We sat at his kitchen table while he talked about growing up on the farm, and hunting and fishing as a means of putting food on the table, which doubled as a way for him to be outside in the woods he loved. I cannot remember the assignment, but my grandfather talked for well over an hour about hunting the same woods and fields I grew up exploring as I sat with a recorder. He filled both sides of the tape with stories. 

I’m not sure where that cassette is but I know I still have it. Every few months I come across it, acknowledge it, and leave it where I have found it for the next time. Only this time when I find it, I’m going to stop and listen so I can hear my grandfather’s voice. 

My grandfather died in the middle of November, on what would have been my grandmother‘s 83rd birthday. She had passed away in April and he was heartbroken. As we head into the holiday season, it’s going to be really weird to not have them around. They have been in my life for all of my 43 years. 

In the middle of October of this year, I lost an uncle on the other side of my family.  He persuaded a local editor to give me my first monthly column, and made a point of commenting on every article. For more than 13 years. It didn’t matter if the article was in print, online, on my blog or on Facebook, I would get the notification of his comment or a text on my phone.

When I hosted the Maine Outdoors radio show, he would send me notes, including suggested questions to ask listeners. I have a running commentary from him on my phone as he communicated with me throughout the show. There is no question he was one of my biggest supporters. 

Now those voices in my family are gone. 

So much of our outdoor culture is made up of the hunting, fishing and trapping stories we tell. It is a way to connect with each other and share a piece of our history. It is why hunting camp means so much to so many people. We share the experiences of our day. Everyone talks about what they saw and heard while we were in the stand. 

We talk about the successful and not-so-successful hunts we have experienced. The other day I commented on an upcoming hair appointment, and Dad and I launched into telling my mom the story about when we went out hunting in the afternoon.  I had had my hair done and the dye smelled. It didn’t matter that I had a thick orange hat on.  I was sweaty and my head stunk. 

Tucked behind a couple low pine trees (before we built the Sky Condo), we waited and I rattled some antlers. I can’t remember if we heard the deer coming, but it definitely smelled me. That deer didn’t blow, it was sneezing. I’m sure it was trying to get the stench of hair dye out of its nose. We listened as it sneezed and ran away.  It was the last time I died my hair during hunting season, but it’s a story that Dad and I will tell forever.

With the passing of my uncle and grandfather this fall, their hunting and fishing stories will not be the same. I can share them. My aunts, uncles and parents can share them, but they will always be a bit more watered down than when it came directly from the person who experienced them.  Each year will erase a few more details. I can try to tell them well enough that they stay with my kids. 

As you gather with friends and family this season, listen to their stories. Really listen. Maybe prop your phone up and hit record as they share one of those great adventures that makes you smile because it perfectly encapsulates their personality.  But listen to how they tell the stories and which parts are emphasized. Find the emotion. Ask questions. Take it all in because before you know it, the storytellers will be gone. 

Erin Merrill, an award-winning writer based in central Maine, writes “Hunt & Harvest” monthly. She welcomes emails at: [email protected].