I remember as a young boy, the yearly ritual that took place at our house every year about a week or two before Thanksgiving. Dad would be packing up his hunting gear in preparation to leave for deer camp located up north in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Dad would be telling stories about hunts from years past. There was always a wild story that he would tell too, you might say it was a tall tale. Back then though, I didn't know any better. It would be a story of some guy that had been lost from the year before and would show up at their camp, or about some one-eyed lady they met at a bar. One story he'd tell almost every year was about a one-legged woman with no teeth, and how she had taken a liking to one of the guys. Dad would laugh every time he told the story, especially when one of his hunting buddies would be over to the house. I would always watch and listen, and just be in total awe of my Dad as he moved about arranging his gear, and then arranging it again. Whenever J.D. Martin, Dick Ward or Jim Kingsly would get together with Dad, there was more laughter than you could imagine. I didn't always know or understand what they were laughing at, but it was sure neat to be there and try and be a part of it.

Back in them days there were no cell phones, and once the men backed out of the driveway, we didn't hear from them until they pulled back in the driveway a week later. Most of the time Dad got back just in time for Thanksgiving dinner, a time that I wouldn't miss for the world. You have never heard a story of such high quality as the ones you heard at the dinner table when Dad just got home from a hunt. Man, those were the good old days.