My enthusiasm for family hunting stories was muted after that. For a while, the tales of the chase were as fresh and exciting as ever. I was impressed by their ability to stalk their prey, to enter the wild world without disrupting it so much they startled its inhabitants. I did not begrudge them their victories, but when the stories turned to the killing moment, my reaction was visceral. I winced and caught my breath at each gunshot, each loosing of the arrow from the bow. […]
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On this one score, I sided with Dad. I was raised on bluegrass and country music, most likely to my mother’s chagrin. I can’t remember not knowing the words to “Rocky Top” and “I Walk the Line,” and I have it on good authority that as a child I may have attempted to dance with my aunt on Saturday nights when my grandparents took me up into the mountains in their camper. This last is as baffling to me as it will be to anyone who knows me now. It must have been back before the drummer in my head grew so loud and offbeat as to render all other attempts at syncopation futile. […] |
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"There are times I've wished I said all the folly in my heart and not the wisdom in my head." ~ A.J. Roach |
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