The

The Back in the late 90s, I was a teen with hopes, dreams, and above all, a love of the wilderness.

I got this from my grandpa, who I'm convinced would have become a fully-fledged wild mountain man if he hadn't met grandma, the love of his life, and settled down to become an accountant of all things.

I'm told that if you met him in his day job, you would absolutely never have known what kind of guy he was.

A short king, average billed, shirt, and tie white collar worker.

But as soon as the weekend came, it was like Clark Kent going into the phone

booth and coming out as Superman. Grandpa was like a five-foot-six rambo, rippling muscles hidden by

his work shirt, a just total transformation. By the time I often went hunting with him, he'd retired

from the office job so I mostly

knew outdoor grandpa, and he was my hero. Me, him, my older sister, Jess, and mom, we'd go hunting

often. Grandma and dad couldn't stomach it, though. Grandma, because she actually hated

the killing, and dad because I swear that man was the worst shot

that you'd ever seen in your entire life.

In the end, he admitted that he was such a liability that he'd stay home and get ready to prep

the meat when we brought any kills in.

Many happy family times were spent on hunting trips, but alas, everything comes to an end.

Grandma got sick and passed away. Mom and dad went their separate ways, and it wasn't hugely friendly, so Dad and Grandpa never really spoke again.

Jess went off and got married and had a whole family of her own, and Grandpa got old. I stayed

close by. I ran a small general store in town and he

actually worked for me in his retirement, just helping where he could, but mostly sitting on a

rocker on the porch. The store was doing a good turnover and it was honestly worth paying

Grandpa a wage to just sit outside the store being a local character who greeted customers and

...