Daddy in the Fall

Fall’s Marvelous Craftsmanship
Written Fall of 2006

My dad loved the fall. Somehow, no matter how old I get, when the air starts smelling of burnt leaves and evergreens, I can’t help but remember my dad. I see my dad in gleeful anticipation of the upcoming deer hunt, enjoying every moment of meticulous preparation and hopeful expectation. And I remember Saturday mornings when he allowed me to experience the beauty of the hunt.

Since I was the youngest and the only child at home by age 12, I sometimes felt like my parents played tug-of-war with my time on a Saturday morning. Mom wanted me to dust and vacuum the living room and dining room, while Daddy needed me as a hunting companion, stomping through the fields to chase out pheasants and walking around the perimeter of the woods to rustle up inquisitive squirrels. On the days that I actually did accompany my dad, I remember the crispness of the air, how hard it was to keep up with my dad’s long stride, and above all, the quiet and peace of the woods. Being in the woods with Daddy was all about quiet expectation. Although a very talkative young girl, I quickly learned that Daddy expected complete silence and unless he specified otherwise, no movement whatsoever. But I began to find comfort and encouragement in the quiet, tranquil setting of the forest, listening to the voice of nature, the voice of an amazing Creator. And He faithfully spoke words of calm and steadfastness as the colorful leaves blew in the breeze, the honking geese flew overhead, and the bright sun danced with the shade.

I still stand in awe of the beauty of fall, remembering my dad and his innate ability to show me what an extraordinary world we live in.

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