Thanksgiving in the Sacramentos

 Dear Dad,

This morning the air smelled like autumn and I noticed a few leaves beginning to change colors.  The fall season always reminds me of hunting turkeys with you.  You would grab the shotgun off of the back porch and invite me to go along.  Sorry I wasn’t the son that you probably wanted for a hunting partner, but you were wonderful to let me be your buddy.   I really didn’t enjoy hunting but the individual attention I got from you was worth the effort it took to search for those elusive birds.

You always seemed to know where they would be and always said that hunting turkeys was a skill few people had. Most hunters would accidently run across a flock but to set out to find a turkey was something else altogether.  Remember how you would caution me to be quiet and not walk in the dry leaves and to tread softly. I remember you stopping to listen and telling me not to breathe so loudly.  You would take that old cheap watch out of your pocket and turn the hands backward so it would stop ticking while you cocked your head at a funny angle to listen.  You taught me how to make a turkey caller from a sleepy grass straw. Turkeys would come to you but I never quite got the hang of it. Yes, I know you are supposed to suck on the straw to make the call
but it seemed I always ended up with a lot of spit and noises that were loud enough to scare a bear.  I remember a time you shot into a flock and turkeys scattered in every direction; you grabbed the caller and one old stupid Tom turned around and came back to you. He was on our dinner table that night.  

Usually after our long climbs up the mountain we would find a place to rest; this is when we had our best talks. I loved your stories about your childhood adventures in the Sacramento Mountains; you taught me the name of trees, plants and birds and how to survive in the wild. We talked about the boys I was dating and you gave me advice. Of course, I thought I knew more about boys than you did, after all, this was a new time and things had changed a lot since you were young.  It will soon be Thanksgiving and the juicy Butterball store bought turkey on our table will be delicious, but It will never replace the memories I have of a young girl and her dad hunting those scrawny, tough wild gobblers we put on our Thanksgiving table.

Your Loving Daughter,   Barbara