A few weeks ago....

I remember traveling by car in the fall. Southern Minnesota was a great place to wander--trees bursting with color and flocks of birds migrating overhead. My favorite game to play while riding in the car was to guess who was faster--the birds or us. I played the same game with the moon, but the moon always seemed to tie us to our destination.

As I am sitting here in Grenada this fall, I can not tell that the seasons have changed. Yes, the grass is a bit greener from the frequent rain showers and there seem to be more mosquitoes around; but I cannot honestly say I feel any difference from now, when I first came to Greanada, and when I departed last spring.

Thus, I am left to reminisce on last fall, and the experience I enjoyed. I was able to join my new in-laws in South-Western Minnesota. In and of itself, this is not all that exciting. Imagine a land spread as far as you can see under grey-blue skies, dried-out khaki corn stalks and a cold wind. Occasionally, there's a pocket of trees, but for the most part, the corn and sky dominate the view.

But we did not come to take in the scenery. I was about to leave my innocent childhood memories of birds flying behind, to take up arms and bring those creatures back to the ground. The birds, that is, not the memories.

I was going hunting.

I am the minority in these parts. There are VERY few 27 year olds in the Midwest who go hunting for the first time. But there I was; license in pocket, father-in-law's shotgun slung over one arm, trudging through knocked down corn. Dogs bounding through the field hunting up pheasants. I cannot say I was very successful, but there were nearly a dozen in our party, spaced along the field walking in a fan formation. Somehow I was suckered into taking the furthest point (i.e. I had to walk the farthest). I didn't see many pheasants in that field, but we did manage to startle a 10-point buck that was bedded down. My brothers-in-law took great care to mentally note where it ran off to--deer hunting season started a weeks later.

We hiked through corn, grass and mud over several fields and I fully enjoyed the teamwork and freedom to enjoy the outdoors with such purpose. My father did not really approve of guns and the only opportunity I had to fire any came at scout-camp; where there was a range with a few .22's we aimed at paper targets. I recall that I did quite poorly with this marksmanship, although this was before we recognized that I needed glasses.

However, as I watched a black lab flush a rooster not 10 feet in front of me, I realized it was not the glasses that made the difference. I hesitated, fearful that this was really a hen, and let the streaming tail-feathers sail past me until the bird was almost 20 feet behind me. Only then did I mange to raise my borrowed gun and let loose two shots. Both missed.

It's not the glasses, it was practice and confidence I lacked. And I had done so well in Nintendo's "Duck Hunter"! I got a brief, and well deserved ribbing from nearby family but continued on; hopeful for an opportunity to redeem myself. The next day I got my chance.

I got up early, well before sunrise, to join my new cousins on a quick truck ride out to a neighbor's field. We unloaded, carried a few decoys out and setup the plastic ducks and Canada Geese in an attempt to lure migrating birds. Once positioned in a surprisingly realistic way, the six of us huddled in the standing corn, sipping on Miller Light or whatever we brought and waited.

Those moments from my youth, riding in the car, came back to me. I saw the massive flocks of birds, lines of ducks and v-shaped geese against the opaque sky. It was very different and exciting feeling to see those same patterns come under such a different circumstance.

We continued to huddle in the corn, watching the flocks fly silhouetted against the clouds. Suddenly, there was a loud "quack" nearby. My attention snapped to my right where I saw Brent with his duck call out. I relaxed a bit and began scanning the horizon. Mark O. pointed off to the north-west where I could barely make out a few dots against the clouds. There were at least fifteen or twenty ducks coming closer. They circled us a few times at a safe distance. Mark said that they were inspecting the site to make sure it was safe. We all sat still hoping that the birds wouldn't see us crouching among the corn in our various shades of camouflage.

Matt told me where to stand and talked me through how I should plan to fire when the time came. The ducks came in, and we opened fire a bit too soon. We missed all ten or so that dropped down and the birds retreated in a bizarre panic.

We packed up and headed back to our shack to grab some hot lunch. Later that evening, we returned to the field and our decoys. The geese were flying in the distance and we crouched in the cornstalks again. But we didn't need to wait long. Brent pulled out his goose call and proceeded to get the attention of a few distant dots. Phil and Jon waved the goose flag and simulated a landing bird further enticing the large grey, white and black birds closer.

We all waited until the last possible moment and when the geese were no more than eight feet off the ground we stood and opened fire. Realizing the trap, four of the creatures flapped and fled, one was not so lucky. The fifth animal took a hit on the wing and another shortly there after.

I got my goose. It was surprising how heavy the animal was, and later how warm its insides were. Brent, Matt and Shawn walked me through the easiest way to clean the bird. And the animal that was, hours before, trying to land on a field, was now sealed in a vacuum pouch and chilling in Dave's large chest freezer. I sat down at the fire after washing my hands and grabbing a brat with mustard and kraut. Not a bad day.

It took a great group of people to pull off this weekend. I was able to borrow a gun, be driven to the right field, shown where to stand and when to fire. We worked as a team to bring in and hit the birds and we all shared in the stories and jokes after the sun had set.


The sky is not often grey in Grenada. There are no geese and I only shiver when I am happily in my air-conditioned room. Firearms are illegal on the island and there is no hunting. The seasons do not seem to change and the ocean provides a barren and endless horizon. However, I feel many of the same lessons I from that weekend carry over to my current education.

I will not complete Medical school alone. There is far too much information to get through solo and study-partners will always help by testing your memory. We meet to shoot questions and build rapid-recall, we trudge through the same dense material. Furthermore, we all have the same target in our sights. We strive to become great physicians, and with each other's help we can land that future position we desire.

I am sad to be away from home during the fall. I miss the beautiful color of the leaves, the smell of the wet grass and being with my wife and family. Now, I also miss this new fall sport and my new extended family. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to realize a part of me that I did not have before. And I am glad to use what I learned.