Out of the Frying Pan

A Huntin' We Will Go

My brothers were there in the kitchen when we went inside. Grandpa set down his bucket and I made a sound of relief when he finally took the turkey from me. My brothers were both smiling as their eyes followed that big bird.

Grandpa placed the turkey on the counter and we both took off our jackets. All three of us watched quietly as he turned the turkey legs up and tied them with string, then tied the wings in a similar manner. He wrapped the bird up in wax paper, followed that with a layer of aluminum foil, and placed the whole bundle into the refrigerator. He wrapped and stored the other meats the same way.

As he washed his hands in the sink, Grandpa spoke up and said, “You boys did a mighty fine bit of work today. The air is clean, there’s hardly no wind, and there won’t be no more snowfall until later tonight. I think we’ll go a-hunting.”

At hearing those words, my brothers lit up brighter than the north star, just as I had.

Grandpa pulled a towel from the drawer handle by the sink and wiped his hands. “Right now, I’m going into the front room and put up my dogs for a spell.”

As soon as he was seated, the orders started.

“Lenny, you go a check the coffee pot in the parlor, make sure it’s full. Lanny, you go and fetch us some biscuits and beef jerky, and Mike, go get my two thermoses from the pantry and lash on a couple extra cups.”

We scattered like mice at a cheese festival. Each of us ran back in with our reports.

“Coffee pot is full, Grandpa.”

“Biscuits and beef jerky are ready, Grandpa.”

“Thermoses and extra cups are ready, Grandpa.”

There were more preparations to be done, so the next round of orders were issued.

“Now Lenny and Lanny, you two fill up the thermoses and be careful not to burn yourselves. Mike, fetch my knapsack and put the thermoses, biscuits, and beef in it.”

We hurried to our tasks. The sooner the preparations were done, the sooner we could be on our way. When I came back to the kitchen, my brothers were still carefully filling the thermoses. Just as I started to place the biscuits into the bag, I heard my Grandpa’s bow strike the fiddle and Grandpa began to sing.

Some folks like the summertime when they can walk about
Going through the meadows green is pleasant there’s no doubt
Just give me the wintertime when the snow is on the ground
‘Cause I found her when the snow was on the ground

I traced her little footprints in the snow
I found her little footprints in the snow
Oh Lord, I’ll bless that happy day that Nelly lost her way
‘Cause I found her when the snow was on the ground.

We finished up and brought the knapsack into the front room while Grandpa was still singing the song. We sat down quietly, smiling as we watched that bow fly over the strings. When he finished, he let out a roar of laughter and placed his fiddle and bow next to his chair. “You boys look like you’re ready. I guess I’d better go and get the rest of the gear.”

Grandpa got up from his chair and went towards the kitchen.

Near the back of the house were two doors. The one on the right was to the pantry, and the one on the left was to what Grandpa called “the gun room.” He kept it locked and he carried the key with him all the time. From where we were sitting in the front room, we couldn’t see him, but we could hear him as he unlocked that door, went in, came out, and locked it again. He came back into the front room carrying his prized possession, a 1907 Remington Rolling Block. This was the only one out of all the guns he had, that he had bought new for himself. Others he had either traded for or bought used.

I looked over at my brothers, and they both looked kind of disappointed. For the life of me, I didn’t know why. As for me, I was happy. I didn’t know what was up with them.

Grandpa told Lenny to pick up the knapsack. “Let’s get going, boys, times a-wasting.” He asked Lanny if the back door was locked and Lanny assured him that it was. Locking the front door as he followed us out, Grandpa reached over to the pile of hand-carved signs that he had made to hang on a nail beside the door. He hung up a sign that said “I’ll be back when I get here.” Other signs said things like “Gone fishing to let the big one get away,” and “Gone hunting, just missed you, hold still will you?” Grandpa had a great but sometimes interesting sense of humor.

He led the way down the front steps and then turned to the left, going around the side of the house. I was a bit confused, thinking There’s four of us and only one rifle? but I kept tagging along.

My brothers must’ve been having the same thoughts, because I heard one of them mumble, “I thought we were going real hunting.” I didn’t care what they said. Grandpa said we’re going hunting, then we’re going hunting, because he never said he was going to do something and then not do it.

Grandpa went up next to the house and reached down into the snow, pulling up the sled he had made for my brothers and me last Christmas. He shook the snow off the sled, then grabbed the rope that was attached to the front of it and pulled it out further into the yard. I thought to myself, Whatever we’re hunting must be really big, because the sled was eight feet long so my brothers and I could ride on it all together. That’s why we don’t have guns, I thought, our jobs will be to pull the sled back.

I looked at my brothers and they still looked like bulldogs baptized in lemon juice.

Grandpa told Lenny to put the knapsack onto the sled then pointed out a long, flat bag that was half-hidden by the snow. “Lanny, fetch that bag and put it on the sled, too.”

“Alright, we have everything,” Grandpa announced, “let’s head for the woods.”

As we reached the fence gate, I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I asked Grandpa, “Is what we’re going hunting for really big?”

My grandpa stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to look down at me. “What did you just say?”

So I repeated myself. “What we’re going hunting for, is it really big?”

Grandpa looked over at my brothers who had stopped also, then back at me. “You don’t know, do you?”

My brothers started to say something and my Grandpa, “Fiddlin’ Uncle John Douglas” told them to hush, in an authoritative voice.

He turned to me, looked me right in the eyes and said, “We’re going to hunt another Douglas.”

I nearly lost my breath. I couldn’t believe what my ears were telling me. Grandpa had intention to go hunting for one of our kinfolk!

“What?” My throat was dry as I asked in a panic, “Who?”

My grandpa and my brothers busted out laughing.

“No, no, Mike,” Grandpa said, “we’re going hunting for a Douglas fir, one that’ll make us a fine Christmas tree.”