Where Were You on Sixty-eight?

We spent our winter weekends hunting rabbits and squirrels in the back forty. Mom never had to go, I understand now that she enjoyed her time alone in the house. How she excitedly dressed the younger ones in layers of heavy wool and boots lined with Wonder bread bags! Sometimes she would take our picture as proof of our departure in the snowy backyard before Dad led the seven of us into the woods. Lately I find myself studying the expressions on the faces in those pictures.

Rabbits didn't have a chance up against us. We were stealthily quiet and trained as well as any dog. We had a strategy: hunger. We shared this strategy with the other predators, and the woods quietly allowed us entrance as it would any other animal, seemingly secure in the knowledge that we would not be wasteful. After all - we were not sportsmen seeking trophies, we were survivors.

It was a long hike, downhill until we circled around toward home, our collective packs filled with gutted rodents. By then we were always exhausted. Without realizing it we counted each time we had to lift our thickly clothed legs. Sixty-eight. Sixty-nine. Seventy. Seventy-one.