Writing on this subject might be jumping the gun, looking down a barrel before the season starts, but it won’t be long until the hunters are back in town. With fancy hunting gear, hopes and dreams, they come for the thrill of the hunt.
Pagosa is a hunters’ town. Go to Walmart and sit in the parking lot. Everyone is in camouflage except a few of us. Husbands, wives, children and even their service dogs come to the store in camo.
Even though my Sweet Al can’t limp up those mountains or chase down a deer anymore, he is always ready to pull the trigger on another story about his hunting days on the mountaintop or in the cornfield.
Each morning, my Sweet Al and I walk to the river and share a Bible study and a devotion. His attention span is getting shorter, but this book, “The Hunter’s Devotional” by Steve Chapman, keeps Al focused on the subject. He wants me to read more than one.
I was told to keep the elderly engaged. When their memories are slipping, ask them to tell their stories. This stirs their memory and helps them think. This morning I asked Al to tell me how old he was when he first caught buck fever.
“When I got my first gun.”
Amazing how he can’t remember what he had for breakfast, but he can remember every detail about every hunt. He came alive, a twinkle sparked in his eyes, and he looked as if he was smitten with puppy love.
“I was 12 years old when I got my first gun, a J.C. Higgins bolt-action 12-gauge Model 10 shotgun. I went to the pawnshop on South Gibson in Albuquerque and bought it for $75. A serviceman, being shipped out, hocked it and I got it.”
“That was 74 years ago.” I made a quick assessment.
“When I pointed that gun at a bird, it hit it every time. In a split second, when I threw up the gun, it fit exactly in the crook of my arm.”
I’m not surprised how he came alive. Hunting is in his blood.
In love, he continued to talk about his first gun. “It’s a sweet gun. Not a pretty gun, a rough finish, not all polished up, but always ready to take out and shoot a few birds.
“You could leave it out in the rain, throw it in the back seat, and take it anywhere.”
“Your J.C. Higgins sounds like a faithful girlfriend.”
“She is. The year I was invited to go on a hunting trip of a lifetime, I went with my brother and his rich friends. They were all carrying their $1,300 guns. My brother rented a big cornfield for the week in South Dakota. There were nine of us. We went into the field. They carried their brand-new, shiny guns. I carried my old J.C. Higgins.
“They would flash their guns, show off their latest purchase and brag about how much their little beauty cost to have a trophy on their arm. I would pull out my old tried and true. They lifted their eyebrows in doubt. But when I stepped into that cornfield, the pheasants were in my bag.”
My brother yelled, “Al, stop shooting all the birds; leave some for the other boys.”
“At the end of the day, in the bunkhouse, I divvied up my birds with the guys who hadn’t shot one pheasant. I was invited back a few times over those years. My brother was flying high with his rich and famous friends. I was flying high with my J.C. Higgins by my side.”
Al has promised each grandson a gun and the rest of the family, too. It’s funny, they each picked the best-looking gun. Al grinned. No one looked at the old ragged and scratched J.C Higgins.
I asked Al if they had picked the J.C., could he have turned loose of his first love?
“Nope. If they had known the history, happiness and success of my sweet thing and the years of joy it brought me, they would’ve fought me for it. There’s nothing like it. When I take hold of her in my arms, caress her, oil and clean her up, I think of all the memories I made with her.”
Final brushstroke: Those distant memories give the elderly the capacity to remember. Let them live their stories, even if you’ve heard them a million times. Their memories will keep them young at heart.
From my readers:
“So enjoyed your article, Save the Last Dance for Cindy. We met them at Bridge at the senior center and quickly became dear friends. We went with them everywhere when we were here and practically met the entire town. They were what I call ‘real people’ with nothing to prove except their real love for all and their generosity. Thanks for writing such a heartfelt article. They are truly missed. Thanks again, Claudine & Mark McAnelly”
“Thank you, Betty – What a tribute to Ron and Cindy Gustafson in her article Save the Last Dance for Cindy. What a tribute to their legacy in Pagosa. It touched the hearts of all their friends, Veterans and Women Helping In Pagosa Springs (WHIPS) and their families. So touching.” — Nancy Ford.
Send your comment to bettyslade.author@gmail.com. I’d love to share them with the other folks in Pagosa.
Views expressed do not necessarily represent those of The SUN.
