And Now We Shall Do Manly Things (30 page)

BOOK: And Now We Shall Do Manly Things

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It tasted like shit.

The unfamiliar bok choy had infused a manure flavor into everything else, and the salty broth and hot sauce formed a burning film on my tongue and teeth. The meat was firmer than a chicken and oddly dry. I bit into a tough piece of leg meat and nearly broke my tooth on a piece of shot from my gun. I pulled the meat out of my mouth and smashed it between my fingers until I found the small lead BB. I took a second bite and tried my best to swallow it, but couldn't. I should point out that I have never once sent a meal back at a restaurant, and the last time I failed to finish my plate during a home-cooked meal was sometime during the Bush/Quayle administration. But I simply couldn't do it. Not only was it bad, but I was suddenly aware of the claws in the bottom of the trash can and couldn't shake the thought of them. I spit what was in my mouth into the bowl and pushed the whole of it through the disposal in the sink. I unplugged the slow cooker and let it cool for a while before dumping the contents into a couple freezer bags and walking the whole thing down to the trash. My first great experiment in hunting my food and eating what I hunt was over.

In the end, I ordered a pizza.

Epilogue

I
t's been two months since I shot my pheasant and, despite a couple attempts late in the season, it was my only one for the year. Dad's shotgun is still in its case, cleaned and oiled, and sitting in my trunk along with a couple boxes of ammunition and my orange L.L.Bean hunting vest. When the weather warms up, I'll probably take the gun and shells over to John's house and lock them away in his gun case, where the pistol I bought from Uncle Mark has sat since I got home from Iowa.

Rinella has left the Travel Channel and is the host, as of this writing, of a show on the Sportsman Channel called
MeatEater.
It's a good show, similar to
The Wild Within,
but a little more poignant for the channel's audience. I reached out to him and his production team after my Iowa hunt and was able to get Uncle Mark a set of DVDs, which I'm sure he'll watch on rainy Saturday mornings for years to come.

I never did get an opportunity to go hunting with my dad. We made loose plans to get together either near where I live or at his and Mom's new place in northern Michigan, but time just ran out. I hope next year we'll get together for a pheasant hunt. We'll just have to see. Uncle Mark tried to cajole me into joining him in Wyoming for an antelope hunt in the fall, but I passed. Dad will join him and Will and Tom and a few other uncles and cousins, and I'm sure they'll have the time of their lives.

I hate to get all
Doogie Howser, M.D.
here, but I once heard someone say that a man doesn't truly become a man until his dad dies and, if it weren't for this last year, I may have agreed with it. But setting out to learn to hunt made me realize that manhood is not a destination, but a process. Being a man is not singular. There is no one way. I didn't need to learn to hunt in order to feel like a man. I simply needed to do something else, something outside of my comfort zone, something disruptive. I did, and now I feel lucky that I'll be able to share experiences with my dad I may never have, had I not set out on this journey. I'll get to know him in a different way. I'll understand him better and I feel truly blessed for that.

I've been asked several times by friends if I plan on teaching my sons to hunt, and the answer is that I simply don't know. I will probably still do it a few times every year. I'll drag myself out of bed early on a Saturday or Sunday morning, put on my L.L.Bean gear, and grab a cup of coffee before heading up to Valhalla or some other place in search of pheasant. I'll probably go back to Iowa for a weekend bonding with my uncles and cousins. If there comes a point at which my sons want to join me, I'll gladly take them along. But I'm not going to force it on them. This project, this whole last year was not about hunting. It was about immersion. It was about understanding the relationship between men and the things they are passionate about. Hunting happened to be what it was for the men in my family. If my sons feel called to it, I will gladly embrace that and do everything I can to encourage them finding something they love. Just as I would if it were baseball, art, or music. It doesn't really matter what they love, just that they love something enough to pursue and make it part of their identity. That is the manly part of hunting. That is part of what it means to be a man.

After years of frustration and feeling like it would never happen, Rebecca and I were approved for a mortgage not long after I got my pheasant. It's funny how something like that can change your outlook and boost your confidence. We found a house we thought had potential and, while she and Molly were off visiting her grandmother in Hawaii, I put in an offer. For twenty-four hours, I traded offers with another couple and, though we didn't get the house, I feel more like a man than I ever have. I'm not sure I would have had the confidence to pursue the whole process had it not been for my experience hunting. I probably also wouldn't have had the perspective needed to stave off the heartbreak of not getting the house had I not gotten up so many mornings and driven so many miles without getting a bird. We're looking forward to starting that next chapter in our family's life and, with any luck, I will have spent the summer mowing my own yard by the time anyone reads this.

I want to avoid needless sentiment here. There's no need to get all weepy and profound. But I will say that I feel like a different person now than I did a year ago. Back then, I was nervous and lost. I was frustrated and felt the weight of my own expectations, all of which were unfulfilled. I felt like I wasn't living up to what I thought it meant to be a man. I thought I needed to be stronger, tougher, more in control. It's only now that I realize I've been a man this entire time. I've been a loyal and loving husband, a devoted father. I've put those who love me and rely on me above all else and have worked tirelessly to not let them down. I didn't have to think about it. It came naturally. I guess sometimes a man just needs to step away, to step outside his everyday life to understand the blessings he already has, to see himself as the man other people know him to be.

If you ever find yourself in southwest Ohio and figure out where Valhalla is, come by during hunting season and you might find me, dressed head to toe in L.L.Bean and wandering through the chest-high grass. I may never live my youthful dream of writing the catalog copy, but I'll always have a special place in my heart for the company. Or if you find yourself in Thornton, Iowa, in early November, stop by the gas station and I might be there, or in the bar eating a pork tenderloin sandwich. If you can find your way to my uncles' farm, stop by and say hello. I shouldn't be that hard to spot.

But, please, don't make fun of my mustache.

Acknowledgments

There are a lot of people I'd like to thank for helping me out with this book. The first, as ever, is my dear and patient wife, Rebecca. She put up with a lot of lonely nights on the couch while I was working at the Starbucks up the road and never complained a single time about my extra travel for this book. She's always believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself, and I can never thank her enough. I'd also like to thank our kids, Jack, Dylan, and Molly. They are too young to know why Daddy had to work late every night, but not too young to understand that it was important. Someday, I hope they read this and understand.

I'd like to thank Uncle Mark, Aunt Linette, their sons, Tom and Will, and my cousins Rob and Ben. They were all willing to drop everything they were doing to help make my first hunting trip special. I may not have gotten a bird and cooked them a fabulous meal, but I treasure the time they spent with me and their patience in letting me write about them.

Mac McKeever and Mary-Rose McKinnon at L.L.Bean were fantastically helpful in getting me ready to hunt and in answering all my questions about the company, products, and history. Thanks so much. You made my Bean dreams come true.

Steven Rinella, in addition to being a major inspiration for this book, was also amazingly helpful in its research and in giving me direction when it came to hunting. Though we have never met in person, I appreciate that I can send an e-mail and he'll always respond.

I'd like to thank my agent, John Rudolph, of Dystal and Goderich, for taking a chance on me and my editor at William Morrow, Adam Korn, for making this process more fun and rewarding than I ever could have dreamed.

I'd like to thank Anne Marie and John Marietta for their friendship and support.

Last, I'd like to thank my parents for too many reasons to list here. Thank you for encouraging me, subtly, to chance my bliss. I love you both. I will always be your son.

That's it.

About the Author

C
RAIG
J. H
EIMBUCH
is an award-winning journalist and author. He is currently online editorial content strategist for BBDO/Proximity WorldWide, providing strategic direction for editorial content websites around the world.

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www.AuthorTracker.com
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Also by Craig J. Heimbuch

Chasing Oliver Hazard Perry

Credits

Cover design by Adam Johnson

Cover photographs: bear Â© by Dustin Fenstermacher; wood paneling Â© by Jan Stromme/Getty Images

Certain people's names and identifying
characteristics were changed to protect their privacy.

AND NOW WE SHALL DO
MANLY THINGS
. Copyright Â© 2012 by Craig Heimbuch. All rights reserved
under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the
required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to
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invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

FIRST
EDITION

ISBN 978-0-06-219786-3

EPub Edition Â© NOVEMBER 2012 ISBN:
9780062197870

12 13 14 15 16 OV/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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