November Reflections
It seems that every November my spirt longs for a simpler life. The stark barren trees seem to strip off all unnecessary accoutrements of modern life.
It seems that every November my spirt longs for a simpler life. The stark barren trees seem to strip off all unnecessary accoutrements of modern life.
Tonight I am packing my dark-green duffle bag and my backpack with all of my favorite toys: duck and goose calls, turkey box calls, slate calls, turkey wing bone calls, turtle shell calls, crow and peacock calls, owl calls and all my late-season ice fishing gear. I will stuff the large green duffle bag with my favorite base layers and chamois shirts, my old Carhartt coveralls and my “camp pillow”—a chamois shirt stuffed with fleece vests and jackets.