The Duckhunter – Watercolor by Eric Wiegardt

Pop!  Pop!  Pop!  The sound of duck hunters down by the bay.  Until this morning I didn’t realize how much I missed that iconic sound of Oysterville.  It may be because of my aging ears but I don’t think that accounts for most of the early morning silence out on the bay.  I’m not sure we have many (if any) hunters in residence right now.

It would have all gone right by me except that I happened to call Dobby Wiegardt this morning.  As the phone was ringing I suddenly realized it might be too early for him but, right at that moment he answered.  “No, not early at all, he said.  I’m just sitting here watching the ducks.  The tide is low and they’re all coming in to feed.”

Duck Hunters Chris and Larry Freshley

I’m not a hunter, although I had plenty of chances during the years I was Dobby’s next door neighbor.  It wasn’t that I objected to the duck hunting, (and I certainly appreciate a good duck dinner), but I never took him up on the offer.  I just can’t bring myself to any sort of comfort level around guns.  Any type of guns.  It’s a wimpy, city-girl sort of thing I think.

When Nyel joined the household, long guns came with him and, soon, he was out there doing his share of “Pop! Pop! Pop!”  But, when we moved into “town,” other activities took precedence.  Only when the “Freshley Boys” (and more recently, Dave Cordray) are in town does that special sound of Autumn resonate here these days.

Too, in recent years, our friends among the newer arrivals on the Peninsula lament the hunting seasons.  I think that it is fast becoming a demarcation line between the old guard and the newcomers — another indicator of the many changes that are galloping along to overtake us.  Or… more probably, it’s just the years catching up with me that are causing me to notice.  Hard to tell sometimes.