The Octogenarian

Eight decades or if you were Honest Abe it would be four score; anyway you say it eighty years is a long time. My dad, Ivan, will turn 80 this upcoming January 14^th…a long ways back to 1932 and oh how the world has changed.

Possibly a few of you reading this were actually around when FDR was president and trying to pull the country out of a terrible depression…but for the rest of us, that being many of us, we can only read history books or watch the History Channel to try and get a feel for how bad it actually was. Dad grew up on a farm in Stanford and was the second son of Carl and Ora Carmichael; now grandpa and grandma were tough folks and made a journey all the way to the western half of Nebraska way back in 1919 to try their hand at farming. I’ve heard the stories through the years of grandpa Carl’s prowess with a rifle and shotgun…and it was even told (by grandpa) that he would carry a wrench with him tied to his plow; the prairie chickens were so thick that he would stop his team of horses and throw the wrench at and kill prairie chickens that would later be supper. While I have never ‘chucked’ a wrench at a critter, I do claim my shooting abilities from my grandpa.

While I may have gotten my shooting eye from grandpa it was dad that taught me how to hunt and fish. My earliest memories, numerous as they may be…were of various outings with a rod, rifle or shotgun in my hand, and for sure dad was a part of that.

One of our many traditions was getting up early on Saturday on our way to my grandparents farm where we would do various chores like cutting wood or putting up hay…but dad knew how to get a load of work out of me as he would always mix in a bit of hunting or fishing. One such Saturday found us in the woods above my grandparent’s farm on a warm August morning in search of squirrel. It is funny what you can remember from so long ago…but I can still see dad sitting to my left with his gun in hand, we had just shot a gray squirrel and I had placed it down a couple feet away from me. Dad was in hot pursuit of yet another of these little critters and within minutes the squirrel ran down the tree giving dad a shot; the squirrel came crashing down to earth and I picked up our other squirrel…and it was at that point that all heck broke loose. I had placed the first squirrel on top of a yellow jacket nest and the blood, etc…had the swarm all hopped up. What I can remember is running a couple hundred yards downhill to the creek that ran through our farm and diving into the cool water. I am not sure of the exact number, but what I do remember is over a hundred bee stings. That was one hunt that I will never forget.

Through the years dad has not only been around to take me hunting and fishing but has also been a big part of my boys and their introductions to our great outdoors. One of our most humorous moments was at Starve Hollow Lake a few years back. Dad had both boys, Harrison and Jonas, in the boat with him and they had been out most of the morning fishing. Harrison was in the front of the boat, Jonas in the middle and dad in the back as they returned…Vickie and I was just returning from a long walk. Harrison and Jonas were both out of the boat and looking at the two of us, thinking dad was still sitting down, Harrison yanked the boat up on the shore; the problem was that in the meanwhile dad had stood up and when Harrison pulled the boat he flipped his grandpa backwards, out of the boat and head first into some of the most mucky and yucky black goo that you have ever seen. When dad finally up righted himself he was covered in weeds and had a look on his face that shall we say…was “priceless”. To this day all we have to do is mention the episode and all of us (including dad) have a good, long, belly laugh.

The last week of 2011 was much the same as it found Harrison, dad and me traveling to Kansas for some wet pheasant hunting and then back to Missouri for some awesome trout fly fishing. It was a lot of miles and all the way there were lots of stories told and listened to; it gave me time to ponder how lucky I was to have had an outdoors dad who had taken the time to get me started in my own love affair with nature. Yes…80 years is a long time and so if you see dad, wish him a happy birthday; as you read my column in the future just be assured that my passion for the outdoors is a family tradition and one that I hope you pass on to your kids as we all Enjoy the Great Outdoors.