It happens more during hunting season than it does now, but I’m having a hard time getting my eyes to stay closed. Funny, quite often during those morning hunts I have a hard time keeping my eyes open.
But tonight, I’m writing. Which usually puts me to sleep fast. Tonight’s topic, besides this blog, is an essay tentatively entitled Saturday Mornings, which chronicles a time in my life as a young teenager I spent trapping with Dad.
Our traps nor our trapping skills were very elaborate. Simple foot traps along sandy creek beds caught raccoons, foxes, bobcats, and an occasional dog. It wasn’t always a pretty sight, which is probably one reason why you’ll never seen this piece ran in NEBRASKAland.
But it raises a point that probably should be made more often in our publication. We write about hunting and fishing a lot in our publication. We’re not always sure that’s why people read us, but it’s what we love to do and, to be very honest, our bosses pay us to write about that which we love. So I’m not going to argue with them.
And while they’ve never asked us to cut down on the blood we include, we know that there is a very nasty side to hunting, fishing, and the like that we don’t need to broadcast to our readers. Which is probably why you’ll never seen me writing about trapping in the magazine.
I was told once by a very smart NEBRASKAland writer that there were just certain things, right or wrong, that we shouldn’t confront. Why bring any undo attention to ourselves regarding certain topics in a world where everyone’s hot button issue changes weekly? So I complied, and will continue to do so.
Which also makes me sad. Because those Saturday mornings remain such a memorable part of my youth, and I think that readers would like to hear my story.
Regardless of where it appears, or if it never appears anywhere, however, I still have to write about it. For I have to get it out of my head sometime so I can eventually go to sleep.