October 1966, is the first time and only "real" time I went hunting up on what we called as kids, Zion Mountain. It was known to me as Zion Mountain because of the Zion Mountain Methodist Church, where in the church yard a lot of my relatives are buried, including two of the men, my dad and Uncle Buck, that took me hunting that weekend. The area is really named Wolf Creek Mountain.
On that hunt my uncle Bobby set me down near a creek, while he, my dad and Uncle Buck went deeper into the woods. I was 11, armed with a model 37 Winchester .410 that my Grandpa gave me just the day before.
It was cold that morning going out before dawn. Shortly after sunrise I saw a grey squirrel up in the trees, jumping from limb to limb. I watched, for a short while, and then with a steady aim I pulled the trigger. The squirrel continued scamping along. I jumped up, emptied the chamber of my Winchester, shoved another shell in, closed the barrel, and took aim. Before I could squeeze off another shot at that little grey, he dropped to the ground.
It was cold that morning going out before dawn. Shortly after sunrise I saw a grey squirrel up in the trees, jumping from limb to limb. I watched, for a short while, and then with a steady aim I pulled the trigger. The squirrel continued scamping along. I jumped up, emptied the chamber of my Winchester, shoved another shell in, closed the barrel, and took aim. Before I could squeeze off another shot at that little grey, he dropped to the ground.
That day, at the age of 11, I was the first to get blood, Uncle Buck, 10 years my senior was the second. Bobby and Dad never fired a shot. I think Dad was more interested just being in the woods, since at the time we lived on Lake Erie. I don't think he cared for the sound of gunshot being a Korean War vet and all. For me it was a very good day, spent with my dad and uncles.
That day I remember my Dad telling my uncles he wanted to move the family back to the mountains from northern Ohio, for he wished we all could see days like that one up on the mountain. But ten months later my Dad died, so it didn't happen, the move that is. That is probably the last time all three of the brothers were together. Dad died in the summer of '67 and Buck died less than three years later in winter of '70.
I miss all of them. Bobby is a retired preacher living in KY.





