Lost Trophies

This was an article for the Dallas Safari Club Newsletter from a column I write- Outdoor Parenting- in which I lament the loss of control over my trophy room. Man cave stuff. On the plus side, the trophies have helped connect me with the kids.

Lost Trophies - Outdoor Parenting

Sometime recently, when I wasn’t looking, the balance of power shifted in my house. It went unnoticed until we began to paint the living room. Why that event is significant is that we had to take all the trophies down to do the work. Once completed I assumed we were going to put them back up where they were. “You know dad, the European skulls kind of overwhelm the room.” My daughter was looking at the walls.

Whoa! This from the girl that insisted the turkey mount be full body because her brother had never shot one. This from the girl that made sure the Gold Medal plaque is on the wall by her axis so it is not confused with other animals. Surely she wants the deer horns displayed.

“Then I think we will put all the white-tail horns in the hallway” I declared. And the shift of power became clearly apparent. “No, not the hallway either.” By now the Alpha Female was behind her, supporting her. “I thought you liked the trophies” I offered in a bit of a whine- it was my final gambit-expand the argument to all trophies, not just the skulls.

“I do” she said, “but the skulls just don’t fit the décor any more.” Game, set , match.

I have had to reassess my attachment to the trophies and I have started to see that I have had as much enjoyment out of them on the wall as I did when they were taken. Most of them aren’t mine. My son’s first buck was an 8 point that he downed in the middle of Willow Creek in Mason. The deer was 2 ½, and my son was about 10. 6 years later, my daughter leaned against the same tree and took her first deer. That deer helped us out in that his horn was flopping on his face, loose from a fight. About the time he started to notice my daughter setting up for the shot, his antler would draw his attention away from her. She finally got the shot. We must have taken 20 pictures of her posing with her deer. Old Mr. Harper, our taxidermist, did a fine job putting the horn back onto the skull.

The rack with the most mass is from a buck my son took when he was 14. He made the shot, and the buck ran into the brush. When he couldn’t find it immediately, he assumed he missed and sat dejected the rest of the morning. When I came to pick him up he took me through the shot and I was able to show him how to find where the deer was standing, find blood from the impact and find a dead deer. Magnificent trophy.

The last time the three of us hunted together on the same trip was the day after Thanksgiving 4 years ago. We arrived at the lease in OK about 3:00 in the afternoon and my daughter and I sat together. We had been there less that 20 minutes when I saw Mr. Big walking through the mesquites. I told her to cover her ears and took the shot. On our way over to see if I had connected, we heard a shot from his stand. We took the two best bucks of our lives within a span of 15 minutes. My daughter took a doe the next morning and the ride home with a truck full of deer was one of the most satisfying I can remember. Every antler on the wall carries specific memories and feelings for me, mostly around time with my kids.

What I have discovered in the loss of my antler collection is that I don’t go back to the woods as often after dinner as I used to. The trophies are a 3 dimensional scrapbook that captivates my interest and ties me to my kids through the experience. When my son left for college, it coincided with my daughter moving to things like make-up and other interests outside of my manipulations. As a Dad I am pedaling as fast as I can to see where I can continue to connect with her. And for now, the horns are stacked on the workbench in the garage. I did get a concession from the other team that if I moved the bookshelves out of the office, and use only one wall, I could keep the horns in there. The office may become my new favorite room.

A Belated Thank You to Mepps Spinner Company

Another article for the Dallas Safari Club (Outdoor Parenting Column).

Catching Kids

As a kid striving to learn to hunt and fish, I had the misfortune of being raised in the city. My monthly Field and Stream was one of the principle lifelines to my hopes of achieving outdoorsman status. Ed Zern inside the back cover held just as much interest for me as did the adds just ahead of him. My relationship with the Mepps Lure Company began back there with their ad to buy squirrel tales to adorn their spinners. This was probably my first real introduction to the idea of recycling. Hunt the squirrel, eat the squirrel, sell the squirrel tail to be made into a fishing lure. Buy lures with the money and catch fish. Eat the fish. Mepps was green before being green was cool. Mepps and I go way back.

The only real vacation Dad was consistent about was to take a week in the summer and take my brother and I camping. We lived in Toronto and camped all over Ontario. In 1967 I was standing on a log protruding into the river at Algonquin Provincial Park dragging a #2 Aglia Spinner through the water. A flash of silver came from under my log, slammed the lure, and the rod doubled immediately before the line snapped. Dad took me fishing all the time but never new how to fish and I was self-taught. At age 8 I learned the double lesson of drag and the use of wire leaders for pike.

Later that year I was to catch one of my most interesting trophies. I was popping a number 2 silver Mepps with minnow along the bank at Old Mill Park in Toronto and hooked a small bass. He was tagged and quite a puzzle. I asked around at the lake and was told that the Queen of England had released a hundred tagged fish into the lake the day before to celebrate the Centennial of Canada’s independence from Britain. It was 1967. The tag was redeemed at City Hall for a medallion that still sits in my drawer 40 years later. I was so excited about the catch that I wrote to Mepps to tell them in precise and excruciating detail how I caught the fish. Their response was noteworthy. I was sent a patch affirming me as Master Angler. They sent a personal letter to me not only congratulating me on my catch, but also on my story. They included 7 or 8 articles that were hand typed and had been published in outdoor magazines about fishing by various writers. They paid attention to me and encouraged me.

My love of the outdoors continues today and I have done my best to infect my kids with it. My first degree was in Forestry and while my careers have changed over time, I continue to strive to maintain my outdoorsman status. In addition I belong to the Texas Outdoor Writers Association (TOWA) and try to share my experiences with others though this and and other publications. How much of all of this is because Dad took me camping or because Mepps took 15 minutes to respond to an 8 year old?

I got a letter in the mail the other day, one I suspect was sent to all TOWA members from Mepps. It seems they are running low on squirrel tales and are trying to get the word out that it is now legal to sell them they skins if you live in Texas. If you have never spent a day with your kid picking off squirrels with a .22 then here is a great bonus to the event. Teach them about this recycling thing and start talking conservation (not preservation) and sustained yield and use the squirrel tails as the vehicle. Mepps needs them, you need the time with your children, the kids need it and our future generations need it.

Lets recycle this encouragement and gratitude thing too. So I say thank you Dad for getting me out there, and thank you Mepps for you kind words way back then.

Circle of Life

When my daughter brought home chickens to raise, we learned a lot about poultry, discipline and natural consequences.

The Circle of Life

Did you know Plano West High School has an FFA Chapter? Neither did I. Knock me over with a (chicken) feather because my 17 year old West Plano Princess is raising chickens in our garage to compete in the Collin County Fair. And yes, the purple jackets are the same as they were when we were in High School.

When she came to her mother and I to propose the idea I queried her about her thoughts on the downside of the project. She admitted that the butchering would be difficult if she got attached to them. I have encouraged her not to name the birds. But we are learning as we go. Apparently culling is necessary to encourage max growth for the better specimens. Of course, only Premium Show Chow is adequate for the project. Interestingly, this is the first time that the harvested product will be more expensive per pound than my venison is.

What I like about the whole ordeal is that she is gaining exposure to the practical and business side of this circle of life we all participate in. We have always tried to connect the food in the grocery store with its true origin for the kids. When my son was 4 or 5 one of his favorite activities was to fish. Fortunately there was (and still is) a catfish farm over by the Mesquite airport. We had caught a couple and it occurred to me that this was a great opportunity to teach him about this circle. At the time about all he would eat was fish sticks. So, in language he could understand, I explained that we were going to make fish stick out of our catch and that we needed another one for Mom. As he pulled in another he held it up and in a stage whisper cautioned me, “Dad- Don’t tell him he’s for supper!” That level of sincerity and simplicity is humbling.

Both kids have had game as a part of their diet their entire life and have a better appreciation of His creation because of it. My daughter has decided that the outdoors and animals and business might coincide in college. She was pondering how to combine agriculture with business and Dad looked like a champ in telling her there is a true “Ag-Business degree.” Does anyone know of a good Ag school 3 hours south of Dallas? Is that a whooping noise coming from the chicken coop?

What remains puzzling through all of this is her interest in agriculture. Prior to FFA and the chickens, her exposure to agriculture was limited to the produce aisle at Central Market. The passion and drive is clearly hers, but honestly, her mother and I get to take credit for inviting her to love the outdoors. We had her camping while she was in diapers, bb guns before kindergarten and hunting and fishing from day one. I choose to believe that the hours we have spent away from computers and television is paying off in an area that my daughter will find satisfying. I regularly struggle with knowing where the line is between responsible parenting and self-satisfying manipulation but I truly do want what is best for my kids and if this is the direction her path is taking her, I am happy for her.

The executions, eh-the culling- starts tomorrow. I hope Speckle and Flipper make it.

Turkey Talk

It is usual that the people that punch our buttons the most are (in order) Parents, Spouse, Children. There are reasons for it (and I will not trouble you with why that is true at this time), just suffice to say we get plenty of practice in being healthy functional adults when we are with the ones we love.

“I don’t WANT to sit there” my daughter protested. “I won’t be able to see!” I was suggesting my 10 year old sit behind a scraggly bush 40 yards from the hen decoy. Her Christmas .22 was being employed to hunt turkeys on Willow Creek in Mason and a gobbler had already sounded once from the tree. The decoy was straight in front of us and a live oak behind us would contribute to breaking up our outline.

This was the second run in I had had with the princess that morning. The first had been when we took her rifle and my shotgun out of the Jeep. “Why are you bringing that?” she asked? “In case you need help when you shoot a gobbler,” I replied. “I do not need your help, you are not to shoot my bird” my confident 10 year old proclaimed.

So our dawn pre-hunt discussion had deteriorated to an argument about where the best place to sit would be. I tried to be as patient as I could. I really did. I explained that if she sat beside the bush the bird would see her. If one landed she could see through the bare bush with enough clarity to get a bead on the bird. “No” she said, “I am sitting over there.” I had had it.

“Marie- Do you know a lot about turkey hunting?” I demanded of her on her first venture out. She paused only a moment and countered with “I know quite a bit!” It is impossible to argue with a headstrong 10 year old and feel like you are winning. It was time to trump. I was preparing to threaten to call the whole thing off, and tell her we were done hunting when I got an assist. Two gobblers called from the roost not 100 yards away. In a voice as excited as I could muster, I told her to sit down, “here they come.” Sit down she did and sure enough, one strike of my slate caller brought a jake down on the far side of the decoy. As he walked to the bird he sensed something wasn’t right and he took a right angle to the decoy and us at about 50 yards. I whispered to my daughter that this was probably the best shot she would get and to take it if she wanted it. She lifted the bolt action with open sights and sent a long rifle hollow point at the bird. You could see the impact but the bird really started moving. Forgetting her earlier demands, she implored me to “shoot him again Daddy shoot him again!” A load of 4’s from the Benelli rolled him as my daughter squealed at bagging the bird.

If those birds had not gobbled when they did I hate to think how the day would have turned out. When I run out of patience or get too tired I lose all creativity, and in some cases, sensibility dealing with my kids. When I get to that point I play the power card. This comes out as “because I said so” or “because that’s just the way it is.” Spanking falls into this category. Now I am not totally against spanking, but what I will say is that at least 75% of the time a parent resorts to hitting their kid it is because they can’t figure out another way to get their point across.

Both my kids have been real different. I have had to adapt and grow as a parent and the growth was necessary. It seems like we all want to let down when we get home from work, but what I say, is that when we get with our kids, the work begins. The work of parenting, of trying to do our part to raise them and be in relationship with them.

I will give you that it is hard to recognize a defiant child as simply one asking for love but it is the truth. And I can’t take their behavior personally, I must recognize it for what it is, an attempt to get attention. Negative attention is still attention so if I want the behavior to improve, I have to be smarter than a 5^th grader in meeting their behavior. And continue to hope for an assist from the odd turkey.