As we stepped to edge of the field there was silence and sense of awe among our hunting party. My dear and faithful friend Paul was with me, along with new found friends Kelly, Morris and Travis our guide from Pheasant City Lodge. We stood glancing at the adventure soon to be set before us. I asked before we began if we could pray? Everyone huddled together and we bowed our heads,
“Dear Lord, thank you…My senses were firing on all cylinders. My ears could hear the quiet rustling of switch grass with a prairie its sweet melody as it blew and swirled in the wind from all around. I heard the distinct cackle of a pheasant cock launch from behind the gnarled cedar, seasoned by seventy years of nature's elements.
With each breath of God I could hear the dropping of stalk ripened milo to the ground, a very distinct sound, one that I have never heard before
....to be in South Dakota and have the physical ability to enjoy…
I shuffled my feet and heard the crunch of the last remaining snow as it was ever so quietly disappearing from the earth. I anticipated because I have never hunted in snow before.
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..Your creation as You designed by the stroke of Your finger...I wanted to open my eyes so bad to give attention to the deep flutter of the pheasant hens that had heard us as we entered and were making their nervous retreat as we prayed
....protect us today and may Your favor be upon us as we become stewards of Your land...
I was about to bust with excitement with the possibility of what was to come in the morning hunt. As the sun began to rise in the east, I could feel its warmth on the back on my neck. It was the feeling and smell I had always dreamed of when I was a child when I read my neighbors hand-me-down Field and Streams. The dogs at our feet were waiting for the command to hunt. My Condor 12 gauge over-under broken across my arm…My empty blaze orange game pouch waiting to be filled…My briar chaps ready to be slapped…My shot shell pouch full of Fiocchi #5’s ready to be transferred to the empty side.
It was at that moment I became that little scrubby headed 8-year-old little boy, with Field and Stream tightly grasped in my fist, running home to absorb the paragraphs, pictures and possibilities of this very day. I wanted to holler out, “I am in South Dakota…thank you God!” But, with my hat in my hand, head bowed and humbleness in my heart, I closed this prayer with all sincerity,...in Jesus' Name, Amen."
As I opened my eyes, it was a dream to behold of broken down cornstalks, blue skies, and the beginning of this adventure that would bring a dream to reality. Then the most favored cry in a pheasant field was hollered out… “Rooster!” Truly, thank you God
