When I was a kid these were the three harbingers of fall: Uncle Pat started picking corn, we had the annual Harvest Sale at my church (shameless plug the harvest sale is at Providence UMC in Mar Mac on Sat. Sept. 9 from 4:30-7:30, eat in or take out, BBQ and turkey, the best you’ll ever eat at a church function. Uncle Pat’s in charge of the pigs and that sauce is to-die-for. See me for tickets 😊), and on Labor Day weekend dove season came in.
I grew up on an almost mile long state-maintained dirt road with no other houses on it (except for the migrant workers Uncle Pat had when he raised tobacco). All summer long we’d be surrounded by wheat, soybeans, and yes, corn. It’s a bird paradise. Hunting was a part of my life, my step-dad went, my step-brother, my uncle, my granddaddy, my cousin would even come from Chapel Hill and go…it was/is a big thing for my family. We always had a dove hunt on my uncle’s farm, but when he became involved with Quail Unlimited it became massive. He started planting sunflowers for them (and I fell in love with those beautiful yellow blooms of sunshine). The fields around our house sounded like a war zone or something, all these men in camo shooting like crazy at these poor beautiful birds. We couldn’t walk outside without orange on. And for Sunday lunch my mama would fry them and smother them in gravy. Those poor beautiful birds were pretty dang delicious.
|This is NOT my picture, but for those of you who aren't sure what a dove is, this is a great picture of them.|
|They love hanging out on this fence. The Girl says they want to play on the playground.|
|I felt like I was working for National Geographic trying to catch this one on my poor phone.|
|And I had to include a sunflower picture, just because!|