Daddy's Shoulders

As Betty and I were coming home from the grocery store, we saw a family walking down the sidewalk. They were laughing and the father had a giggling burden on his shoulders. That took me back to my own childhood.

Most of the memories of my Dad were memories of a stern, demanding man, but there was one time that it was really different for me. Donnie was the one who usually got to go on hunting and fishing trips. One time, I was invited. I imagine that I was about ten years old. When we got to the camp and were beginning to set up, we realized that I left my sleeping bag home. We were in the mountains in winter and it was too cold for me to sleep without bedding. That night, Dad and I shared a sleeping bag. I was warm but I am sure it wasn't the most comfortable night for my Dad.

The next morning, we were off. There was a soft blanket of snow on the ground. It was beautiful to look at, but it wasn't so beautiful when we had to walk in it. I never did like the cold. We were hunting in the neighborhood of the old Vance homestead, near the family cabin on the Conejos River. Dad wanted to hunt on the south side of the river and that meant crossing the icy blue river by wading across. Dad scooped me up on his shoulders and carried me across. I can only imagine how cold his feet must have been, but mine were warm and dry.

Once on the other side of the river, we headed into one of the canyons that jutted up into the mountains. We came to the ruins of an old log cabin. In the corner of the floor of the cabin, you could see where a mountain lion had curled up to sleep. Dad signalled to me to be quiet. That was a hard thing for me to do, but I was able to this time.

We followed the tracks down the side of the canyon and across a small creek. They took us into the timber and changed direction. Still we followed quietly and steadily. Once again the path took a turn out of the darkness of the timber in into the light. Down the hillside we went until we and we crossed the creek again. It wasn't long until we were back at the ruins of the old cabin. I was a little confused as to who was hunted and who was hunting.

My little ten year old body was tired and I was hungry. We headed back to camp following our own footsteps in the snow. Back at the river bank, Dad hoisted me once again to his shoulders. The swift frigid water was shallow and we quickly crossed. It was so good to get back to the camp and the warmth of the campfire.

There were not lot of words exchanged that day. Hunting was serious business to Dad. Although few words were exchanged, I learned volumes. I learned to love and respect nature. I learned that wild life is to be respected. I learned that my Dad loved me and was willing to care for me.