Deer camp, and a time to be proud

‘Tis the season. Santa Claus came to the airport Saturday. A passel of children appeared to sit on his lap and tell him their fondest wishes. Usually, the jolly old gent arrives by airplane but this year in the snow storm the Gazette reported that he flew in a day early and was delivered by car to the grand meeting of children and proud parents.

Yes we all know that the festivities of children and Santa in his overstuffed red suit and plastic beard are stretching the truth a bit. When it happens it brings back fond memories of childhood, the awe and beauty of selfless giving going back to our own happy youth. Memories of parents that care even though we all know that we are stretching truth just a bit.

Truth-stretching also migrated to your columnist’s hangar at the airport a few yards from where Santa held forth with his ample lap and a candy cane for each young‘un. It is black powder mussel-loader deer season and my old Air Force friends have arrived to enjoy the ritual of “deer camp”. Roughing it with comfortable Cabelas cots and sleeping bags in a heated (barely) hangar. The airplanes are moved out to make room for all the camping gear. They use the full kitchen to cook--sometimes, bathroom with shower and hot water—you know the bare essentials. The best part, of course, is the circle of friends reminiscing over the past year since we’ve seen one another, events that happened now long ago, past and current hunts all in the same spirit of truth as when Santa came for the little tykes.

The deer population is ample but reportedly down from last year. My guys are finding adequate numbers in all their favorite hunting spots. With black powder, one can’t shoot at long range so sitting and waiting at pregnant places brings best results. Yes they are finding deer, antlerless only according their licenses, and bring in a few to proudly hang in the cold, to cool, just outside the hangar. Four hunters, bag limit two each, so hopefully eight dressed carcasses will soon be traveling back to their homes, Wisconsin, North Carolina, Illinois and Arizona. It is a good thing. The more deer that are harvested the fewer there will be to challenge our cars on the highway.

Out and about Saturday evening on the drive to the airport, it was an enchanting ride. The wet snow flying from the north had plastered every scene on Santa Claus Lane a sparkling white. Enchanting. The bright lights of decorated homes sparkling through blowing heavy snowfall beautiful indeed. I was reminded of the joy of winter scenes that make us who live where there are four seasons to feel fortunate. I also note darkened houses, unplowed driveways that boast of the owners gone south for winter. To me it is a sad thing to miss out on a beautiful part of our year around four season community. Dress for it, cold weather is just part of accommodating to our ever-changing weather.

We haven’t done it yet but each Christmas season Grannie Annie and I spend an evening cruising the streets of our fair city and enjoying how neighbors, friends and just people decorate their homes to shout out the joy of Christmas. The huge spruce tree just east of the college event center is a decorated delight. East M Street—don’t miss it. A thank you to the Davis Tree Service that makes it possible.

The snow was perfect for making a snowman. There is a front yard on East 7th that boasts a large snowman with lighted buttons on his belly. Never saw that before!

The military pomp and circumstance surrounding the passing of our 41st president George H.W. Bush swells this old military veteran with pride. I have fond memories of marching in an inaugural parade in Washington D.C. but that was for Nixon well before Bush. As for the solemn formal military at a state funeral only on TV, never in person. I do remember being proud of a young man from McCook who carried the casket of President Ford representing the Navy as part of the Washington Honor Guard. Teddy Chancellor, his name and he was one of my former flight students. Made this old guy feel proud.

That was the way I saw it.

Dick Trail