{"id":4497,"date":"2021-12-09T02:11:00","date_gmt":"2021-12-09T07:11:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/?p=4497"},"modified":"2022-11-08T14:13:49","modified_gmt":"2022-11-08T19:13:49","slug":"winters-hymn","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/?p=4497","title":{"rendered":"Winters Hymn"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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By Erin Woodward<\/h6>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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Harland stared out the window past me, his eyes fawning over a raft of mallards swimming. A slight smile emerging, his plump cheeks rising. Stout in stature and balding, he possessed a slight lean in his gate. \u201cDaddy thought this would be a good place to raise us boys. The fresh air good for Momma,\u201d he said. His baritone voice was soft and welcoming for a man so big. His tired eyes longed for some once happy memories. \u201cDaddy loved them ducks, no doubt about it,\u201d Harland murmured. A yellowed photo showing as much. \u201cMomma snapped that one on my tenth birthday. See there, cheerful boys all with ducks!.\u201d Puffs of Sir Raleigh\u00a0 perfumed the workshop. The winds of youth having long since passed for Harland. Pipe in mouth, he returned to carving his decoy. I liked Harland immediately.\u00a0<\/p>

Lenoir is two stoplight town, a generous moniker to a place of such limited size and\u00a0 stature. \u201cStop over at A\u2019s <\/i>will ya? I need to pick up a few things for the morning.\u201d Harland eased his way inside. He disappeared into the tapestry of sporting goods. The old bait and tackle smelled of sour memories and broken hearts.\u00a0<\/p>

\u201cLike that old bar top, do ya? This place ruined many fella\u2019s back in the day. I bought this place outright from old man Smith some time ago. Every good town needs a bait and tackle, ya know?\u201d A raspy voice interrupted my writing. Earl, the proprietor, flashed his Hollywood smile. He was four years Harland\u2019s senior; a spitting image of Harland, save for the robust belly. You could not ask for a finer older brother or a better shot. Gin bottles were replaced with fine Parkers and LC Smith\u2019s. Boxes of shells rested where shot glasses once called home. Harland reached behind the counter for a few boxes of #4 Peters.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>

\u201cYou gonna pay for that, you cheap fool?\u201d Earl\u2019s ribbing met a simple response. \u201cIt\u2019s duck season, you old fool, put the smoke and shells on my tab and get busy being bored.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>

Earl quickly shut up. Harland was his best customer. A few boxes of shells and a couple of pouches of pipe tobacco were a simple request. The front window of A\u2019s <\/i>would soon attract the Christmas yearnings of young hearts and their folks\u2019 wrinkled money. We left Earl until morning.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>

As I laid in my motel bed that night, peace filled my heart. No gunshots rang out. No sirens blaring through the streets. All that awaited me back in the city were bitter memories accompanied by a girlfriend more interested in the guy in apartment 9C than our relationship.\u00a0<\/p>

\u201cIt\u2019s best you stay here in the reeds, I\u2019m a wee bit particular on setting my decoys.\u201d Harland set forth on his composition as if he were Debussy composing Clair De Lune. <\/i>Harland moved with purpose, each decoy set with great detail and reason. \u201cA man that takes care is a man that is cared for, ya understand?\u201d Even if I did not, I nodded while I warmed myself with\u00a0 coffee.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>

\u201cNow we wait.\u201d A wry smile emerging from Harland.\u00a0<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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Dawn awoke over the horizon in fashionable pinks and deep blues. Harland scanned  the dissipating fog. A silent eagerness emanating from his Fox. A rush of dark silhouettes emerged through the gray. Three Mallards hooking hard left, their dashing wings cupped, unsuspecting of our presence. In one fluid motion, Harland was young again, the echoing blasts from his Fox jumping from a long slumber awoke still waters, puffs of feathers filling the morning skies. My jaw lay silently open.  <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPopeye would have loved this morning. God I miss him.\u201d He slid a photo from his wallet and handed it over like it was a dry brittle leaf: three jovial boys with a proud father and mother frozen in the happy memories of time. Harland quietly sat, water lapping against his waders. His thoughts were hidden again, like summer giving way to the first frosts of autumn. <\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, drive me over to Earl\u2019s. He gets a tad grouchy if them decoys ain\u2019t set out with his annual Christmas display.\u201d The ride to A\u2019s <\/i>was quiet. Harland mostly starred at the sky. \u201cTomorrow will be a fine morning to hunt. You\u2019re coming along, right?\u201d Harland murmured. I had no plans. All that awaited me was a can of Dinty Stew and a lonely bed. <\/p>\n

I made arrangements with the motel for one more night. We set to helping Earl place the decoys in the front window of A\u2019s. <\/i>Proud shotguns taking their rightful place amongst the window display. Soon, helpless, loving fathers would give away their money in exchange for a  prized Harland Andrew decoy and perhaps a new shiny side by side for a proud child. The Andrews brothers filled themselves with coffee and old stories of Christmas.  <\/p>\n

Earl joined us the next morning looking sharp in his Mackinaw. \u201cGotta look good on the pond.\u201d Earl smiled like Clarke Gable. He was quiet, and a fine shot with a side by side. Frost consumed the edges of the water, giving notice of a winter that would soon give into a snow. Ducks buzzed around like angry hornets. Darting this way and that. The brothers, true to form, quietly were filling up their game straps with a mix of Mallards, Woodies, and a few Pintails.  <\/p>\n

\u201cI believe it\u2019s time,\u201d Harland said. His voice caught me off guard. My eyes awed by the beauty of the cold frost and the ripples of water left by these beautiful waterfowl. Without hesitation Harland loaded two number fours into his shotgun, snapped the barrel closed, and passed his memories into my shaking hands. \u201cDon\u2019t flock shoot, pick out one, lead your shot, and ease the trigger back.\u201d A shotgun replaced my pen. <\/p>\n

Christmas Eve was here. The window display at Earl\u2019s bait and tackle all but empty of  decoys and shotguns. I joined the brothers for evening mass, and a fine supper above A\u2019s, <\/i>where Earl hung his hat each night. The brothers learned well from their mother\u2019s cooking. We served chutney with my wild duck and sipped on wine like it was communion. <\/p>\n

Harland looked up from the table and said, \u201cYou\u2019ve become quite a fine shot. Best you put that pen away for good and pick up duck shooting.\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cBefore the evening consumes us with laughter and drink, I have a gift for you both,\u201d  I said.  <\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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The brothers sat their glasses down. Harland laid his pipe aside. Earl lifted the needle away from a Jim Reeves record. <\/p>\n

\u201cYour generosity has exceeded my expectations. These past weeks here in Lenoir have been  more than I could have hoped for. The old photo in Harland\u2019s workshop found a special place in me that I tucked away long ago. Please take this as a gift of thanks.\u201d <\/p>\n

The brothers reached deep into a large box pulling out two chocolate labradors. <\/p>\n

\u201cI know you\u2019ve missed Popeye for sometime now. With the help of my editor back at the paper, we tracked down Popeye\u2019s old breeder, a fella named Irving. These two pups are from the same line as Popeye. Merry Christmas,\u201d I said.  <\/p>\n

The men were quiet. There were tears. <\/p>\n

Earl placed the needle back on the album while the puppies made quick work to mark their territory at the base of the Christmas tree. <\/p>\n

 \u201cOh, these puppies will fit in just fine, won\u2019t they, brother?!\u201d Earl\u2019s voice drowned out the record player with laughter. Harland nodded in agreement. <\/p>\n

\u201cIf you\u2019d allow us, we have a gift for you,\u201d Harland chirped. He handed me a box. Inside was an old LC Smith. \u201cIt\u2019s yours,\u201d Harland said.  <\/p>\n

\u201cThis?!\u201d, my jaw dropping to the floor. <\/p>\n

\u201cDamn straight,\u201d Earl said. \u201cEvery fine duck hunter needs a first shotgun. Daddy gave that one to me. I gave it to Harland, and now we are giving it to you.\u201d  <\/p>\n

\u201cWrite your stories here in Lenoir, tend to the shop, hunt ducks with us. Lenoir could use a fella like you.\u201d Harland said. <\/p>\n

I knew what they meant. I could use a place like Lenoir as well. <\/p>\n

Warming myself with a cup of coffee, I stared outside. Ice had formed on the barren limbs. A cold front had pushed through. Tomorrow would be Christmas morning, a fine day for a duck hunt with friends.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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\n\t\t\t\t\t\"Picture\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t
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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tErin Woodward \t\t\t\t\t\t<\/h4>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
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is an outdoor writer living amongst the great plains of America. He hunts with a 1947 Ithaca pump shotgun and his French Brittany Moses at his side, enjoying the escape of simple words. Together they venture through thickets and thorn in search of the next covey. At times he prefers the company of quiet poetry, over the noise of modern society. Erin\u2019s words have been published with Project Upland Magazine, Endless Migration, & Free Range American. He is currently working on his first book.<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Harland stared out the windows past me,his eyes fawning over a raft of mallards swimming. A slight smile emerging,his plump cheeks rising.Stout in stature and balding, he possessed a slight lean in his gate. “Daddy thought this would be a good place to raise us boys.The fresh air good for Momma”, he said. His baritone voice..<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":4591,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[88,4],"tags":[72,77,155],"class_list":["post-4497","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-hunting","tag-fiction","tag-hunting","tag-waterfowl"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/dog-g15feb8858_1920-1.jpg","acf":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4497","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4497"}],"version-history":[{"count":52,"href":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4497\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7732,"href":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4497\/revisions\/7732"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4591"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4497"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4497"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feathersandwhiskey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4497"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}