The sage in the deer stand

BLOWIN' IN THE WIND: Thoughts Entertained in Chilly November, While in the Deer Stand

By ELMER "JOE" SPRICK

Fall 2010, near Lake City, Minn.

A chickadee landed on a nearby buckthorn bush. It spoke three times in a faint voice and then fluttered off. The woods fell silent for a moment. Somewhere -- perhaps not very far away -- there was a legal buck, one with four or more points on one antler. In this heavy cover, when would I see it? In five minutes, five hours or five days? Or maybe not at all?

Dressed in warm clothing and sitting in a brush blind with my back to a tree, I was quite comfortable playing the waiting game, one I hoped to win. But winning would require patience, a little skill and a lot of luck.

It took a lot of years to learn patience, to learn that the deer have the home court advantage. After all, they live in the woods 24-7, giving them the edge. Will there be venison steaks on the grill or maybe venison meatballs in the crock pot? I tried to remain optimistic.

While playing the waiting game, I entertain rambling thoughts. Some are of an older sister who recently spent her 90th birthday in the Lake City Nursing Home, one who devoted her life to teaching first-graders the basics [Anna Sprick Smith, pictured below with surviving siblings Joe Sprick (the author), Florence Sprick Bye and Katie Sprick Kirkwood]. Many will remember her, but her memory has faded in the past year; she now recalls only the names of a few of her siblings. What does she dream about as she sleeps through the nights and most of the days? We will never know.

A friend described memory loss in these words: "The name of the author is first to go, followed obediently by the title, the plots, the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel, which suddenly becomes one you never read, never even heard of."

On a more positive note, I thought about our five grandchildren, four of whom have now graduated from college. The youngest, Katie Jo, is a freshman at the University of Minnesota, my alma mater, home of the Golden Gophers. What will her major be? Whatever it is, will she do well in her field?

Thursday of that week would be Veteran's Day. I remembered a brother who suffered shrapnel wounds and bitter cold going from Normandy to the Elbe River, just short of Berlin [Edward Sprick, pictured below]. I thought also of a forester friend who was captured in the Battle of the Bulge and suffered from cold and hunger in a POW camp. It's difficult to comprehend the intensity of the suffering they endured. They are my heroes.

What was it like for Howie Hillger, a survivor of the Bataan Death March, who recently participated in a Honor Flight to Washington, D.C.? There he joined thousands of other veterans who viewed the World War II Memorial, built in their honor. We can never really know his thoughts as he shared tears and laughter with fellow veterans.

A mile or so away as the crow flies, one can hear the train whistle as it speeds through Frontenac Station. The train stopped there in 1876 with my grandparents, my dad, his older brother and sister, newly arrived from Germany to begin a new life in America. What if they had decided to stay in Germany? Would I have become a forester-meister in the Schwartz Wald? Not likely, because foresters there are secondary only to God.

I thought of surviving classmates at our most recent Lincoln High School (Lake City, Minn.) class reunion, our 65th. We are a fortunate generation. Having survived the Great Depression, we learned to make do with what we had and grew up without credit cards. Will history repeat itself, given the nation's current economic trials? The actuary tables remind us that we probably won't have to worry much about that, but we worry about our grandchildren -- we have had the opportunity to learn to accept the things that we are powerless to change. We have worked hard so our children and grandchildren can have easier lives than we did, and yet there may be some disadvantages to an easier life.

A string of 18 wild turkeys go by, following their leader. Forty years ago, ruffed grouse were far more common. Now they are seldom seen. The forest cover remains the same. What happened to them? Are the hen turkeys more capable of defending their nests against predators than grouse are?

For where I am sitting, I can clearly hear the sounds of a backhoe, chainsaw and jackhammer as the modest retirement home we built in the 1970s is remodeled by the new owner, our family doctor. Will he and his wife enjoy living in the woods, watching the birds and wildlife, as much as we did for 20 years?

Each morning, a squadron of geese flies overhead toward their favorite cornfield, then returns to the lake in late afternoon. Their flyover is timed like clockwork, signaling the beginning and end of hunting hours.

At the end of the day in the woods, I think of friends who have joined the saints during the year. Howard Lyons left us with two beautiful wood carvings that adorn our fireplace mantle. They are reminders of his friendship. Maynard Midthun, our former pastor in Eau Claire, Wis., helped us over some bumps in the road during our earlier years, and Alton Larsen, a retired pastor from Old Frontenac, Minn., was our Bible study leader through our retirement years.

When Alton was asked difficult questions about God at Bible study, he would respond with, "There are many questions without answers -- and there are many answers that are questionable."

A lot of the answers are still blowin' in the wind. Meanwhile, I wait for that elusive buck -- with four or more points on one antler.