Tonight, I watched yet another, our third child, graduate high school. This one joined our family at a later stage, but is my daughter still the same.
I watch from a new view - these very middle ages.
In the beginning of my middle ages, I watched as my first child graduated high school. I was probably more scared than he was. I had seen enough to know the world wouldn't always be kind - and sometimes was downright scary. I was still young enough to remember how sure and confident I was at his age. And - the word that scares all parents - immortal. The belief that nothing can get in your way and nothing can slow you down - let alone stop you! Some of us learned very hard lessons here.
Letting go of your first child is heart wrenching. And it is as much as a "maturity step" for the parents as it is the child. After devoting your life to bringing this person up - letting go is a real lesson in - letting God. Trusting the job you have done with His help. Trusting that the roots are strong enough to hold, no matter how close to the sun they fly.
By child number two, letting go is a little easier. But where I can actually miss my #1 son (you should visit your mother more), my #1 daughter is still fluttering about the nest. She ventures out for a time, and then returns to the safety of our home.
This #2 daughter is firmly planted in her future. She will remain close to the nest while she finishes her "advanced flying lessons"(college).
We have one more child to guide through high school. It will go much too quickly.
We have begun our lessons in our new upcoming role of empty nesters. We fly a little longer on our outings. We roam more. Our chicks don't require our presence for feedings or much else. In fact, they seem to relish the "breathing room". We have discovered we have individual names and personalitlies. We are not just "MomandDad". We have rediscovered interests we had thought forever lost. Interests like: each other! We have time to talk, share, and rediscover the very same things that made it all worth while in the beginning.
It seems very proper and right that we are given this second chance together. The first time seems just a blur. My sweet husband and I share something unique. We chose to stay married to each other - forever. Beginning to end. Someday, one of us will have to let go of the other.
What we lose first, as youth, is immortality. Our mortality now looms firmly in the future. Our children are adults. We have already said good-bye to the majority of our grandparents, some of our parents, and a few of our friends. Some of us have said good-bye to children. I used to read the local paper to see who among our peers had gotten married or had another baby. Now I'm checking to see who is the newest grandparent.
And all this runs through my head as I watched the new graduates tonight. Young eager faces ready to change the world - and some of them will. This graduation has taken them a lifetime to achieve. It seems like mine was just yesterday, but yesterday in another life. What these young people have spent a lifetime to achieve is only a ripple in the pond of life. Joyous moments tend to be ripples. Grief is a wave that washes over everything, but eventually recedes. Children are tidal waves. Nothing will ever be the same again.
The first thing a class learns together is to line up in an orderly fashion. The last thing a class does together is line up for the last orderly procession together. Get ready world - tomight's group - they got it wrong. But after much shuffling around in chairs and of chairs and of robed and honored graduates - they eventually got it right!
My graduation was a small, intimate, formal affair. (There were only 21 of us.)
Tonight's graduation was a huge class ( well over 200) and a gigantic auditorium. Nobody around us seemed to care enough to be respectful. Talking, joking, booing, running around. I've seen better behaved crowds at a I-Cubs game. So very disrespectful - in a moment so very important to this generation. Get ready Class of 2003, it's a rude world and it is already rearing it's ugly head.

Okay, sometimes the view is rather amusing:)

The 2003 Smithville Snipe Hunt

a successful hunt

Very few camping pleasures measure up with the joy of sending unknowing campers on their first snipe hunt. I find that this joy only rises as the age of the hunter increases.

It started simply enough – as simple as anything gets with our family. We planned a big family camping trip on Memorial Weekend at Smithville Lake in Missouri. Sandy and Willie (age 16 – his age does help to make the story a bit more amusing) left with Grandpa and Grandma from Des Moines, Iowa on Friday afternoon. Don, Mo, and family (David, Sam and Mary) met them at the campsite. Randy and I followed later in the day. Jeff, Tina, Derrick (age 12 - a good starting age) and young Wyatt arrived Saturday morning.

Randy and I pulled in to camp after dark. Don had already made the rounds with are new weekend neighbors and all had shared camping stories around the fire and discovered all had been boy scouts. The fun of those trips led to the mention of a Snipe Hunt. Before anything could be shared, Willie interrupted with the question, “What’s a snipe hunt?”

The game was on.

All the men shared their boasts of the snipes they had captured and how much fun the hunt had been. Someone was able to find a brown grocery sack. And my youngest son was off on his first snipe hunt. I was so disappointed to learn he was already on the hunt when I arrived, but was eager as the rest to see the hunter return later in the night. He returned empty handed, but luckily, (for us) not discouraged. He planned to go out again the next night.

All the next day, the campers surrounding our group eagerly shared the fun of their snipe captures and we boasted of how many we had captured in one night. We even shared recipes and discussed the very many ways a snipe could be prepared. Willie was eager to get out again and by this time his cousin Derrick wanted to join him as well.

Unfortunately, cold and rain dictated the next day. We had mercy on the young hunters and hoped for better weather the following night. We were rewarded.

After the hot dogs had been roasted and the kids were all s’mored out, we started anticipating the evening hunt. Unfortunately, the one brown grocery sack was all that could be found in the camp. As darkness fell, we explained to the hunters the rustle of the newer plastic sacks scared the skittish snipes; and they were too small and too quick to capture in a box. So we decided one cousin could chase the snipes to the other cousin holding the sack.

We advised that the cousin that was herding them to the bag needed to make the noise of the snipes’ natural nocturnal enemy – the hoot owl. (Hoo-hoo!) That would certainly scare the snipes into action. The sack-holding cousin should call the snipes toward him with the snipes’ own “safety cry” – the high-pitched “yip- yip- yip- yip- yip- yip!” cried, of course, while thumping on the bag.

Next to our camp was a tall hill. The hill had a grove of thick trees to each side with a nice clearing in the middle. We advised our hunters that they would do best to try to chase the snipe from one standing of tress toward the other. They would be easier to catch while in the clearing. This also gave the entire campground a great view of the hunt in progress under the backdrop of the star-filled sky.

Derrick was showing some hesitation of going when the time arrived to go out in the dark night. He asked if they would bite or scratch. We assured him there was no danger to himself. With Derrick being a very hungry boy at most times of the day – we kept on about how delicious they were to eat. He asked, “What do they taste like?” I was starting into comparisons of roasted squirrel and rabbit when my brother, Jeff (Derrick’s father) interrupted. “You know”, he spoke up, “when you fry them just right - they taste just like bacon.” I volunteered that I had brought my Dutch oven this trip and that was the very best way to fry them. That was all it took. Derrick lives and breathes for bacon - and it hadn’t been on the menu all weekend.

Both boys headed out into the darkness. The family stoked the campfire and settled in for the fun. The boys’ voices echoed down as they imitated the woodland animals just as they had been taught. They drifted in and out of our hearing. Every time we heard a bit of their yells, we all broke-up into laughter around the campfire. All the neighboring camps were enjoying the show. We were entertained by the echoes of the hunters’ cries, occasionally seeing their thin silhouettes against the night sky weaving back and forth between the groves of tress on the top of the hill.

As the evening grew late and the night grew even colder, we debated calling the hunters in and declaring the snipe too elusive. We would suddenly hear their renewed hunter’s yelps in the night and realized through our own laughter – this had to play out. It was the boys’ own grandma who played the ending.

It was nearing the midnight hour. We were all growing cold and tired. Grandma suddenly said, “I know how to end this!” We queried our collective “how?” “Let’s have them actually catch a snipe!” The cunning plan was quickly laid out.

It fell easily into play when Derrick ran down the hill complaining of the cold. As he grabbed his jacket he told us of how many they snipes they had ‘almost’ saw and captured. We adults discussed what the problem could be. If the boys were seeing the elusive snipes, why weren’t they capturing any of the prey? Our only conclusion had to be the way they were holding the sack must have been incorrect. Jeff volunteered to go with the boys and act as the bagger while both boys chased the snipe toward him.

Jeff sent the boys to the backside of the trees and told them to slowly work the snipe toward him. While our fearless hunters were herding, Jeff snuck back to the camp and got a couple of chunks of wood from the woodpile, and crept back up. We heard the hooting hunters approach Jeff’s position. With a great cry Jeff lunged. “We got one!”

They came running down the dark hill. Both boys were holding the sack tightly and shaking it. We had to ask - why they were shaking the sack? They explained Jeff had spotted a hole in the sack and they had to keep the snipe confused so it wouldn’t find the hole. The boys were sharing how they thought they had about eight snipes on the run. Jeff said he saw two, but was only able to capture one.

We captured the moment on film, the successful snipe hunters and their bagged trophy. Then the boys wanted to know what method was used to kill it. I replied that chopping off their heads was the normal way and offered the hatchet used earlier on the roasting sticks. Neither boy wanted to be the one to do the chopping. Grandma stepped up saying, “I’ve butchered plenty of chickens in my day. I’ll show you how.” Uncle Don volunteered to help as well. I asked if they needed the hatchet, but Don said he preferred to just step on their heads and pull the heads off. As Don and Grandma stepped away from the fire’s light, the boys asked where they were going. I explained that when the head got pulled off, the body would flop around quite a bit and throw the blood everywhere. We didn’t want the blood all over the picnic tables next to the fire – we have to eat there. The boys quickly retreated from “the kill” and toward the fire.

Grandma and Uncle Don bent down and slowly opened the sack. All the sudden there was yelling, tearing, and running. “He got lose! He’s running back up the hill!” Willie and Derrick quickly passed everybody to recapture their snipe! They hollered, “Can you see where he is headed?” “Willie, cut to your right!” I screamed. He executed that move like a perfectly practiced football play. Finally, we told the boys it was no use. We had lost him.

Grandma and Uncle Don felt so bad and they sadly conveyed their apologies for losing the boys’ trophy. Willie and Derrick acted like men. They explained, it was okay – there would be more hunts.

The boys retired to their pup-tent. They kept most of the campground awake while reliving their successful hunt together. But nobody shushed them. Later my brother Jeff and I discussed our options. I felt Willie needed to be told the truth. He had school yet, and his ego could suffer if he shared his story. Jeff didn’t want to tell Derrick yet. “School’s already out for him. And he’s only twelve; he has a few more years of snipe hunting left in him.”

Before we reached home, I told Willie the truth. He denied that it could have been a trick.

“We caught one!” he argued.

“No you didn’t.” I replied.

“What was in the sack then?” he challenged.

“Wood.” I stated.

“But,” he countered, “it was moving.”

I then pointed out - only because he was shaking the sack..

“Then what did Uncle Don and Grandma let out of the sack?”

“The wood!”

“What ran up the hill?”

“You and your cousin Derrick.”

“What were we chasing then?”

“Mostly, the sound of my voice. I told you where to run – and you did. Very nicely - I might add.”

Humbly Willie realized – he had been had. I then told him not to share that fact with Derrick. I also let Willie know it was good to be on this side of the story. We still had his young cousins; Sam, David, Mary, and even Wyatt; to send on their first snipe hunts - someday.

A view from the middle ages - hmmphf - kinda sucks.