“I can hear the wind blowing in my mind, just the way it used to sound through the Georgia pines. And you were there to answer when I called. You and me, Lord knows, we had it all.”
— From “We Had It All” by Donnie Fritts and Troy Seals
The big red-tailed hawk was soaring up high. He (or she) was doing what hawks do, gliding on the air currents as he surveyed his (or her) domain below, which was everything from one horizon to the next.
There was no arrogance here; everything below, from the sky to the ground, was the hawk’s to go where it pleased. He was a hawk, and hawks ask for no permission, unaware and unfettered by the silly political boundaries of men.
Once in a while, the red tail would give voice to his whistling, screeching cry — a drawn-out “Screeeeee!” given just often enough to remind all those below that he was here, lest they forget.
There was a group of crows circling below him, and I suspected they were part of the reason he was giving voice. The crows were flapping about, muttering crow threats and mild obscenities at the hawk. They hadn’t really decided or revved up their courage enough yet to confront the hawk in close aerial combat. Crows don’t like hawks, and I’m sure that hawks don’t like crows, so this was just another day in an age-old feud.
(READ MORE: Crows are smart varmints who make good target practice)
I was up high, too. That is, up high for an earth-bound human in the mid-Appalachian Mountains. I was on a high knob that I visit sometimes when I am in the area and can summon the energy to climb up here. This knob is only remarkable to me as it is much like thousands of other small peaks or knobs in these rough hills. It is just a place I know that you can go to survey the world and maybe get a few cobwebs out of your mind.
Sitting there watching the natural world go by, I was soon immersed in memories of times long gone. I think hunters, fishermen and other outdoorsmen are particularly susceptible to these bouts of nostalgia and a longing for how we think “it used to be.” I am often struck with how much simpler it seemed to just to go afield when we were pretty skinny, had a lot more hair, and were seemingly undaunted by temperature, the ruggedness of the terrain, and how much moisture was falling out of the sky (even though our clothes and other gear were woefully inadequate).
(READ MORE: Introduce a kid to the outdoors, and you’ll travel back in time)
The first thing that springs to mind on such a hike into the past is we were able to simply walk out the back door and proceed to a hunting or fishing adventure. This depended on where you lived, of course, but it was pretty common 50 or 60 years ago. (Dang, has it been that long?)
I am also struck that the sight of a lanky teenager walking through the neighborhood with a shotgun or .22 rifle over his shoulder caused not the least bit of turmoil with the local citizenry. It would seem the occurrence of a hunter walking by with a firearm these days would cause a flurry of calls from people with nothing better to do than to make trouble for someone doing something they think they don’t approve of, like hunting. The police would be called, they would be tasked with sorting it all out, and there would be at least a report on the local evening news.
Times change.
Exactly where we would go hunting has changed as well. I may be getting lost in the realm of the good old days, but I really can’t think of many places where we couldn’t go hunt after we walked out the door. Local landowners all seemed to be someone we knew, and there weren’t many parcels of land that were off limits, so back then we could roam at will chasing rabbits or squirrels, maybe grouse. (There weren’t many deer around at the time, but we sure have them now!)
We really did have it all.
Don’t get me wrong here, folks. As I have told you many times before, most states have loads of public land for you to hunt and fish on, and much of it is underutilized. I am not being negative, just reminiscing a little.
Now what has all this got to do with that hawk I was telling you about?
Not much really, but I hope you have a place you can go and sit up high and watch the hawk in your zip code.
Maybe you’ll hear what the crows are yelling at him. If you do, let me know.
“Guns & Cornbread” is written by Larry Case, who lives in Fayette County, W.Va. You can write to him at larryocase3@gmail.com.