As I was going through some old boxes I found in the corner of the basement, I found a stack of old photos.
There were pictures of my father as a kid holding a bow and arrow in one hand, and a medal in the other.
He beamed at the camera.
His face was alive with his smile and it was clear to see that he was filled with pride.
He was no more than 12 years old.
In the background I could make out a line of pines and some tents.
I smiled back at him and wondered about the little boy in the picture and what the medal had been for.
Months later, as I sat with my mother enjoying a cup of coffee and conversation about the old days, I recalled the image of my dad in the photo I had found in the basement.
I asked her about it and she immediately smiled as she remembered the story he had told her over 30 years ago.
He had been on a deer hunt with his scout troop somewhere in California.
The troop had been camping and hunting for a week in the forest high in the mountains.
At the end of the week, scouts who had been successful at following the trail of an animal, or had done another remarkable job, were awarded with a medal.
Seems dad had been awarded a medal for his cleverness.
With his bow and arrow he had managed to collect enough trout from the river to feed the entire troop when the week's supplies had been lost to the bears.
As my mother re-told the story, I noticed that my sons had entered the room and had quietly sat down at the table to listen to her tale.
When the story ended, they begged and pleaded that someone take them to fish and hunt in the woods.
I promised to check with their dad later than day.
By week's end, my sons and husband were all set and packed for their weekend adventure.
The night before they were to head for the mountains, I packed containers of fruit which I had vacuum sealed with my vacuum food sealer.
The fruit was sure to stay fresh for a couple of days, along with the chips and sandwiches I had also sealed tight using the sealer.
I made sure they would all stay dry and warm by using larger sized bags to hold their clothes and sealing those with a heavy use sealer.
Packing them this way, and removing all the air from the bags also made them much more compact and easy to transport.
Matches, of course, were also packed using the same method.
My husband and sons returned from their weekend adventure with wonderful and happy tales of chasing animals, which they never actually saw, only heard, and stories of the creepy sounds at night as they sat by the campfire.
They came back dirty and smelling of campfire smoke, but their faces were aglow as had been the face of my father in the photo from so many years ego.
There were pictures of my father as a kid holding a bow and arrow in one hand, and a medal in the other.
He beamed at the camera.
His face was alive with his smile and it was clear to see that he was filled with pride.
He was no more than 12 years old.
In the background I could make out a line of pines and some tents.
I smiled back at him and wondered about the little boy in the picture and what the medal had been for.
Months later, as I sat with my mother enjoying a cup of coffee and conversation about the old days, I recalled the image of my dad in the photo I had found in the basement.
I asked her about it and she immediately smiled as she remembered the story he had told her over 30 years ago.
He had been on a deer hunt with his scout troop somewhere in California.
The troop had been camping and hunting for a week in the forest high in the mountains.
At the end of the week, scouts who had been successful at following the trail of an animal, or had done another remarkable job, were awarded with a medal.
Seems dad had been awarded a medal for his cleverness.
With his bow and arrow he had managed to collect enough trout from the river to feed the entire troop when the week's supplies had been lost to the bears.
As my mother re-told the story, I noticed that my sons had entered the room and had quietly sat down at the table to listen to her tale.
When the story ended, they begged and pleaded that someone take them to fish and hunt in the woods.
I promised to check with their dad later than day.
By week's end, my sons and husband were all set and packed for their weekend adventure.
The night before they were to head for the mountains, I packed containers of fruit which I had vacuum sealed with my vacuum food sealer.
The fruit was sure to stay fresh for a couple of days, along with the chips and sandwiches I had also sealed tight using the sealer.
I made sure they would all stay dry and warm by using larger sized bags to hold their clothes and sealing those with a heavy use sealer.
Packing them this way, and removing all the air from the bags also made them much more compact and easy to transport.
Matches, of course, were also packed using the same method.
My husband and sons returned from their weekend adventure with wonderful and happy tales of chasing animals, which they never actually saw, only heard, and stories of the creepy sounds at night as they sat by the campfire.
They came back dirty and smelling of campfire smoke, but their faces were aglow as had been the face of my father in the photo from so many years ego.
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