I have mentioned in previous posts that I do not hunt.  But I have a deep appreciation for the hunting culture present in Michigan.  Hunters love the same land that hikers do.  So, I thought I’d share an excerpt and link to a hunting story that I found to be particularly touching.  Excerpt and link below:

I imagine it was probably somewhere around 50 years ago, that I probably started thinking and day dreaming about my grandfathers’ old rifle. It always sat in the corner of the old farm house, behind the swinging door between the kitchen and the dining room. It stood there with his 16ga and an old 22 rifle. That old rifle intrigued me and I always wanted to hear the story about the last time that it was fired. How that old rifle took the only bear that grandpa ever shot near Atlanta in 1938. The old bear skin rug lay on the floor in one of the upstairs bedrooms, and I guess that grandma had seen enough of it and decided that she wanted her parlor back.

Every gun in the old farm was loaded. It was the way we were brought up. But, the one thing I did know, that old rifle was never loaded. Every time I went to the farm, I’d always ask gramp if I could pick it up. He never refused to allow me to handle that old rifle. She was a heavy old gal. Made back in the day when steel was real. I could shoulder it, but not for long. That long barrel just seemed to weigh a ton.

It was probably just a couple more years and I figured it was time to ask to shoot that old rifle. No one that I had seen had ever shot that rifle. Not gramps or dad. I actually remember asking the first time to fire that rifle. I don’t think my question was a surprise to either my granddad or my dad but, I wasn’t ready for the answer that I got. I’d always been allowed to shoot any firearm that I wanted to shoot, but this time it was different. Grandpa said, with what appeared to be somewhat of a sad face, that they “don’t make shells for it anymore”. He said that he had to save the few remaining shells that he had for it. I wasn’t unhappy about not being able to shoot that old rifle, but was sad that they didn’t make ammunition for it anymore.

That old rifle stayed behind that swinging door until one of the saddest days of my life. Grandpa was gone. Grandma told my dad to gather all the guns up and take them home with him. It was a very sad time for all of us.

Click for the full story below:

http://www.michigan-sportsman.com/forum/showthread.php?t=262821

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