Holiday Reflections

article by Dan Chason

I am a blessed man. I have a wonderful home life, good health, a good job, good friends and overly blessed with some of the best places you could ever dream of to hunt and fish.  I have always been a fishaholic and liked to hunt but I never enjoyed hunting as much as I do now because of one factor:  the hunting camp. I wasn’t raised religiously hunting.  My dad hunted rabbits, squirrels and doves but he seldom hunted any other critter. In fact, I went on my first solo deer hunting trip in D’Arbonne National Wildlife Refuge at the young age of 15. I didn’t own a rifle so I borrowed a friend’s 35 Marlin and off I went.  I will never forget the first deer I took as my friends who joined me said it sounded like Tarzan coming through the woods with this deer across my shoulders.  I was a mess but elated.  I had finally harvested a deer.

I got real serious about deer hunting after coming home from college.  But duck hunting was a new found passion and I pursued that relentlessly. I was fortunate enough to lease some prime duck hunting north of Mer Rouge and filmed many shows in blinds that belonged to me. When the prices of pit blinds became more expensive and out of my financial reach, I started my quest to find a place to call a camp and start chasing deer and hogs. I found such a place near Alabama Landing and put a small camper there to hunt the Upper Ouachita Refuge. I really liked the camp but the hunting was a pain as most of it was by foot or water. When I found my current camp home in 1995, I can honestly say it changed my life.

A hunting camp is a full time, year-long job. The camp is not the only thing that needs attention. There are lanes to clear, stands to erect, trees to clip, fields to move, water to control and roads to maintain. Thanks to a very understanding wife, she has realized that my “let off steam” need is directly tied to my camp. Some days I just go out to be in the woods and unwind. Most times I’m on my tractor and fixing various things to make it easier on everyone There are aggravations to the camp but the advantages far outweigh them.

I have been to many hunting camps.  They range from make shift lean to structures to campers, trailers and up to some that are nicer than my home. Most all of them have the same basic arrangement and members while some are there for commercial applications. Either way, once you pull up at the camp things are just different. Simple things are there like the food you eat. There is no gluten free, sugar free or low fat anything to be found. It is the only place a grown man will make a full lunch of vienna sausage and beenie weenies. The sheets and covers have been there for months and your bed looks the same as it did when you left the last weekend. The kitchen chores are shared with the main rule for the cook is “I cook, you clean.” Everyone pitches in for one common goal: to eat good, enjoy some football on TV and be the first up to turn on the coffee pot. There is no whining about home life, no kid issues and no drama at the camp.  Everyone pitches in on everything including food for critters, food for hunters and there is always something to munch on and a lot of good natured ribbing dished out.

But there is one thing about my camp that holds a special place at a very special time each year. In our family, we celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve. With grown kids being pulled every which a way, we have found it best for everyone to have Christmas Eve be reserved for them. This means that on Christmas Day, I have at least a half a day where I am not entertaining anyone and am totally alone at my camp. You would think that is no fun but for years it serves one purpose for me. I totally shut out the world and refocus my attention on how to be a better husband, father and grandfather and to remember those who are no longer here to enjoy this season.

There is nothing like that morning to wake up early, slip to my deer stand and watch the sun rise. The wood ducks are the first sign of critters and I love hearing the sounds of duck wings whistling in the sky.  As the birds of every kind wake up, I think of my loved ones: My son-in-law Chad, who we lost in Iraq in 2005; my mom and dad who both left us in 2014; my sweet sister-in-law Patsy, who went to heaven this year; my brother Steve who shared this stand with me for his last time in 2017. I cry. It is the only place I can do this without embarrassment or shame. I cry for my loss but I cry for the loss to my children and grandchildren. My brother’s ability mechanically, my dad’s sense of humor and devotion to God; my mother’s pride in her children; and Elijah, Chad’s son not knowing this fine man that was taken way too soon. It is a place where I smile thinking about where these loved ones are now and how the birth of Jesus Christ and his gift of salvation upon his death is the very reason we have hope. Hope to see them again and hope for our own peace.

This is the season of peace. I find that in the woods and on the water. I find that in my wife’s loving eyes and the admiration I receive from my children and grandchildren. Yes, I am blessed beyond measure. And as always, there are the red birds in my corn pile. They represent to me the loved ones I lost. And I cry with tears of thankfulness and rebirth. Happy Birthday Jesus. He is the reason for the season.