoot my targets.<\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My Dad was a hunter. \u00a0He got it from his Dad and brothers. \u00a0Growing up in the depression, hunting was no mere sport. \u00a0It literally meant food on the table or no food on the table. \u00a0As my Dad said, when his own father and oldest brother went hunting, if they took five shells, they […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2805,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2298","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\nIn praise of rabbit hunting<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"My Dad was a hunter.  He got it from his Dad and brothers.  Growing up in the depression, hunting was no mere sport.  It literally meant\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"In praise of rabbit hunting\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"My Dad was a hunter.  He got it from his Dad and brothers.  Growing up in the depression, hunting was no mere sport.  It literally meant\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Daffey Thoughts\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2012-11-23T16:27:00+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"http:\/\/wp.production.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/files\/4.bp.blogspot.com\/-smnOB0C3VSo\/UK_nfOz7UUI\/AAAAAAAACr4\/3hXh3K97AGg\/s320\/rabbit-hunting-george-brehm.jpg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Dave Griffey\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Dave Griffey\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"7 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html\",\"name\":\"In praise of rabbit hunting\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/#website\"},\"datePublished\":\"2012-11-23T16:27:00+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2012-11-23T16:27:00+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/#\/schema\/person\/9de3f33a0818ebc53727444b649c82a7\"},\"description\":\"My Dad was a hunter.  He got it from his Dad and brothers.  Growing up in the depression, hunting was no mere sport.  It literally meant\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"In praise of rabbit hunting\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/\",\"name\":\"Daffey Thoughts\",\"description\":\"\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":\"required name=search_term_string\"}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/#\/schema\/person\/9de3f33a0818ebc53727444b649c82a7\",\"name\":\"Dave Griffey\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/546cf1ab64797c201cc8ad19185f2e57?s=96&d=identicon&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/546cf1ab64797c201cc8ad19185f2e57?s=96&d=identicon&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Dave Griffey\"},\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/author\/dgriffey\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"In praise of rabbit hunting","description":"My Dad was a hunter.  He got it from his Dad and brothers.  Growing up in the depression, hunting was no mere sport.  It literally meant","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"In praise of rabbit hunting","og_description":"My Dad was a hunter.  He got it from his Dad and brothers.  Growing up in the depression, hunting was no mere sport.  It literally meant","og_url":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html","og_site_name":"Daffey Thoughts","article_published_time":"2012-11-23T16:27:00+00:00","og_image":[{"url":"http:\/\/wp.production.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/files\/4.bp.blogspot.com\/-smnOB0C3VSo\/UK_nfOz7UUI\/AAAAAAAACr4\/3hXh3K97AGg\/s320\/rabbit-hunting-george-brehm.jpg"}],"author":"Dave Griffey","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Dave Griffey","Est. reading time":"7 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html","url":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html","name":"In praise of rabbit hunting","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/#website"},"datePublished":"2012-11-23T16:27:00+00:00","dateModified":"2012-11-23T16:27:00+00:00","author":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/#\/schema\/person\/9de3f33a0818ebc53727444b649c82a7"},"description":"My Dad was a hunter.  He got it from his Dad and brothers.  Growing up in the depression, hunting was no mere sport.  It literally meant","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html"]}]},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/2012\/11\/in-praise-of-rabbit-hunting.html#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"In praise of rabbit hunting"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/#website","url":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/","name":"Daffey Thoughts","description":"","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":"required name=search_term_string"}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/#\/schema\/person\/9de3f33a0818ebc53727444b649c82a7","name":"Dave Griffey","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/546cf1ab64797c201cc8ad19185f2e57?s=96&d=identicon&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/546cf1ab64797c201cc8ad19185f2e57?s=96&d=identicon&r=g","caption":"Dave Griffey"},"url":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/author\/dgriffey"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2298","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2805"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2298"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2298\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2298"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2298"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/daffeythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2298"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}