Monday, January 07, 2013

Dressed To Kill - A poem

Fun In The Snow
Between Christmas and New Year we drove up to Lake Hume in the Sequoia National Forrest for some family time in the snow.  We McLeods went up with Mary Chin to join our new friends the Lippincotts. The drive into the Forrest was magical, we had chains on the van, and it was as if we were flying in some 3D movie past the fluttering  snowflakes.  We all stayed at Tim Denton's "cabin" in the Lake Hume Christian Camps area.


Now both Marc Lippincott and I had trouble with our chains during the last part of the drive, and had thrown a cross strap.  We both dressed up warmly and were out in the snow looking for tools and a way to fix the chains.  Tea was brought, and Orange Christmas cookies, and as we stood taking our first sips I asked Marc to tell me a story.
Specialist 4th Class Private Lippincott, Germany 1955
Marc told me a hunting story about his father.  He explained that his Dad, Wendell, was a soldier in Germany, and was a crack shot, nearly a "sharpshooter", and that after serving in the U.S. Army he kept up his skill in hunting. His favorite hunting spot was in the Western Hills of Colorado and sometimes he would tow a trailer out with him in his little red pickup truck so his wife could be comfortable when she came along. Whether away on the hunt or back home in California, Wendell always dressed for church. He wore a three piece suite and shiny shoes to church on Sundays, even on a hunting trip. Then he told me this tale:

Dressed To Kill

Wendell was a soldier,
He served in Germany,
And returned to California
To raise a family.
He loved to go a’hunting
In the Colorado hills
Sometimes he’d bring his wife along
So she could share the thrills.

When she came he towed a trailer
With his red pickup truck,
So she could camp in comfort
While he went to shoot a buck.
And they still kept the Sabbath
He’d wear his Sunday best
Even in the Western Hills
He’d wear a suit and vest.

Now, early Sunday morning
As they left to make for town,
He tucked his rifle in the cab
Before they headed down.
In his suite and shiny shoes
While driving past he spied
A multi-pointed buck a’grazing
Close to the roadside.

Temptation won, he stopped the truck
Got out, gun on display,
And in his three piece Sunday suit
Saw that buck slip away,
He followed soft behind it,
Excitement in command,
Adrenaline rushing, one clean shot
Brought that buck to ground.

The Lord’s Day was forgotten,
He had to claim his kill,
And spent the morning taking steps
To cart it up the hill.
Wendell was a sportsman,
He loved to hunt and shoot.
He shot a stag one Sunday morn
In his best three piece suite.
Wendell Dressed to the nines

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Hi Neil, I've been banned from Poetry.com Veronica Candley & Jennifer Fauskee had their knives out - they didn't like my reviews.... such is life!

Dana

Anonymous said...

I'm sure they were wearing their Sunday best too!!

Anonymous said...

:)