In our family the primary purpose of each hunting trip was to come home with a good story. Almost equal was the need to come back with something to eat, preferably tasty.
Our home was on a hillside above a creek surrounded on three sides by the woods that covered the western third of the 65 acre family farm. My older brother carried my deceased father's 1897 Winchester 12 gauge shotgun and I a single shot .22 J.C. Higgins. Our bounty was mostly rabbits, squirrels and sometimes quail. In the summer we worked the creek for sun perch, catfish, frogs, crawfish and, on rare occasion turtle -- big snappers that we knew could take your finger with one bite.
And yes we came home with stories now retold, refined and improved into that form of immortality known as 'family legend'.
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