It's only over if we let it be over, Rich. I'm not willing to do that and hope others aren't as well. Too good a thread to ever die.
After my initial life story, I've returned now and again to read of others and have appreciated all accounts. One individual mentioned enjoying hunting, another mentioned enjoying fishing, another fished for a living (as I once did).
Never did any hunting (for several reasons) but fishing is a different story! Born in Denver but spent age's 6 thru 14 living in Evergreen, Colorado. 6000' elevation in the Rockies west of Denver with a lake, a dam and a overflow stream that I dry fly fished as often as I could.
I have a picture of me @ age 4?...5?...holding up a trout almost as big as I was. *OOPS...edited. Found pic and I was 9. The ah, fish, er, well, it was a keeper.* I caught it (with help, I'm sure) on the upper Taylor River (central Colo.) where my Grandparents would spend several weeks every summer for camping and fly fishing. This is where my appreciation of the outdoors and wildlife was instilled. There simply is nothing better then being tuckered out after a 6-7 hour day of wading, walking and working a river with a fly rod, sitting around a fire pit eating a pan fried trout dinner, the distinct smell of pine and earth, entering my tent trading the outside odors for the one of canvas, turning off the hiss of a Coleman lantern, slipping into a sleeping bag with the sound of a river 50' away to lull me to sleep and dream of the big one that I just know is waiting for me tomorrow. Then awakening to the same sound but add the aroma of Grandma's buckwheat pancakes, bacon and eggs for breakfast filling the tent. Sliding out of the bag in "coolish" temps (elevation 9600+'), exiting the tent, stand/sit around the fire with chat, waiting with much anticipation for the sun to clear the eastern mtns for the warmth, watching squirrels and many bird species bouncing around waiting for leftover p'cakes (no, Rich wasn't one of them ☺), discussing where to fish that day, seeing deer graze the grass across the river, etc., etc.,...sigh...utter and complete "all is right in the world" heaven. Drawing on these memories has helped me through many a rough road in life.
I still have all my camping equipment and fishing gear...some of the flies were made by my Grandpa (they're over 70 years old), as well as ones I did. Just can't part with any of it even tho I can no longer use any of it.
I'm positive there are as many "all is right in the world" memories like mine as there are people on this planet. Anyone care to reminisce theirs?
P.S. For those with Google Earth, (if interested) the coordinates of our camping spot was: 38*54'17.60" N, 106*35'13.25" W