If you ever go on a snipe hunt, be patient, good things will come your way.
The cries of gullible young boys, beating bushes, after dark, rang out, somewhere in the woods, among briers and poison ivy. I was one of those suckered in by some world wise, (at least I thought they were), teenage boys at church camp one summer.
Of course, being abandoned, left holding a burlap bag and a big stick, for an hour or two, with laryngitis from mindless shouting, scratched up arms and legs, numerous chigger, mosquito bites, itchy poison ivy rashes, brought new-found wisdom. And more that a little embarrassment. Later, I passed on the experience to a new generation.
It wasn’t nearly as much fun, as I thought it would be. I suppose pangs of guilt were to blame. Snipes really did exist–just not where I grew up. A local photographer recently captured an image of this elusive bird. My most important takeaways…
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