Dear Gramp,

A Letter In Memory

Dear Gramp,

How’s heaven? I hope it’s treating you alright. Does it have hardwood ridges and cedar swamps? What about good places to fish?

Gram misses you a lot. We all do. Can you feel that way up there? I’m certain you must be able to.

I started a blog a year ago in honor of the log books at camp. I hope you don’t mind that I shared a few of your early words with the world. It’s been fun to put together and I think some folks even like reading it. It keeps me writing and that’s enough.

Jess and I got married soon after you left. I did what you told me to do and it’s paying off. Life moves fast and it’s been nearly five years now. The wedding was perfect. It’s still perfect. Remember that 8-point at the Piney Knob? Even better than that, if you can believe it.

She hunts now, and has even more luck in the woods than she did on the water. You should have seen her first deer, and the smile on her face when we walked up on him. Those early limits of walleyes are a far cry from that kind of pride. We moved home, too. I’m glad we left the North Country for a bit but we’re here to stay now.

I shot a buck at camp last fall, on the ridge above the cobble stones. I finally added an old 30.06 to the cabinet and took that deer with it the Monday before Thanksgiving. It sure felt like you were there.

The camps are full of family and laughter. Your dreams of building a place for our freedom and adventure have come true a hundred times over. Your children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren are doing pretty well, and you’d be proud of every last one of them.

I’ve spent the last few years obsessing over your beloved partridge. I bought a bird dog and named him after the Raquette River. He’s a knucklehead but I think you’d get a kick out of him. He keeps Katie busy when we visit, and keeps me in the woods more than ever before. I still carry your .410 a few times each fall, and have taken your spirit with me from Maine to Minnesota in the name of those birds you loved so much.

I bought a Toyota. I’m not sure if you’d love that or hate it, but it’s a good truck so far. They just don’t make them like they used to. Some things change, I suppose. But others remain.

I’m due for a good pot of chili. I still make one every couple of months and think of you every time. Someday maybe I’ll write about that, too.

Anyway, we miss you down here. The summer’s fading fast and we’ve had a few cool mornings already. The firewood is done and the sweet corn just came in. Fall time will arrive soon. Family time. Keep an eye on us when you can.

We’ll see you on the other side of the ridge, Old Boy.

Love,

Nate

PS– I’m still sober. It was eight years this June. Best thing I ever did, save for taking that blonde girl fishing.