Matt and Chris Munger with Lexie
OK. So the photo doesn’t exactly show how flat the terrain outside Ashley, ND is. It shows a hill: A big mother of a hill that we climbed last week in search of pheasants. For the 6th year in a row, my sons Matt and Chris and I have joined my old man, Harry, in a rental house in downtown diminutive Ashley (population 882 but I think the census folks counted the cats too!) to hunt pheasants, the occasional sharptail grouse, and ducks. Normally, the boys and I stick to upland birds and leave the ducks to Grandpa (he’s 85 today!) and his 80 year old buddy, Bruce. But this year, there was no Bruce. Only grandpa, me, the two boys, and Lexie, my son Matt’s affectionate and hardworking red Labrador.
Matt and Chris and the Big Slough
Generations
We’re as dedicated in the field as my kid’s dog. We’re just not very good shots. Oh, we had our moments this year, don’t get me wrong. There were a couple of double roosters, where Chris and I, or Matt and Chris, hit the big beautiful male birds as they took to the sky. There was at least one triple: Chris hit two pheasants and I hit one from the same flurry but we lost my bird when poor Lexie couldn’t make up her mind which of the three downed, but still running birds, to track. In the end, for our four days of hunting, we downed nearly twenty roosters, saw some impressive corn fed deer, watched flight after flight after flight of geese and ducks and swans and cranes fly over head, and only argued a time or two. Grandpa managed a few flurries into the field. even bagging a sharpie and a rooster in the bargain. But we all knew, in the undercurrent of irritability that surfaced from time to time when trivial things got Grandpa’s goat, that he really wanted, more than anything on Planet Earth, to be a young man tromping through the cattails with his hunting buddies. Problem is, he’s not a young man and, truth be told, other than Bruce, who missed the trip due to an upcoming medical procedure, there aren’t any hunting buddies left to take the field.
Still, and this came through as we downed good beer and shots of Jamison during the 3rd presidential debate after another hard day on the Great Plains, I knew how much Dad enjoyed being with us. Despite his gruff demeanor (and even gruffier beard!), an aura of love emanated from the Old Man even when he was yelling at the President to stand up to the man Dad calls “the empty suit”.
You can tell how happy Grandpa was to be along for the trip (a trip that he organized for years: a duty Matt has now assumed) from the photograph of Harry and Lexie on the couch after a long day in the field. See, Grandpa came out a few days early with Lexie to “scout” out the terrain, to get the lay of the land, and learn the local hunting scuttlebutt. His last Labrador, Cleo, died a few years back: The best damn hunting dog he ever owned. There’s a point in life as a bird hunter when you realize you’ve had your last dog. To Harry’s credit, when Cleo passed, he recognized she was the end of an era. But Matt and his wife Lisa are generous with Lexie. The dog often spends respite time at Grandpa’s house for no other reason than because she’s loved. So, while Harry may be dogless, he is not without a dog. Anyway, Lexie and Harry spent a few days bonding in North Dakota before we arrived. Their connection is clearly shown below.
Lexie and Harry
No man knows his own destiny, nor the time of his passing, nor the true impact of his life upon others. Walking the windy fields, the dry marshes, and the rolling hills of southern North Dakota last week called these truths to mind. No father is perfect. Lord knows, I’ve tried to be there for my four sons and likely succeeded in some ways, failed in others. So has my father. But one thing is certain: Dad passed on a love for this earth, for the thrill of the hunt, and a reverence for wildlife to not only me, his eldest son, but also to his grandsons. How many hunts remain for any of us? Who can say.
Matt, Chris, Lexie, and Harry (and a few pheasants for good measure!)
Mark, Lexie and a pair of roosters
Happy 85th Birthday, Dad!
