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Daughter’s Wedding Spurs Hunting Memories

By Hunting NetworkJune 8, 20153 Comments

A few days ago I put on a suit and tie, stood stiffly while a florist pinned a boutonniere to my left lapel, and then made small talk while waiting to walk my oldest daughter, Leah, down the aisle near Dallas, Texas.

She was the last of my daughters to marry. Karsyn, our youngest, went first in February 2012, and Elle was next in September 2014.

When Karsyn left for college in August 2006, my wife, Penny, and I became empty-nesters. And when Leah graduated college in May 2007 and left Wisconsin as a Navy nurse, I came to define hunting and fishing trips by the empty boat seats, vacant tree stands, folded ground blinds and silent deer shacks I once shared with her.

Don’t get me wrong. Young people should leave home, and parents should be proud – and relieved – they can. Besides, Leah and I still hunted and fished together these past eight years, and the memories we created are no less golden, if not so numerous.

Patrick and Leah Durkin with an 8-point buck she shot in November 2006 in Richland County.

Patrick and Leah Durkin with an 8-point buck she shot in November 2006 in Richland County.

Therefore, when Leah asked me to speak at her wedding, I seized the opportunity. Plus, I gained some experience at Elle and Karsyn’s weddings. It’s a fun chance to share insights and special memories about my darlings, and give friends and family a perspective unique to a bride’s father.

But while considering my memories about Leah, it struck me how much more I had written about her than her sisters. It was clear she liked to hunt and fish the first time she joined me. My first Leah article was published in October 1987 in the Oshkosh Northwestern newspaper after we hunted geese in the Eldorado Marsh when she wasn’t yet 3.

Leah and Patrick Durkin stand atop an Idaho mountain while bowhunting elk in September 2008.

Leah and Patrick Durkin stand atop an Idaho mountain while bowhunting elk in September 2008.

Her sisters? They never felt those passions. Neither did they ever hint at envy or resentment of Leah’s time with me. Maybe that’s because Leah’s time meant alarm clocks blaring at 1:30 a.m. to fish salmon on Lake Michigan, or 4 a.m. to hunt turkeys on my aunt and uncle’s farm in Richland County.

Some kids mocked and teased Leah about being “Daddy’s Girl,” while adults said she was lucky to do so many things and see so many places with me. What did Leah think?

Well, she’s polite and has a long fuse, so she never said what she really thought, which might have been: “Hey, I took one for the team!” By hunting and fishing with me whenever asked, Leah let her sisters sleep in on weekends, holidays and summers, and hang out with friends.

For the most part, Leah and I got along great on our outings. We shivered away many October days in uncut cornfields for a crack at geese, shared no-name motel beds when I was too cheap for a “real room,” and shared enough fast-food meals to risk child-neglect charges.

Leah also learned how to dress in cold, dark tents when bowhunting elk; and she learned the value of ear plugs: real ones to block my snoring, and imaginary ones to thwart my temper and free advice.

She also learned that modesty has its limits when hunting and fishing. When Leah was 15, we hunted pronghorns in eastern Colorado. One afternoon, we stalked a buck over a mile out there on the prairie; hiding behind yucca plants, and crawling or scurrying through sand burs and ground cactus. Finally, the pronghorn stepped into the clear 200 yards away. Leah hurriedly sat down, steadied her .243 rifle on her bipod, and dropped the buck with one shot.

Leah Durkin takes a breather while bowhunting elk in Idaho in September 2008.

Leah Durkin takes a breather while bowhunting elk in Idaho in September 2008.

We were happy and excited, and hugged and exchanged high 5s. After we calmed down, I noticed her wincing and limping. I asked what was wrong. She said, “When I sat down to shoot back there, I sat on a cactus. The spines are stuck in my butt.”

Now, I can clean fish and cut up deer, but that doesn’t make me a surgeon. And I might have changed Leah’s diapers 1,000 times and given her a bath 200 times when she was small, but that means nothing to a 15-year-old girl, no matter how empathetic and objective I tried to sound. Finally, I just said, “Let me know how I can help.”

By the time we reached our motel room in Limon, Leah had a plan. As she walked toward the bathroom, she said, “Stand over there and don’t turn around till I say so.”

Leah Durkin checks out a bull elk’s rubs and scrape while bowhunting in Idaho in September 2008.

Leah Durkin checks out a bull elk’s rubs and scrape while bowhunting in Idaho in September 2008.

When I finally turned around on her command, I saw she had converted her bed into an operating table, and placed a motel towel to spare her teenage dignity but reveal the cactus spines. She handed me a tweezers and antiseptic without making eye contact. I figured out the rest.

After sharing that story at Leah’s wedding, I offered her husband the only advice he will probably ever hear from me: “Dave, whenever you find yourself in tough situations with Leah, and things are getting testy, just stop what you’re doing – or saying – and repeat those seven words: ‘Let me know how I can help.’

“And then follow her instructions. Why? Because there will be times when it does not really matter what you think. With Leah, there’s a right way, a wrong way, and Leah’s way. I hope by now you realize that, because one thing’s for sure: Marriage will never change it.

“Nor can marriage change this fact about Leah: No one has a bigger heart than hers. Dave, you’re sitting here today because Leah knew something about love that Mark Twain wrote over 100 years ago: ‘When you fish for love, bait with your heart, not your brain.’

“And if I’ve learned one thing in 34½ years of marriage to Penny, it’s this: Marriage might not change our more basic traits, but it does change our capacity for love. And I predict the love between you and Leah will only grow in the years ahead.”

And that, loyal reader, is one of the few predictions you’ll ever get from me.

 

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