The Deer Hunt

There was a time once long ago

That I did hunt for deer

I did so with my cut down bow

That once my father owned

‘Twas made of osage orange and

It had glued cow horn nocks

It was a beauty to behold

And drew just eighty pounds.

And then one day, as Dad did shoot

The bow began to split

As so he had to cut it down

Without the cow horn nocks.

It was about five foot six

Just right for me to shoot

But then I had to scrape it down

To pull at fifty pounds.

And then Rhode Island opened up

A season just for deer

This was the first since early days

But only bows allowed.

My cut-down bow was all I had

So it would have to do

I gathered my bow hunting gear

And waited for the day.

            -2-

Though I preferred to hunt alone

I almost never did

This time I took along with me

Milt Dennis and Steve Mairs

And on this season’s opener

We though that we should hunt

Around the place we often fished

In back of Breakheart Pond.

The hunt began at six o’clock

The sun was hardly up

The ice was thick upon the pond

The snow was one foot deep

It was so cold, our hands so stiff

We could not shoot our bows

And as we went our separate ways

We knew we could not hunt.

The fact that cold would not permit

Our hunting normally

Did not prevent our moving ‘round

The pond to find some tracks

For every step in this cold snow

Was made so noisily

We knew the best that we could do

Was find the tracks we sought.

            -3-

I moved around the eastern side

While Milt and Steve went west

They came upon a six-point buck

Just laying in the snow

He’d been dead for quite a while

Hit by some poacher’s shot

They knew this hunting day was done

The snow did crunch too much

They also knew I’d be there soon

And thought they’d play a prank

They propped that buck against a tree

And standing he looked real

They didn’t have time to brush the snow

Stuck to his hairy hide

They hid themselves and lay so still

They nearly froze to death.

I slowly came around the pond

Then couldn’t believe my eyes

For standing not too far from me

I saw a great big buck.

He made no move to get away

Which made me wonder why.

‘Twas then I heard two great big whoops

And knew it was a hoax.

            -4-

The buck was then reported to

The nearest officer

Who happened to be “Fish and Game”

And cussed the poachers out

They were about to bring him out

But then they thought again

If they left him right where he was

He’d feed some other game.

And so we thought we’d had enough

Our hunting day was through

The snow was crunchy under foot

The cold we could not bear.

And so we put away our bows

Then climbed into the car

To try to get our bodies warmed

Before we headed home.

            -5-

The next time that I went to hunt

I went out all alone

I had been down to Westerly

To help a client there

And because I’d pass right by

The hunting area

I brought my hunting bow with me

And also hunting clothes

I had about four hours left

Before the sun went down

And so I parked at Breakheart’s bridge

And put on my old clothes.

I started down along the stream,

Where often I had fished,

In snow about six inches deep

But this time with no crunch.

I now moved slowly thru the snow

An arrow on the bow

And watched the snow for any tracks

Made freshly by a deer.

I'd moved about a quarter mile

So slowly step by step

‘Twas then I found this great big set

Of tracks among the trees.

            -6-

This deer I knew had gone my way

And so I followed it

For just a while, the tracks then turned

And went the other way.

I looked back at the way I’d come

But nothing could I see

And so went back just off my tracks

Just following this deer.

The deer was wise to all I did

For he’d been watching me

As I went back the way I came

He’d move the other way

It now was like a game to him

For as I went one way

He’d go the other ‘til we passed

And then he’d turn again.

Four times this deer did pass me by

Until I spotted him.

All I could see was head and ears

No antlers could I see.

The distance was some thirty feet

I felt I could not miss

He was behind snow-covered brush

And I was in the clear.

            -7-

I drew my bow, the arrow flew

Right where I wanted it.

But he had stood sideways to me

And not the way I thought

Thus did my arrow miss its chest

Just plowed into the snow

Whether doe, or antler-less buck

That deer went bounding off.

But now I knew where I could find

The deer at any time

And we could track them through the snow

Wherever they would go.

And so the next day we could hunt

Was on a Saturday

Then Milt and I were right on hand

As dawn began to show.

It was not cold as it had been

The first day we went out

And so we started down the way

That ran past Breakheart Brook.

We reached the swamp that was below

The water all was ice

Which then permitted us to walk

With very little noise.

            -8-

But now my friend in eagerness

Just went way out ahead

I wanted him to stay in close

I knew he could not shoot

With rifle, shotgun or his bow

Could never hit a thing.

But off he went out in the swamp

And I was left to stew.

But then he jumped another deer,

Perhaps the one I tracked,

And though he shot his arrow wide

That deer did skid and turn

Then headed back quite close to me

And she was loping fast

But as I shot, I knew I’d missed

The arrow flying past.

We watched her go with leaping bounds

Up into the thick pines

That grew along the steeper slopes

That marked the Breakheart Brook.

So we continued with our hunt

And came across more tracks

But did not see another deer

And so called it a day.

            -9-

We had another Saturday

Before the season closed

This time I went out with a friend

Who stayed in his wheelchair

He’d been injured in the war

And could no longer stand

And so he drove me to the spot

Where I did wish to hunt.

This time we went to Escoheag

And down the Pratt Place road

We were not far from Stepstone Falls

When I first saw the deer

She crossed the road ahead of us

And went into the woods

It was a doe, but big and fat

She’d been around a while.

I had my friend continue on

Then turn and head on back.

And when he’d nearly reached the top

I had him let me out.

He’d pick me up in just one hour

He’d wait at Parris Brook

I quickly slipped into the woods

And started my approach.

            -10-

The doe had crossed ahead of us

About a quarter mile

She did not seem concerned at all

Just ambled right across.

And so I slowly started down

As softly as I could

And figured at the rate I went

It would be half an hour.

The time went by, I’d stop to watch

And then continue on

I must have been close to the spot

Where she had crossed the road.

And there she was, I saw her move

But she had seen me too

She stood and watched me from between

The forks of an old ash.

The wind was in my favor and

The deer was never sure

She’d seen a man or something else

And so I stood stock still.

She sniffed the air, then stomped a bit

And moved her ears about.

I wondered how I’d get a shot

With her behind the tree.

            -11-

I watched her as she sniffed again

Then slowly raised my bow.

The movement did not frighten her

And so I took a chance

I drew the string back to my chin

And let the arrow fly

It struck the tree, just ‘neath her throat

I’d missed a shot again.

Now when the arrow hit the tree

That deer just bolted off

I gave no thought to where she went

She had just disappeared.

And so I walked up to the tree

To pull my arrow out.

But the head was in so deep

I had to break the shaft.

I heard my buddy drive on past

Close to the road I stood.

And so I met him coming back

Then stowed away my gear

I told him all that I had done

Showed him the arrow too

We would not hunt again this year,

Our shooting days were through.

            -12-

I later learned that in the state

Only one spike horn was shot

And so I did not feel too bad

At best I’d seen three deer

And got a shot at every one

A feat not done by most

‘Twas then that I was transferred north

To draw a bow no more.

Eventide

            -1-

I often fish in early spring

When the streams are high

For trout will get in tiny brooks

That later on are dry

And here I take a fish or two

While others just ignore

The possibilities these brooks

Have for a trout or more.

But when I’m fishing in the spring

Black gnats become a scourge

They bite my ears, my face, my neck

And make the fishing hard

Mosquito dope would do no good

And so I bought a net

That went right over my brimmed hat

And tied up underneath.

But then they started on my hands

And made it difficult

To change a tippet or a fly

So often did they bite.

And when I tried to drift a fly

'Neath overhanging brush

Those black gnats made it miserable

Until I put on gloves

            -2-

But black gnats only stay around

Until the May fly hatch

Then gradually do disappear

Until they all are gone.

Then all who like to fish the streams

And I was one of them

Can fish away without the curse

Of black gnats and their bites.

I had been fishing Breakheart Brook

Just wading down the stream

Not taking anything to keep

Just letting my fly drift

Until I reached the Falls River

Combined they formed a pool

I stood in the water to my knees

And wondered what they’d take.

I had a little metal box

That was just full of flies

I could have left most of them home

And carried only three

For I had tried most of these flies

With no result at all

The three I used were “mosquito,”

“Silver doctor” and “black gnat.”

            -3-

It was by then late afternoon

And shadows had begun

But then I saw the May fly hatch

And knew just what to use

I tied a silver doctor on

Then let the fly just drift

And took a trout that fought so hard

Before it came to net.

The silver doctor worked quite well

Was hit most every cast

I was right on the edge of them

These trout were rising fast

They hit that silver doctor hard

Each fought me all the way

I kept the bigger trout I caught

And just released the rest.

Now when I’d caught my final fish

The limit then was six

I stowed away my fishing gear                   

And started up the hill

I reached the crest, and then sat down

Upon an oaken stump

And as I watched the mackerel sky

The sun went slowly down.

            -4-

This sunset was the perfect way

To end my fishing day,

With golds and reds, and orange too

Amid the indigo.

I’d climbed the hill to see this sight

And felt the peace inside

That comes to me at eventide

Whenever I’m alone.

Now as the light began to fade

The shadows grew quite long

And as I watched the changing sky

I heard a wood thrush call

I listened for the Veery Thrush

And soon I heard him too,

Always trebling down the scale

This thrush is wont to do.

‘Twas almost dark and I still sat

And listened to the night

I waited for the great horned owl

To issue forth its hoot

But only heard the swishing of

A night hawk swooping low.

And as I sat, I thought about

How Dad would love this so.

            -5-

But finally, ‘twas almost dark,

When I arose to go

In silence I went down the hill

Until I reached the road

I’d hoped to see a deer or fox

Or anything at all

This night had been a peaceful one

I left reluctantly.

I had my trout, enough for all

My evening was complete

My time spent out upon the stream,

The sunset and the dark

Each gave to me a peacefulness

That I remember still

For I had listened to the night

And found my God anew.

Dad & I

             -1-

My Dad and I were very close

It was not simply happenstance

My sisters liked to do girl things

Like play piano, or to sing.

My brother still was much too young

And so it always fell to me

To help Dad out in work or play

But work or play ‘twas harmony.

I can’t remember when my Dad

And I became acquainted for

I was too young to think of much

I only knew he was just there.

I first remember as a boy

That Dad did take us all for walks

Out to Chaffee’s Woods we’d go

Mostly on Sunday afternoons.

And later on as I did grow

I remember how my Dad would

Make us bows of lemon wood, with

A round target at which to shoot.

And that was my introduction

To target shooting with a bow

Then it was that Dad taught me how

To make blunt arrows for us all.

            -2-

Then out in Chaffee’s fields we’d shoot

At five pound sugar bags chock full

Of grass, or leaves, and set way out

To shoot at varied distances.

We’d plan on spending afternoons

Just shooting ‘til we all did tire

Or had sore fingers or sore arms

Where armguards did not fit too well.

And as I grew I worked with Dad

In planting a big garden that

Judge Bliss, who lived just up the road,

Had let us use, for no longer

Did he care to plant this old field.

This was a larger piece of land

Than the one in our backyard

And took a lot of work to plant.

But Dad went at it with a will

And I helped out as best I could

He had it plowed and harrowed too

Until the loam was broken up.

Then we hoed up all the rows

And planted seeds and marked them good

Then watered all right from the well.

Thus was our garden set to go.

            -3-

We waited for the plants to sprout

Potatoes, beans, and celery

Along with corn and beets as well

Carrots, turnips, summer squash with

Winter squash, and big pumpkins

All but tomatoes did we plant

And these we staked in our backyard

Then wait we did for them to grow.

In two weeks time the plants did sprout

And then our work did really start

For weeds will grow as fast as plants

And must be taken out by hand.

So Dad and I went at it hard

And evenings after we did eat

We’d work right up ‘til it was dark

Just pulling weeds and thinning plants.

It was a hardship for just two

For my siblings could not help out

Two were girls, my brother too young

And so it fell to Dad and I

To bring this garden through the heat

Of summer and on into fall

But then when all we grew was in

A cornucopia we had.

            -4-

‘Twas then my mother’s work began

Putting all these vegetables up

In jars until the racks were full

Potatoes, turnips, carrots, all

Were put in sand so they would keep

Throughout the winter into spring

But Dad and I could not relax

For we had other things to do.

Dad started on his Osage bow

He shaped it first then scraped it down

With broken glass, until he had

The strength he wanted, eighty pounds.

‘Twas then he added cow horn nocks

The string was made from three strands each

Of Irish linen twisted tight

Then looped and served around each end.

The string was then put on the bow

The bow was strung to test the curve

And check the poundage when full drawn.

He had it then, his hunting bow.

And while he worked upon his bow,

I made blunt arrows for the spring

When we would all go out and shoot

At sugar bags, set out in spots.

            -5-

My Dad was always making things

A creamer and a sugar set

Each from a copper one-cent piece

And on the bottom of each one

The one-cent stamping was intact

He made an Indian headed brooch

Having a golden band around

Made from deer horn just for my Mom.

He could make anything desired

For his family or himself

I still remember inlaid wood

Worked on long, cold winter nights

Of a picture drawn on a board

Of an Indian in his canoe

Out on a lake at sunset time

With darkened pines as a backdrop.

Dad was inlaying every piece

Of different types of colored wood

And piece by piece that picture grew

Each piece cut with his jeweler’s saw

Then glued in place where it belonged.

He worked on this each winter eve

And when spring came the work was done

Who has it now, I do not know.

            -6-

Now chestnuts were a topic that

My Dad would often speak about

How he gathered them up in fall

Just after the first frost had hit.

He always had a basket full

From trees that grew so straight and tall

In all the forests far and wide

The tree was common as the oaks.

There were all types of animals

That fed on chestnuts when they fell

From squirrels, deer, and turkeys too.

Dad’s mother also used the nuts

To make a stuffing for her birds

And sometimes made a chestnut soup

Or roasted them  before a fire

Others used them to fatten pigs.

But then a blight hit all the trees

And killed them all within five years

No more did chestnuts then abound.

The turkeys soon did disappear

The deer declined, while squirrels turned

To acorns as their staple food.

And lumbermen across the east

Did cut the dead and dying trees.

            -7-

But I remember as a boy

My Dad bringing chestnuts home that

He had found when in the woods.

The tree had grown up from a stump

He thought the tree was six years old

And old enough to raise some nuts

Which he had taken just to see

If they would grow around the yard.

We roasted most, but two Dad kept

To freeze them both before the spring

Then when spring came he planted them

And sure enough  those nuts did root

They grew five years and each had nuts

Which we picked when the frost did hit

But that was all we ever had

They died from blight in the next year.

My father also had a great

Collection of all types of eggs

From shore birds, song birds, great horned owl

To hawks and game birds of all kinds

He drilled them out, got out the yolks

Then catalogued each set of eggs

This isn’t something done today

For taking eggs is not allowed.

            -8-

Dad taught me most of what I knew

Concerning life out in the woods

Of how to fish, or hunt, or trap

Or just to listen to the birds

And recognize each one at once

By its singing, hoot, or shriek

For each owl had a different hoot

And each hawk a different cry.

Now Dad was a religious man

He read his Bible every night

And once I can remember him

Sitting in our dining room, and

Talking, once so late at night

When I should have been fast asleep

To missionaries now I’m sure

What came of that I do not know.

But in his bookcase we did find

Two pamphlets from some writers who

Came from the Mormons in Salt Lake

One was by Parley Pratt I know

“A Voice of Warning” was its name

The other now I don’t recall

But these two books led me to think

That Mormons were the ones that night.

            -9-

My Dad and I did camp a lot

When I was just a little boy

‘Twas after our debacle at

Our tenting place on old Beach Pond

We camped a lot on the Pratt place

And once at the Bannister Springs

On land once owned by Welky T.

Now part of the Pachaug forest.

It was here that I first heard the

Flute like notes of the Veery thrush

At evening when the woods did ring

With its trebling notes that sounded

Like someone coming down the scale

My Dad then wanted me to know

This type of thrush lived in deep woods

And could be heard at evening time.

He also wanted me to hear

The three note tune of the wood thrush

That also sang when sun was down

And could be heard until the dark

But sometimes was so interspersed

With Veerys, that when these two birds

Sang in the dusk, the woods would ring

With songs we both did love to hear.

            -10-

My Dad was always stressed a lot

When as a boy just growing up

He watched his brother as he died

A wagon wheel ran over him

His brother, though he hurt inside

Made Dad promise to never tell

What happened on that fateful day

He feared his father’s angry words

My father’s dad was mostly gone

Aboard the ship he called his home

So rarely did he see Dad’s mom

And when he did was often drunk

My grandmother then made the choice

That a divorce was best for all

And so she took that step, then found

She could not make it all alone.

And so she sent my Dad to stay

At St. Marks school for orphaned boys

Though not an orphaned boy as such

He was the oldest of the three

And was the one that best could cope.

So off he went, and soon was sent

On a youthful apprenticeship

To learn some form of useful trade.

            -11-

And so my Dad’s apprenticeship

Was with an excellent goldsmith

Who taught Dad much of what he knew

For over seven years or more

But ere he finished, Dad did go

Upon the ship his father sailed

To work his way upon the sea

And so became the cabin boy.

I can remember how Dad told

Of sailing ‘round Cape Hatteras

Off the Carolinas coast, in

A gale that wracked his ship so hard

It kept his father working long

For as the ship’s carpenter, he

Fixed all wood damage to the ship

And Dad was glad at voyage end.

Three years after he’d left the ship

He joined Rhode Island’s cavalry

And went to Texas where he fought

Against Pancho Villa’s Mexicans

But soon that little war o’er

He then went with his cavalry

To fight again in World War I

With no horse but a machine gun.

            -12-

Now when the war in France was done

He came back home and met my Mom

They soon were married, then they went

To honeymoon for just a while

And then when Dad went off to work

At Narragansett Electric

They started their own family

Of Sue, then Ted, Mary and Ray.

Now Dad was an old Yankee too

Who knew the woods, the streams, the ponds

For he had camped when he was young

Around the hills near Escoheag

He used to take the milk train run

From Providence to Greene, alone

Then backpacked the remaining miles

To Escoheag and there made camp.

But all the effort on Dad’s part

From his loss at his brother’s death

To the divorce of mom and dad

And then the time spent at St Marks

Then off on his apprenticeship

His sailing in a great, great storm

The wars in Texas and in France

All added to his great concerns.

            -13-

And so my Dad had lots of stress

But none of this then did I know

For heart problems, a family trait

Was the main cause of early death

For Dad had chest pains now and then

But only did my mother know

She kept it quiet, while he took

The digitalis prescribed for him.

Now Dad began to slow it down

He did a little less each year

Especially at the Beach Pond house

No longer did he roam the trails

Or care to stay out fishing late

For horned pout which he loved to eat

Or paddle off in my canoe

He’d just sit on the porch and watch.

I should have known something was wrong

But being young I chalked it up

To older years and nothing more

For we, his children were of age

To take some of the burden off

His shoulders, and my mother’s too

We did our best, yet he grew worse

And the depression days didn’t help.

            -14-

And so my Dad was near to death

When I returned from old Beach Pond

Called to come back by Mother’s note

So anxious ‘bout my father’s health

My Mom explained, and then I knew

My Dad’s condition was not good

That he could go at any time

Yet Dad insisted I go back.

I came back home in late July

And then we talked of what we’d do

For he was going, this he knew.

He gave to me his Two Nineteen

The Zipper made by Winchester

And said to sell the other guns

But keep the bows and arrows too.

“For you may want them at some time.”

A month went by and he got worse

There was no more that we could do

So he went to the hospital

They put him under oxygen

But he had been there just two days

When we received a late night call

That Dad was gone, we cried and cried

We’d lost our Dad, I'd lost a friend.

            -15-

We buried him beneath the sod

Out in Rumford Cemetery

And bought for him a modest stone

That gave his name, date born, date died.

Was born in eighteen eighty-nine

And died in nineteen forty-two

But what that stone will never know

Is what a dad he was to me.

I often go to see his grave

My mother lies there now as well

My wife and I plant flowers there

Then we’ll visit other graves of

Relatives, who have gone their way

That all of us must go someday

And when it’s my time then I’ll see

My Dad again, with family.

Jessie Louise Cole and Raymond Hall Baker