Where it comes from?

The old Oldsmobile station wagon rolled steadily down Rt 927, toward Henry's honey hole for grouse. His son set quietly on the rear bench seat of the family car. The odor of paint and thinner was only some what covered by the pungent stench of his father's cheap cigar. Although many thoughts rushed through Henry's namesakes mind, he didn't dare say a word. Today Henry was joined on the hunt with his friends Will and Mike. The trio laughed about some sort of "adult joke" that although Henry Jacob was only 12 years old, he had heard in school. As he peered out the window he figured, "It still doesn't sound funny, even when a grown up tells that joke?" It all didn't really matter, as long as his dad was occupied with joking with Will and Mike, there wouldn't be any harsh discipline for Henry Jacob today.









Henry Jacob was well beyond his 12 years. Life was tough for him. He was up well before dawn, everyday checking his trap line before school. He would return, clean his foxes, muskrats or if he was lucky a prized mink, then he was off to school. Only to return home to check his line again, prior to dinner. Then if it was an unlucky day for him, he would come home to a basement full of shutters that he would have to sand and prep for his father's painting business. This was everyday, 365 days a year for Henry Jacob. The only time he got a reprieve was when he would travel to his Grand Father Jake's farm in Gwynedd or on trip upstate to hunt deer or grouse.









As he gazed from the fogged up window at the patch work of hemlocks and cherry stands, he thought how he missed Jake. Although Jake was his dad's father, discipline always seemed so much kinder under his hand. Even when Henry Jacob was younger and Jake made him go to the large willow behind the farm, to get a switch for his own whoopin, Henry knew Jake just wanted him to behave well and be a man, worthy of the family name. Looking at it from my point of view, I feel Jake knew his son wasn't much of a father, so he took it upon himself to provide Henry with some love, although Jake's time on earth was fading quickly. The hard Pennsylvania Dutch life hung heavy around Jake shoulders. The life that he etched for his family from the farm, was one of hard work, with little rewards. His brother's had all moved out to Ohio some years prior to Henry Jacob's birth. He was left with his wife Lily by his side to contemplate the status of their farm. Some of his lighter moments were when Henry Jacob would visit the farm. He would enjoy the little one, even when he got into mischief, like playing in the water trough or chasing the ducks around the barn yard. Henry Jacob missed his Grandfather, he missed the farm, that would have been his, if not for the war. But he was accustomed to disappointment, so as usual he dealt with it.









The Oldsmobile came to a halt in a graveled pull off. Henry announced to Mark and Will, that they had arrived. Will, who had fallen asleep, in the middle of one of Henry's bad jokes, awoke with a few cuss words. As he wiped the sleep from his eyes, he was startled at what he saw. "Holy Shit, Enry! I've gone half blind, everything is foggy!" "You're not blind you silly bastard!" replied Henry, " The damn windows fogged up, because of all your damn snoring." "Dad can I get out off the car?" Henry Jacob sheepishly asked. "Sure boy, don't go too far, we need to get at them birds." responded Henry. Henry Jacob slid off the worn tweed seats and breathed in the fresh air. It was a welcome relief from the mixture of smoke and paint thinner.





After a few sips of coffee and the lighting of a new cigar, Henry declared it was time to go. His new J.C. Higgins was uncased. Mark and Will gazed in amazement. "Wow Enry, that right there is a fancy pump gun!" "Yup, traded in that old Double gun for this beauty. I can shoot three shells from this." "I do miss that double though, Ya know that had Limpton and Lampton barrels on it?" Henry said with a smile, as he gazed into the distance. Will gave Mark a shove and a wink. "How could we forget, Enry? Every time you talk about guns that's all you talk about. That and that damn Endfield." Henry's head snapped back. "Well if you had a rifle that shot like that Enfield, you'd talk about it all the time." "Ask Mark, He's the one that build that gun. Most accurate rifle I ever shot." Henry looked around. "Where's that boy?" "Henry Jacob! Where ya at boy?" Henry Jacob came from around the rear of the station wagon. "yes sir?" he answered.





"Lets get going boy, the birds will be coming off of roost soon and I want to show these two, How I taught you to shoot that gun." The gun in which his father spoke of was a model that came from a new company in the gun business. It was a Mossberg bolt action 20gauge with screw out chokes. Henry Jacob was quite proud of his gun, not because he was given it, but because he paid for it himself from all those late nights and early mornings of running his trap line. As far as Henry Jacob's shooting prowess, it was not of his father's doing and his dad knew it.





Henry Jacob was a quick study and from hours of throwing clays for his father and his uncle Bussy at the farm, he picked up his skills with a scattergun. So much so that his father would only let him shoot a few rounds at the targets, because the kid didn't miss. Either way, now was not the time to call his father on his misleading accounts of history. Henry Jacob just nodded in agreement and uncased his shotgun. He grabbed two boxes of shells from his bag and dumped them into the pockets of his red gunning coat.





"Whoa, boy what you doing? Getting ready for war?" exclaimed his father. "No sir, just wanting to be prepared. I hear those grouse are tough to hit." replied the boy. "No problem for me to hit, I once got my limit as soon as I left the car." "Could have shot one more, but I only had that double gun, so I let the other fly." pontificated his father. Once again with a shove and a wink, Will stirred the pot. "Enry, you are so full of shit, you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a damn elephant!" Once again, Henry's head snapped back and glared at Will. "Now Will, I don't think you want to be saying that in front of the boy. He may get the wrong idea and I may have to show you how I used to box before the war." "Well" exclaimed Will, "If you box as good as you shoot, I'm sure we'll go a full 10 rounds."





As the back and forth was going on, Henry Jacob was ready to go. "Sir, can we get at them birds? I feel pretty lucky today." "You got it boy, We're leaving right now." Will and Mark took out their bird guns and the group was off. They snaked down the ridge to a large swamp, covered with Hemlocks and swamp oak. Henry Jacob took everything in. This was nothing like hunting behind his home in Montgomery County, for pheasants. The bog ground sucked onto his boots with every step. "Everyone get ready." declared his father, "them grouse are all over this covert." Just as those words were uttered, an eruption of wings was heard and a fleeting glimpse of a large fanned grouse was seen. But no shot was presented to the boy. "Dad, I saw him!" the boy announced. "Well next time kill that thing, boy." "I can't eat visions!" his dad said gruffly. Ten more steps and the woods exploded with birds! His dad wasn't kidding. There were a ton of birds in this swamp. The boy saw one bird, flying straight away, He quickly snapped the bolt gun to his shoulder and fired. the bird went down in a heap! The boy was quite proud of himself. He shot that bird, just the way his Grandfather would have.





Since the covert was so thick, he found it difficult to locate his prize, as he frantically looked for the bird. His father asked as to the status of his shot. " Well did you get him?" "Yes sir, I did, trying to find him. We sure could use "Boots" on this hunt!" Boots was a pup that his father just got from a farmer down off of Germantown Pike. The dog showed promise, plus Henry Jacob, loved spending time with that dog. At least the dog didn't yell at him. Well of course she did get pretty excited when it came to hunting though. She would all but dismantle her kennel if the boy would come out to the yard with his gunning coat on. "Well Boots would make short work on findin that bird, but there wouldn't be any room for a runt kid in the back of the car." His dad said with a smile. Just then, Henry Jacob saw him, a plump cock grouse, his first. Laying against a fallen hemlock, one eye spying right at the boy. Fearing that the bird would somehow fly again, the boy worked the bolt to load another shell. On the closing of the bolt, the grouse let out his final farewell to the covert. The "death drum" of the bird, reverberated through the hollow. Henry Jacob picked up the prize and held it for what seemed like minutes before putting it gently into his gunning coat.



By the sounds of breaking branches up a head, the hunting party was moving at a quick pace. Henry Jacob, knew this to be wrong. From all he read about grouse and their habits, a slow deliberate pace was needed to unhinge a grouse from his hiding spot. Henry Jacob moved to a position that would make him even with the group. As he made his position known to the group by a "Yup!". A bird flushed in front of Will. Will mounted his gun and promptly missed his first and second shot. The jeers from the peanut gallery started. "Hey Will, what ya doin given them birds warning shots?" sounded off Henry. "That's alright Will, Keep on shooting at them birds, maybe they'll get SO shook up, they'll die of fright!" added Mark.



The boy just trudged through the bog, hoping for another glimpse of a grouse. He wouldn't have to wait long, in a location such as this. Birds seemed to be everywhere in this swamp. As the boy rounded a small rhododendron, a single bird flushed. Henry Jacob mounted the Mossberg, concentrated on his target, followed and squeezed the trigger just as the bird soared behind a large hemlock. The gun sounded and a shower of branches came crashing down. "Missed him Dad" hit the tree" Henry Jacob announced . "Well we're going to sit for a bit and take a breather." his father replied.



The boy sat down and grabbed an apple from his gunning coat. He observed everything around him, from ground level. The bark on the trees that resembled the intricate pattern on the ruff of the grouse's neck. The way the hemlock boughs felt under his rear end. He pictured the grouse in slow motion, flushing, how does a bird make that much noise in such a short period of time? he thought.



I got it! That's when through all the hard times, disappointments, unrelenting work and late hours skinning, he found his light at the end of the tunnel. See growing up, I never saw it in him but for a few moments. He was always working or serving in the PA National Guard Unit down the street. The woods is where he loved to be. He didn't have to be hunting, just knowing that close by to him was the wondrous bird that was almost magic! A bird that even after it was slayed, would remain hidden from our eyes, because of the wondrous camouflage that God had blessed it with.





Author comments: Henry Jacob now resides on Fritz Hill in Columbia County PA, with his Wife Jane Ellen and faithful basset beagle mix, JR. Although Hank can't chase the "ruff" like he used to, he awakens to the sounds of the mountain and is lulled to sleep by her quiet nuances. I'm proud he is my dad and thankful that he taught me all I know about the woods and the coverts that grouse call home.