The Old Hunter
Posted: Wednesday, June 15, 2011
by Amanda Johnson
The old hunter sits high in the tree stand as the moment he has been waiting for arrives. The yellow golden sun is slowly rising and casting long fingers of light across the fall leaves which carpet the ground beneath and before him. It is oh so quiet with only the slight rustle of the trees and occasional scamper of a bird or squirrel on limbs. A religious man, he says a small prayer and breathes in the beauty and wonder of the spectacle the sun is birthing before his eyes.
Ever so slowly and without warning even to himself, the hunter lowers the rifle and it comes to rest on the wooden floor of the tree stand. He sits silently staring at the big buck as a tear slips down his life weary and weathered cheek. The animal turns his head then comes to rest full in the direction of where his stalker sits. There is a feeling of communication between the two. Then with a few blows of breath to warn the others, the big buck turns and leaps with graceful awe back along the other side of the hill. The old hunter smiles. He will hunt no more.
The old hunter is my father and this moment that he experienced then shared with me defines him. He has a heart as big as an ocean and a love for all things in nature. He would have been in his sixties when he saw the big buck but never stopped going "hunting". From that day forward he went armed with his video camera and has hours of tape of wildlife that he has always eagerly shared with his children and grandchildren.
Sadly now at 81, his body enslaved by emphysema after years of breathing in the dusty, powdery feed in the turkey houses he tended. More time than he would like is spent indoors living nature through his television. When he found out what was troubling his body and that he could no longer work his gardens and trek through the woods he stood at the back door looking out with a tear streaming down his cheek. When my mother told me this I cried. Here was a man who had been a child of the depression and worked hard at various manual labor jobs his entire life. He didn't know the meaning of not working at something and now his body was betraying him. Stubborn and proud man that he is, he will to this day push his limits and work the garden or walk in the woods on good days.
For all of that he is a happy, jolly, kind and thoughtful man to this day. He is not the type to sit and mourn for himself. There is so much love bottled up in this one silver haired little man that it pours out and onto everyone around him. Everyone is greeted with a hug and a warm smile usually accompanied by some little line to make you laugh. He and my mother now spend allot of time taking care of the "old" folks in the community, taking them to doctor's appointments, visiting them in the nursing home, making sure their clothes are washed and they are properly fed. Just as they raised four children under difficult circumstances and supported their church with faithful vigor.
This man of faith, love and compassion is truly a man. I still remember the less kind side of him in years long past as surely he is human, but I know him to be at the very core a man with a heart of pure gold. For 51 years my dad has sang happy birthday to me without missing even one. I look forward to those phone calls and still cry every time.
The old hunter now days hunts only for peace and laughter and finds them in abundance when his children are near and I know that even when we're not, he still has this for he knows how to find it within himself.
That long ago day when he laid down the gun to appreciate the exquisite breath of nature is the epitome of the generous, loving and soulful person I am so very grateful and humbled to call my father.
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