Memories of My Dad

Federal's traditional purple 16 gague shot shell

Dad died a few years ago, and occasionally something reminds me of how much I miss him.  Today it was taking to the field with some friends for the first day of dove season.  I shot pretty well, always keeping in mind the truism from "Downton Abbey" that a shooter always wonders which is worse, "the sorrow at killing the bird, or the humiliation when you miss."  I had my fair share of both today, but the real story of the day was about remembering Dad.  He always shot 16 gauge.  In the old black powder days it was the perfect round ballistically.  When silver powder came along with its multitude of load possibilities, the "16" waned in popularity here in the US, although I'm told it remains very popular in Europe.  But I've always stuck with it because that's what Dad used. 

Last week, in preparation for the hunt, I stopped by Gander Mountain and picked up a few boxes of Federal shot shells in #8, the correct size for the small and elusive rockets that are called doves.  When I got to the peg today and opened the box to chamber my first two shots, I realized that the hulls on Federal 16's were still purple plastic.  My mind raced immediately back to the purple shells that were always stacked neatly in the bottom of the gun closet in Parker where I grew up.  It was almost like Dad was there with me.

My Dad: May he rest in peace

It's funny, the things that can trigger a memory.   For me is is usually something small and unexpected, like a purple hulled shotgun shell.  I'm glad it works like that.  I find great comfort in remembering what has gone before me, and in looking forward to what is to come.