Hunting The Elusive Antlers
Though the terminology is sometimes interchanged, deer do not have horns, they have antlers. Horns continue to grow throughout the animal’s life and are not shed each year. This is why we do not find cow horns scattered about the pasture. Antlers start growing in the spring, mature in the fall, and fall off, also known as shed, in late winter. This is done to provide us outdoors type people something to do when the ponds and lakes are not yet frozen enough for ice fishing and it is too early to go turkey hunting. We all go wandering about the woods looking for deer sheds. I have yet to determine why we do this, other than it is a
reason to go for a walk in the woods and we do not have to call it going for a walk. Hunting sheds gives purpose to the walk.
Fortunately, on the average walk, or I should say hunt, a person will not usually find too many shed antlers. This is a good thing, since I have yet to find something useful to do with them after they are collected. I have had many suggestions, such as making a knife and use part of the antler for a handle. This is a fine idea, and may work well for some people, but I haven’t a clue how to make a knife. I know I can buy a knife that works very well for a whole lot less than the medical bills would cost when I finished a hand-crafted one.
I have seen very attractive lamps and chandeliers made from both deer and elk antlers. This is something within my skill level, but there is limited demand for antler lamps. My wife does not particularly want a deer antler lamp in the living room. I do not need a lamp in the office. A person could lose friends giving antler lamps or chandeliers as wedding presents.
Last Sunday afternoon seemed like a good day to go shed hunt-
ing. There was rumor of a football game on television, but a person needs a bit of fresh air occasionally. My wife and I loaded up the dog and headed for the timbrt. The dog is not much good for shed hunting, but he has a good time. The poor
numerous deer. Most of them were still carrying their antlers, and some, being does, never grew any. We found a couple small sheds, but nothing worth bragging about. They were probably dropped last year and had not yet been eaten by squirrels. As
animal is never sure what we are hunting, but hunts for all he is worth anyway. My wife drove the fence lines with the Ranger. When deer jump a fence, sometimes the sudden jar of landing will cause a loose antler to fall off. I walked into the woods to places I knew deer bedded down. When deer congregate in an area for extended periods of time, chances are an antler or two will drop off. Over the next few hours, we saw
the sun began to set, we headed back to the house. The last rays of sunlight reflected off the lake as we drove across the dam. We drove to the house and added the antlers to the antler collection, hoping someday to find a good use for them. Until that time, we will probably continue to hunt sheds, just because it gives us a good excuse to be outdoors, run the dog, and get some exercise.
Old, or Just Older?
Melissa ordered the French toast, bacon, and two eggs, overeasy. “I’ll have the Denver Omelet with rye toast,” I told the waitress at Foxy’s Café in Treasure Island, Florida. “Can you have them add mushrooms, sour cream, and salsa, please? Oh, and a single pancake on the side.”
“Do you want the home fries or grits with your omelet,” the waitress asked. I opted for the home fries. She wrote that down on her little green order pad. “Okay, I’ll have this out in a few minutes,” she said and turned toward the kitchen.
I enjoy going out for breakfast after church on Sunday mornings. We went to Foxy’s last week, but we were too late for breakfast, so we had lunch and decided to try them for breakfast again this week.
The atmosphere at Foxy’s is like a smalltown café. A bench runs across the front wall of the dining room with the back against the windows. Wooden pine tables are spaced along the bench, each with two chairs facing the window that look outdoors.
There’s a long bar made of glass blocks with a wooden top. If a person doesn’t want to sit at a table, they can sit on a high chair at the bar, order breakfast and a beer, and watch the game on the big screen TV.
It wasn’t long before the waitress brought our food to the table.
“I’ll bring the coffee pot by for refills,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?”
“I’d like some hot sauce, please.” The waitress politely smiled, tapping the top of the bottle of hot sauce that she’d set in front of me. I picked up the bottle, reading the label, “Crystal, Louisiana’s Pure Hot Sauce. Yes, this will do just fine,” I said. We shared a good laugh about that.
I don’t care for hot sauce on my eggs, but I like it on hashbrowns
or home fries. So I put a few drops of Crystal Hot Sauce on a couple of my potatoes to test the heat. If I’m not familiar with a brand of hot sauce, I have learned to try a little sample before putting it all over my food.
I like hot sauce, but not the stuff that will turn my eyes red, make my nose run, and send steam shooting from my ears like an old-fashioned steam engine. “Hmm, tasty, but not too hot,” I said, then sprinkled a liberal amount over my breakfast spuds.
I recalled days long ago; I was fourteen years old and worked for my sister Barbara at the Runway Café. People, really old people, like in their thirties, would come into the café, order food, and then pour hot sauce on it, ruining their meal. Back then, I wondered, “Why would they do that?” Now, all these years later, I like hot sauce on some foods. But, of course, I, too, am now just a little past thirty, and the world has changed.
In those early days, everyone was older than me. Every police officer I knew was older than me. Firemen were older, truck drivers, plumbers, electricians, doctors, and lawyers. Certainly, all of my teachers in school were older than me. But when I turned thirty, I started noticing a shift. Many people in these professions started getting younger.
All the teachers I had in school were still older than me, but new teachers, younger teachers, were joining
the ranks of educators. Some of these new teachers were even classmates of mine, and that seemed odd because we weren’t ‘old enough’ to be teachers. Other people my age were becoming cops and firefighters, doctors, and lawyers. Still, I didn’t overthink it until I turned forty.
I had a lot of friends whose dads or moms worked at the John Deere plant in Ottumwa, Iowa. Then, about the time I turned forty, I found several of my classmates now working at Deere; some of them had already been there for twenty years.
During my forties, I talked with my younger brother, Steve. He caught me off guard by mentioning something about Father Thom Hennen. “Thom Hennen? As in little Tommy Hennen, that little kid
who sat a few rows behind us at church on Sunday?” Steve assured me it was the same person. “Little Tommy Hennen is a priest?” I found it hard to fathom; he wasn’t old enough.
Steve replied, “Little Tommy Hennen is in his thirties now.” That also was hard to believe.
I knew another guy from Ottumwa who became a priest, Father Tim Sheedy. Tim went to Walsh High School with my older sisters. So it seemed natural that Tim could become a priest, because he is older than me; I even served as an altar boy during his ordination mass. But to find out that there were priests younger than me? Wow. When did that happen? When did all these people start getting older, and yet, I have remained the same age I’ve always been?
The doctors and lawyers I use are all younger than me; cops, firefighters, truck drivers, plumbers, electricians, and carpenters; it seems they’re all younger than me now. Am I getting old?
The situation caused me to ponder the age-old question (pun intended): How old is old? At what age is a person officially old? I’d always heard that old is twenty years older than your current age, but I don’t believe that. I know many people who are well advanced in years, but I don’t consider them old. Good Lord willing, I’d like to live a very long life, but I do not plan to get old.
I truly believe age is not so much a factor in being old as one’s state of mind. I know a
lot of people who are older than me, but they are certainly not old. On the other hand, I know some old people who were born many years after me.
As I challenge these age factors, I recall attending church last Sunday at St. John Vianney in St. Pete Beach, Florida. The priest, Father Joshua Bertrand, was younger than me. As a matter of fact, I would say he is even younger than little Tommy Hennen, now Father Thom Hennen. Then I thought about Father Tim Sheedy,
who is older than me – but certainly not yet old.
Father Sheedy is now retired and living in Florida. He’s just a couple of hours from where we are staying on the Gulf Coast. I think I’ll get ahold of him and see if he’d like to get together while we are here. Maybe I could treat him to breakfast or dinner. We would have much to catch up on, and you can rest assured I’ll be paying attention to see if he puts hot sauce on his food.
