The heat-wave from Indian summer had finally broken. It was a perfect, cool, late-August morning with an unmistakable hint of the change of seasons to come. The first thermos with strong black coffee had been sealed. As the second was topped off with hot chocolate, a wave of nostalgia overcame me as we prepared to leave for the woods.

As a boy, I associated days like this with two things: school starting and opening day of squirrel season. Volunteer fans everywhere associate the third Saturday of October with the traditional Tennessee-Alabama football rivalry. Squirrel hunters in Tennessee renew their tradition each year on the fourth Saturday of August. This Saturday morning was special as it would not only renew that tradition but also begin a tradition for a new generation.

Anticipation is at least half the thrill of any hunt. The night before this particular squirrel hunt had been no exception. In fact, the anticipation for both Andy and me was extraordinary. His excitement was unbridled.

Before his normal bedtime, he laid out his camouflage outfit. In his bathroom he placed the little jars of face paint nearest his sink. Immediately preceding his “now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep” routine, he repeated his instructions: watch were you step, be quiet, don’t sit down or put your hands on anything without first looking, look for rustling leaves, always stay behind when daddy’s ready to shoot, let dad pick the squirrel up first so we’re sure its dead.

His first trip into my bedroom came less than thirty minutes after I turned out his light. The second came about thirty minutes after I turned off my light. He finally fell asleep just after midnight.

Realizing the importance in showing a new hunter some initial success, I admit I was a bit nervous. Hunting was such a big part of my relationship with my dad during my boyhood years. I surely wanted Andy to have an enjoyable experience fueling his desire to do it again with the old man. But, the attention span of a six year old is limited. I new we’d need to move from tree to tree. There would be no sitting and waiting as usual. We wouldn’t stay out long least he become bored. So we needed to see a few bushy tails in short order.

With his delayed bedtime, I had to balance my inclination to be in the woods just before daybreak with Andy’s biological clock. The late start would diminish our chances for taking a squirrel or two but it would also aid his satisfaction more than would an early awakening.

In the woods by 8 A.M., we made our way from walnut to hickory to oak. In less than two hours, we had three squirrels — two gray and one red. Following his instructions to perfection, he waiting until I retrieved the first one. Then he wanted to inspect the animal. Thankfully, there wasn’t much blood. He was most impressed with those front teeth.

I expected there might be a need for some a deep discussion about life and death. I was wrong. He wanted to play with the squirrel like the stuffed animals decorating his bedroom.

True to form, I missed the second squirrel I fired on as it ran around the backside of a limb. I’ll never forget those big blue eyes as he looked up at me. It was the exact same look I get from Jack the black lab when I miss a duck though it was tougher disappointing the little guy than old Jack. Oddly, I worried about his observing, first hand, that Pops isn’t perfect — at least not a perfect shot.

He watched with only minor disgust as I cleaned the first squirrel. I’ll never forget watching dad do the same thing. I ran inside to mom to tattle on my dad for “taking the squirrel’s britches off!”

I quartered the squirrels, put them in a stoneware bowl, covered them with salted water, and refrigerated them for the rest of the afternoon. After parboiling, the quarters were de-boned and the meat returned to fresh water where it was brought to a rolling boil. Opening a small can, I pinched each of the biscuits into pieces and added them to the boiling water to make dumplings. While he wasn’t all that impressed with the food, he was satisfied and ate a six-year old sized bowl of squirrel and dumplings.

With the meal completed, I, too, was sated. The anticipation before our hunt was outstanding. We had a good time together. He enjoyed being with me in the woods. Andy learned several things. We had success. We ate what we killed. We each felt the satisfaction that comes from hunting — an acknowledgement that within our genes is this desire and need.

Just as importantly, opening day tradition had been passed on. Even though died twelve days after Andy’s birth, Dad’s presence was with us all day long. I felt his smile.

Are you a boy who wants to start hunting like your mom or dad? This is what you should do buy an airgun.It is very good practice but make sure ur 12 or older. An airgun is a type of gun but needs batteries and does not need a license. It is very good practice. And cannot do much dammage. It wont even hurt a bird. Make sure to ask your parents first.
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Few things can bring you more joy than to pursue two of your passions at the same time. This is easy to do by taking your children hunting with you. The first time I took my son with me he was only about 4 years old. We walked a couple hundred yards behind the house and sat down on a log. It was only a few minutes later he said that he needed to go back to the house to go to the bathroom. There was no talking him into relieving himself out in the woods, so back to the house we went. Our first hunting experience together wasn’t very satisfying or very long. After this first trip I wasn’t looking forward to taking him again for a while but in the years since it was I who had some learning to do about hunting with children.

After that experience I realized that I did want my children to hunt with me so I decided that we would keep trying. Since they had showed an interest I didn’t want to stifle it by telling them that they were too young. I wanted them there with me when they were old enough but I thought that if I stopped them when they were young that they may not want to hunt when they get older.

In the few years since, we have had some great times together in the woods. Stories about having young children with you usually do not conclude with the description of the trophy buck that you shoot, but the memories of being there with them are better trophies. I’ll never forget watching my son jump out of his skin when a grouse took off and scared him or of the first buck that he shot.

It is hard for us serious hunters to accept that sometimes we will go to the woods and not realistically have an opportunity of shooting a deer or that the chances could be lessened because there is someone else with you that likes to move a lot and is a little noisy. Once you accept this and just watch them enjoy being there with you, you can have the time of your life.

Over the years I have found some ways to make the hunt more enjoyable for everyone. Quiet woods will only hold a child’s attention for a little while and then they will look for something to do. One of the first things that I do is to make sure that I have plenty to eat. A couple of apples and some candy can usually get another half an hour or so. Not that I eat any of the candy myself, it’s just for the kids.

I also take something for them to do. Word search books and crossword puzzles will deter them from moving around a lot and keep them interested for a while longer.

The hunt will be very short lived if they get cold. Make sure that they are dressed warm. On one hunt I took a sleeping bag for my son and he stayed nice and warm while the snow was falling on us. It also helps if you can keep them sheltered from the wind and rain. We used to get into an old building and sit, but we now have a camouflage hunting blind that we use. Last season we spent several hours in it staying out of the wind and rain. On one hunt my 8 year old daughter was the first to spot a group of does that came from behind us. She was real proud of her accomplishment.

The best way to keep them interested and coming back is to see game. I take them no matter what time of the day it is even during the non peak activity hours. It’s often hard to get them to go with you at dawn or dusk when activity is at its peak but it is usually colder during these hours anyway. They don’t have to see something to have a good time, but they will tell everyone about the animals that they saw.

Last year I had watched a group of young bucks that would come to a food plot and feeder. At the end of the season I took my son and a video camera and we climbed into two treestands side-by-side. After being there for about thirty minutes there was a shower of rain and he wanted to pack it in. I convinced him that if we could stick it out another thirty minutes we would probably get to see some deer. He decided to stay and the deer showed up and we had a great time watching and videotaping them. I used the opportunity to try to teach him that it’s not always easy and that the effort can pay off in the end. At eleven years old he is now learning more about hunting and is becoming a good tracker. I’m hoping that I have two hunting partners for life.

The family tree spreads its heavy limbs far out and over the small creek flowing through our front yard. For over a hundred years this great live oak has shaded the forest floor. Its acorns have fed squirrels and deer over all those intervening years, and now they sustain as well the wild turkeys that only recently have returned to inhabit these woodlands. Even more recently, this tree has supported my family as we pursue whitetailed deer.

Yesterday, I settled down into a substantial crotch some twenty-five feet up into this tree, while my son waited silently before me in the stand we have attached to its great bole. As I sat there, I thought about all the hours I spend in these woods and how nice it is to have a tree large enough to support the two of us. I love to deer hunt, but having my son perched right there in front of me increases my enjoyment of the experience that much more.

I wonder just what would I do if the Big One sneaks around our tree and my boy doesn’t see it? Would I shoot it and share the harvest? Or would I let it walk, hoping the buck reveals himself to my son so my boy can experience the joy of harvesting a trophy? Similar questions flash through my head, and each time a twig snaps, hope is renewed that this time a buck will appear. This is how the minutes and the hours pass while I wait in the tree, silently sharing time and the goodness of nature with my son.

There was a time when deer hunting meant just one thing for me. I trekked to the woods for peace, serenity, and if I were lucky, food for our table. I was a lone hunter from the very start, always choosing to slip far away from camp, to wallow through an extra swamp or wade another creek so that I and I alone might savor this experience. Because I hunted in this manner, my wealth of personal experiences were rich, I’d proven time and again my oneness with Mother Nature, and my ethics had become mine alone. This had suited me.

My son has watched and waited during three consecutive season of not harvesting a deer. He once vowed to harvest a nice buck — and only a nice buck — but when the time is right. Opportunity had walked beneath his tree time and time again, but each time he has let it pass.

At this moment, though, here in our family tree, an amazing thing happens. I watch several does ease from a thicket and then out into shooting range. A few minutes later, two small bucks appear. They join with the does and together the deer set to munching the ripe acorns scattered about beneath our tree. By this time the evening light is failing. Even with modern optics the bodies of the deer are blending and darkening and blurring. I think to myself will he take the buck ? The rifle was up, the scope and hunter ready.

Then slowly he lowers his rifle. He turns his head slightly as if to say, ‘are you ready to go?’ We unload our guns, and prepare to lower them. This is the start of the ritual of climbing down from the family tree. My son and I do so once more knowing full well there is no buck to tag lying somewhere on the fertile ground beneath our family tree.

Once down, my boy says, “Dad, they just wouldn’t present a clean shot. I was afraid I might hit the wrong one.” That’s when I realize that although I know I will head out alone into these sheltering woods again, never would I be truly hunting alone. For my own ethics and my morals and my own deep and abiding appreciation for this forest and all its creatures go with my son each time he walks to any tree to sit and wait for whitetailed deer.

But it is in the family tree, this tree that has set roots deep into the earth, that the two of us join together to share these things that mean so much to us, and to polish off that which is good so that it might shine bright in our memories for as long as we both shall live.