Ted, I am sorry to hear of your loss. Father and Son are always the greatest of hunting companions. Although we don't always see eye-to-eye with each other, just getting out in Mother Nature's classroom embues us with fond and lasting memories. This is a poem that I have always enjoyed:
Home is the sailor, home from the sea:
Her far-borne canvas furled
The ship pours shining on the quay
The plunder of the world.
Home is the hunter, home from the hill:
Fast in the boundless snare
All flesh lies taken at his will
And every fowl of air
'Tis evening on the moorland free,
The starlit wave is still:
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill
A.E. Housman
