Creekbank Stories Curt Iles, Storyteller
Squirrel Hunting in August
It’s a wonderful cool(er) morning in Alexandria. A cold front” brought in a nice cooler breeze with lower humidity.
76 degrees may not sound like much, but it’s a welcome respite from the brutal heat of August in Louisiana
I’m sitting on our patio with my third cup of coffee.
A nearby fox squirrel is “barking” at our cats.
My mind drifts back to squirrel hunting. I cannot overemphasize how big it was in Dry Creek during my boyhood.
Squirrel season started on the first Saturday in October. Some schools actually dismissed so students could take to the woods. The uniform of the week was camo.
Our land in Crooked Bayou Swamp wasn’t posted so the woods would be crawling with hunters. It sounded like a young war.
My Paw Paw, Lloyd Iles, lived at The Old House. If there was a “cool” cold front that blew through in late September, Paw Paw would “open” the season before the glut of hunters and their errant shots hit the woods
A cool, quiet, still September morning sitting against a beech tree watching for the tale-tale movement of a tree limb.
“It don’t get much better than that.”
