The rusty roll of old fence was my first stop on this
winter day. Long stripped off the cedar posts and cast
aside it now was a good place for rabbits to seek
shelter. Almost a sure bet it harbored a rabbit or two,
and today was no exception. I could see the tracks from
the night before, they led in but not out. The tall
grasses grew dense in the confines of the wire,
protected by the harsh winter winds. Perfect places like
this one are always worth a good going over. After a
good round of kicks, the wire fortress gave up a fleeing
rabbit, like always I was caught off guard. The first
part of the rabbits departure was a series of fast leg
work, followed by the long leaps that can change
direction almost in mid-air. From years past I knew
where the runway was so I simply waited until my
speeding friend found it’s path. I figured I’d shoot
him then. It’s times like these that I wonder if I am
as smart as I think. The rabbit found the path but
turned the wrong way. I never saw it again that day. A
light snow fell the night before and my hopes of finding
more hiding rabbits was still strong. I knew the past
couple of days had been fiercely cold, the wind howled
day long and into the nights. The sun was shining today;
rabbits would be out on the south sides of the wood lot
clearings. Coming up to my favorite deadfall one step
was all it took to flush a cottontail and one shot had
game in the bag. I gutted the bunny and placed the
entrails high in a hawthorn tree for the birds to feast
on.
I was close to a favorite spot just inside the woods
where I had boiled tea while hunting before. So with my
trusty tin can and a couple of tea bags I sat down to
build a fire. Years ago a farmer had cut wood here, the
stumps were 18 inches high and just right for a seat.
The fire boiled my tea water and as I sat admiring my
rabbit, I noticed something strange near the base of a
tree some 30 yards away. I sat drinking the tea and
wondering if it could really be a rabbit? I had just
walked through that area, certainly it would have
flushed. Then as I was getting the fire out and gun
ready I noticed an eye. Rabbits eyes always give them
away. Once you see the eye you’d better be ready to
shoot, they seem to know by then, their spotted.
This one never ran and a good shot wasted no meat. I
now had two bunnies, plenty for myself, time to head
back to the farmhouse. "Did you catch any"
granny asked? Not wanting to seem rude and try to
explain that I killed two I simply said "yes
two". "I’ll put the coffee on for you, are
you hungry I have stuffed red peppers ready for you, I’ll
make you a plate, put them rabbits downstairs until your
done eating". Granny was not my granny but she sure
made you feel like you were family. After a meal and a
half I cleaned the rabbits and place them in grannies
freezer. She would cook them some cold afternoon along
with homemade gravy and the works. I would listen to old
stories of her husband and his cronies hunting the same
spots in the 30s that I just had.
How they would shoot all types of game, and leave it
for her to clean and cook while they went to the local
tavern. How she helped plaster the farmhouse walls, and
plow fields with a steam engine tractor.
My rabbit hunts at the farm were more of a history
lesson than a hunt. I always enjoyed taking the time to
listen to her stories, even though sometimes I forget
about them. However, show me a snow covered wood lot,
toss in an old farmhouse or even the remains of a old
windmill, and I’ll remember the rabbit hunts at
grannies farm. The whistle of the teakettle, the clean
tiled walls trimmed in stainless and a huge white stove
all come back to me, when I think about the farm.
Sometimes when I see and old roll of fence, I can’t
help but kick it a few times. Hey is that…over there…
a rabbit eye?
