Special to The Herald-Sun
I may not recall where I ended, but I know where I began.
I was about waist high to a grown man, the world was large and my neck hurt. I stared at a tall oak tree for an hour or more, which tweaked a muscle in at the base of my shoulder.
This tree was about 100 years old, a number I could not fathom. A hundred years of wind and rain, storm and sun, leaves up and leaves down.
It was something that I never would have given a thought, except that my father asked me how old I thought this tree was.
He whispered. That was 30-something years ago, but I can hear his raspy whisper now. I learned about trees then, as he taught me about hardwoods, acorns and the trees around me while we stared at the top of this 100-year-old oak.
Then, against the silhouette of a burning sky, the tail of a squirrel was seen.
"Don't move," he said.
At that point in my life, I knew this was one of those times that "don't move" really meant I was not allowed to move.
We watched, and when the squirrel was a third of the way down the tree, he shot. I was at the base of the tree holding the squirrel by its tail almost before the echo of the shot gone, and I was happy.
In an hour, we collected three squirrels and I learned about aging trees, acorns and that "don't move" means to be still because game is nearby.
I write of this because it was more than just a memory. Really, the feeling that I had in my neck from looking up was not pain, it was the laying of a foundation for a hunter.
Laying brick, you see, is hard work. Yet when laid properly, it lasts forever and memories of my early hunts for squirrel have lasted since I was a kid.
This is a time of year when I look forward to walking across a foundation that was laid many years ago. I often think of where I came from as a hunter, and it really is beneath towering century-old oaks on a ridge where squirrels feed and live. From this ridge, I learned many lessons in my life and in the life outdoors. I learned about safety and that h unting is a privilege, never a right.
I learned about concealment, being still and that a squirrel can flatten out on a branch for an hour and never move until you do -- really, a squirrel is more patient than any hunter.
I learned that steps are quiet following a rain and that stalking a squirrel is more difficult than it sounds.
I learned many lessons at the base of a tree. Yet of all the lessons I learned then, there were others that I would not learn until many years later.
Now I have a hunter who is waist high, and we spend time looking up at towering oak trees on a ridge. He is 6 years old and is learning that all of hunting begins in pursuit of squirrels.
Here we talk about safety and talk about the dangers of firearms and being careless.
We also talk about what we are doing. We talk about how many kids don't have opportunities and that luck is not just something you pick up at the base of a tree after a good shot.
Instead, luck is having a family that loves you and a father who is nearby to teach, reward and inspire.
At the base of a tree, a child can learn plenty. At the base of a tree, a father can learn even more. Here, patience is challenged and focus, on occasion, needs sharpening.
I never knew how difficult it would be to teach a child to hunt. With unreal expectations, I figured a child would sit still, wait, watch and absorb.
Yet what I have found is that there is work in keeping a young hunter occupied and interested.
For all that is involved in keeping my son outdoors -- despite all of the game we spook, miss and do not see -- each minute is worthwhile.
I hunted with my father at a young age and eventually proved responsible enough to hunt alone.
While I chase deer, turkey and other critters, it is the hunt for squirrels to which I am most indebted.
This past week, it was cold one afternoon when my son got out of school. We bundled tightly, and we sat side by side against a felled tree and looked to the sky. We talked about ice. We talked about the temperature at which water freezes and about why the creek was not frozen.
We also found evidence of where squirrels fed on acorns and mushrooms, and we crossed the creek because he thought there were more squirrels there.
Our purpose was to hunt squirrels. It was 30 degrees, windy and not a creature was seen.
Yet we sat and watched the trees. We stood and walked the creek. We knelt and collected things.
Later that night, with little brother listening to ever detail, we talked about all that we did, saw, felt and found.
A few days later, the sun was warmer and we were in a wood lot behind a barn. We saw several squirrels and when I shot, he was quick to his feet.
We walked back to the house, passing nearby trees that were older than a century and are just as tall as when I first stared into the limbs above.
"Tomorrow, we are going to hunt all day and I will pack us five sandwiches and we won't come home until dark," my young hunter said.
I asked him, "What are we going to do all that time?"
"Hunt squirrels, Dad!" he said.
As we continued down the path, I looked to the branches above and felt my neck become a bit stiff.
In my own raspy whisper, I mumbled, "Or we'll continue to build a foundation."
One day he may not recall where he ended, yet hopefully he too will know where he began.
Enjoy your time outdoors.
You may contact Jason Hawkins at hawkinsoutdoors@msn.com.
