Thurber Cornell and his son...
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Thurber Cornell and his son-in-law Tom Sharp once took me deer hunting. We drove up to Rose City, Michigan, checked into that old hotel, ate our supper and settled in. There were at least 50 other hunters in that hotel, and all of us were waiting for the morning. It was yet dark when we got up, had a quick breakfast, and in our car headed for the woods and the deer runs. It was exhilarating, in that cold forest, watching the sun come up and aim its brightness down upon the snow. We separated, of course, so each of us could find our own point of vantage. I squatted down in silence and leaned against a huge tree when a boy walked toward me. He had no gun, not even a toy. He was maybe 8 or 9 years old and he was smiling in his full-blown innocence of boyhood. "You all alone out here?" I asked.
"Yeah ... Well, no. I sort o' followed my dad."
"Your dad here too?"
"Yeah ... Well, sort o' here." "Which way is he? Can you point?" I thought surely he must be taken out of this forest with so many anxious rifles all about. "Well," he said, "I can't see him all the time, but I don't need to see him, if I hear him call." Then, as if an afterthought, "I do know his voice, you know!" -- Hoornstra
"Yeah ... Well, no. I sort o' followed my dad."
"Your dad here too?"
"Yeah ... Well, sort o' here." "Which way is he? Can you point?" I thought surely he must be taken out of this forest with so many anxious rifles all about. "Well," he said, "I can't see him all the time, but I don't need to see him, if I hear him call." Then, as if an afterthought, "I do know his voice, you know!" -- Hoornstra
