Being A Monkey’s Uncle
I had great uncles when growing up! They fed my sense of adventure without knowing it. I guess my mom and grandma should also share in the credit. You see, when I finished kindergarten, my mom started a wonderful tradition that shaped me more than she ever expected. It was her greatest gift to me.
The tradition started with a trip to the barbershop for a buzz haircut. Then, we’d drive to JCPenny. I’d sit in the back, rubbing the new stubble on my head as the aroma of Wildroot tonic wafted throughout the car. Once at Penney’s, she would buy me three pairs of Wrangler jeans, along with packs of underwear and t-shirts. Wranglers and t-shirts were the official work clothes of my uncles — Gary and Jerry. Naturally, I had to dress like them during my week-long stay at Grandma and Pap’s.
Daily Chores
Uncle Gary was 20 years older than me, while Uncle Jerry was only 16 years my senior. Living on my pap’s dairy farm, they were the main labor force before they eventually bought the farm as partners. Dairy farmers milk and feed cows twice a day, in the early morning and mid-afternoon.
Between milkings, fieldwork is performed during spring, summer, and fall. Hay is mowed, bailed and stored for winter, while corn is planted, picked and/or made into silage for the cows. My favorite time of day was after supper, as the temperature started cooling down. It was during this time we’d roam the fields for groundhogs.
My Uncle Gary, in red shirt, with my cousins and his son, holding elk antlers, in Colorado.
Outdoor Adventure
Known as whistle pigs by the shrill sound they make to locate each other, I learned how to imitate groundhogs from my uncles. I’d make a low, long whistle to arouse their curiosity, making them stand on their hind legs to look for the source of who was calling.
I’d watch my uncles skillfully snipe the alfalfa-stealing vermin in awe. A few years later, I’d be going on my own groundhog safaris solo. This was where my mom and grandma’s contribution kicked in by allowing me to go hunt groundhogs unsupervised with a .22 rifle. Imagine seeing an 8-year-old toting a .22 rifle looking for vermin today.
Trapping sweetcorn and raiding raccoons was another adventurous activity I got to participate in. After watching my uncles bait and set the leghold traps, I soon started making my own sets. I even managed to catch a few raccoons in the process, too.
Room To Roam
For me, the farm was the greatest playground in the world. It provided me with room to roam, building my confidence by exploring hundreds of acres by myself and feeding my sense of adventure. Growing up in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., the farm was a great escape. It also laid the foundation of my relationship with my uncles and my love for the farm.
As a kid, they prepared me for life by tastefully teasing me. Gary called me “Boomer” and “City Slicker” for years. It wasn’t until much later that I realized “Boomer” was short for Baby Boomer. Go figure?! The teasing made your hide thicker while developing your sense of humor and interaction with adults.
During Grandma’s Christmas party, which was always the first Saturday after Christmas, my cousins and I climbed all over our uncles like a bunch of monkeys. Wrestling matches ensued, along with much teasing, laughing and other shenanigans. Then, we’d all sit down to a scrumptious homecooked family meal followed by more homemade cookies, cakes and pies. At its peak, over 60 relatives attended. It was a time of great memories.
Uncle Gary’s 4-wheeler set up with his oxygen bottle and rifle mounted,
ready to go spend a day in the woods.
Gettin’ Older Sucks
Denied to many, getting older is no doubt a privilege, but a big downside is having your heroes leave you. People die. Uncle Jerry died on a hunting trip in West Virginia with his nephews. I consider myself fortunate to have been on the hunt he died on by spending his last few days with him and knowing they were good ones.
Last week, my Uncle Gary died. He’d been on oxygen for the past two years from breathing in dirt, dust, fertilizer and insecticides while doing tractor field work on the farm.
I never knew a man who loved the outdoors as much as him. He’d ride his 4-wheeler for hours exploring miles of trails daily and spent every waking hour of deer season in his stand. He loved farming and the outdoor work it provided him.
Last year, during deer season, as I was leaving to go home, I walked past his 4-wheeler and had to take a picture. He had his oxygen bottle strapped to it along with several yards of tubing so he could wear his oxygen mask while sitting in his stand. He wouldn’t dream of missing hunting season.
On the night he died, Uncle Gary went out to dinner with two of my cousins. My aunt was babysitting their grandkids in Maryland, so Gary was “baching” it. My cousins told me they had a great time during dinner, complete with plenty of laughing, teasing and joking. Uncle Gary went home, changed into his pajamas and died with his oxygen mask on, sitting in his La-Z-Boy. I couldn’t think of a more peaceful way to go.
None of us are getting out of here alive, but it sure can leave a void when someone as special as Gary is called home. I’m lucky to have had an uncle as good as him. Who’d have thought that taking a kid on a groundhog safari would lead to a lifetime of hunting adventures, a love for the outdoors and, most importantly, a love for family?
