TWO BOOTS & “BUNKUM”: Instilling An Outdoor Legacy

As outdoorsmen continue their search to be fulfilled in the outdoors, my father, Jim Nelson, recounts his early morning adventures with his Gindad. I wanted to take some time to reflect on a few of the men who have shaped my perspective of the outdoor life and, ultimately my life. The best memories I have with those men are generally around some activity, either work or play, in the outdoors; from cutting firewood, toiling in an endless garden, working cows, watching a bird dog work along an old fence row, learning to hunt squirrels and pond fish, to countless sessions of catch or chasing a little white dimply ball places it was not supposed to go (still doing that today...). My perspective on life was largely shaped by the places we spent time together. Those shared experiences taught me how to appreciate the stillness of a sunrise and the quiet joy of a sunset. I learned to be grateful for the time I spent in the outdoors, no matter the result of the work, the hunt, or the success of a fishing trip. Most importantly, I learned the true value of conservation and the importance of fulfilling our role in the Creation. My Grandfather (father’s side), “Gindad”, and my mother’s father, “Granddaddy”, both exemplified hard work and demonstrated the satisfaction of work that took place in the outdoors; waking up every morning before sunrise, heading outside to build on or shape the land. They worked day-in and day-out with their hands and by the sweat of their brow to provide for their families. ‘A Man’s Man’ (as some may say), both of them. When compared to what is promoted in today’s culture, their quiet toughness and work ethic seem almost mythical. While there have been other men who have shaped my appreciation of the outdoor life, these men were the foundation. There are countless stories and memories that I will continue to share with my family in hopes they too will continue to instill the values and appreciation for those men in our descendants to come, long after my time. I tell these stories to my sons so they can understand why certain things are and will be important as they grow up. To that end, I would like to share a little bit about my Gindad, specifically, a snapshot that really seems to epitomize his influence on my perspective of all things. My Gindad was a quiet man that his wife and friends (seemingly everyone) called “Bunkum”, which, in and of itself, made him legendary to me.  He was a tremendous athlete in his youth and exuded the calm of a man who knew his place in the world.  I often had the privilege of spending weekends with him and “Ginny” throughout the year and a week during the summer.  When I was there, every day it was: Rise with the sun. Eat a homemade breakfast prepared by Ginny. Watch Gindad finish his “saucer’d” coffee. Then, sit on the screened-in back porch overlooking their 100-acre farm (which oddly enough always seemed nice and cool in the morning, no matter the time of year) while he put on his boots. ‘Gindad putting on his boots’ was an event in and of itself and was conducted in silence. Put on one sock - Contemplate who-knows-what for (what seemed like) forever - Put on the other sock -Repeat the contemplation. Same with the boots. First one - pause for reflection - then the next...The entire process took several minutes; an eternity for a young boy ready to start the day. Although I’m unsure of his exact purpose for this routine, I believe it was to reflect in the still of each morning, to plan his day, to look over the land, to appreciate what the Creator has given us, and to express his gratitude.  Once the boots were on, we hit the door for a day of work on the farm where there was always work to be done.  What I learned from watching him go about his day would fill volumes. The memory that motivated me to share these words revolves around hunting and how special those times are to me now. He was a quail hunter and had the best bird dogs in the county; Brittany Spaniels. In those bygone days, he was either “related to” or “friends with” everyone in the county and there were no limits in roaming amongst the fence rows, chasing coveys of bobwhites. He and my father spent many years hunting those winged delicacies around the land surrounding his farm. I can remember watching the two of them head out, shotguns in hand and a dog or two trailing behind them...I couldn’t wait to be right there with them!  I would listen eagerly when they got back to hear if/where they had found a covey, how the dogs did, and how they shot that day.  

I looked forward to the day when I would be allowed to hunt with them, thinking it was a tentative acceptance into adulthood. One special Christmas, I was spending the weekend with Ginny and Gindad and we had been moving hay with the tractor for the cows.  It was a normal day at Ginny and Gindad’s until about an hour after lunch when he looked over at me and said “Let’s go get the dogs” which translated to ‘We’re done for the day and I I’m about to go on a quail hunt with my Gindad!’ To this day, I cannot tell you whether we shot a limit or did not pull the trigger during that hunt but what I can tell you is; that I have an appreciation for a working birddog, the thrill of anticipation when a dog points and another honors the point, the rush of adrenaline when “bobs” come off the ground like thunder and the memory of a man that took me on a hunt. It is a heritage and legacy I hope to pass along to my sons.  My Gindad is no longer with us having gone to his Saviour many years ago but I will always appreciate the times we spent together, living a life outside. I hope this encourages you to reach out to those men and women who have shaped your view of a life outside thank them.