Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire Tired ---------------------------------- ---------------

I've always wondered about your hat in the photo. Is it a repo of an early Calvary hat?

O

I'm tired of the woe is me posts on the 'Fire------------------------------------------------------

Can't tell whether you are being flippant or glib - or somewhere in between - but would agree that "woe is me" is to be avoided. With that in mind, maybe you enjoyed Dr. Howell's post, because I did not read any "woe" in there. Maybe we are good at finding the emphasis we seek.

A friend of mine was surprised to learn recently that I wasn�t interested in shooting a gun. The reason for that is easy to understand, too simple to need detailed explanation.

The fact is that I�m tired, guys. Nothing desperate. Nothing complicated. Nothing profound. Nothing to complain about or to cry about. Not depressed. Not fishing for pity. Just simply tired. That�s only normal for a worn-out ol' husk.

I�m tired of shooting. Tired of hunting. Tired of guns. Tired of writing. Tired of out-living cherished long-time friends who were younger than me. All the gun things have lost their obsessive fascination. I�m just flat worn-out, that�s all. Simply worn-out.

I�ve been hunting since the early 1930s. Lost count, years ago, of the critters that I�ve killed and caught. Of the places that I�ve hunted. Of cherished, irreplaceable hunting partners who�ve died and left me behind. Even the memories are losing their savor.

Lost count of the nice guns (hundreds?) that I�ve owned. The cartridges and other gun stuff that I�ve designed and built, some for myself, some for others.

I�ve been writing since 1946 (published since 1947). Lost count, long ago, of the stuff that I�ve written through the years � from poetry and essays though several kinds of books. Hundreds.

My old friends are dying faster than I�m making new ones.

I have very few kin left � none close enough for visits.

The only thing that still gives me pleasure is fellowship with friends. I have many good friends, thankfully, but haven�t met most of �em face-to-face. Most are too far away for visits, so fellowship these days runs awfully thin, few, and far between.

Campfire Sh�thead is right � I�m the guy whom he called a �miserable old bastard,� but I�m not the guy �who refuses to die.� I�m a guy for whom happiness will be that fine, dusty, gray powder that comes out of the crematorium, with the dental gold sifted out.

That ol� sweet chariot that�s soon a-comin� for to carry me Home can�t come too soon or swing too low to suit me. But I can�t wade that gulf, so I�ll just wait for it. Ready to go get some rest.

A decade or more ago, I wrote this little thing for my family and friends �

Mon Bon Voyage

If pine trees sigh when I die,
Let no one ooze a tear.

If grass turns brown as angel�s frown,
It�s not �cause I�m not here.

If the sky be blue, let none of you
When sets my last day�s sun.

Where grass is green, let you be seen,
One and all, having fun.

IOW, don�t mourn, don�t miss me, celebrate! I'll be gettin' some rest!