Duck Blind Lessons
The gasoline business led our family to Southwest Louisiana in the 1950s.The ducks kept there. Rice country, flat and wet-duck heaven. Our duck blind was a metal box about five feet deep, buried flush in a rice filed levee, smelly and usually a bit wet. I learned many lessons in this metal pit, hunting often with my father. The blind was our sanctuary. It was here that we were comfortable and where I learned. Dad was a big man, scary, a man of action. He was the boss, but we sat, patiently waiting talking softly.
Hunting was simple for us. Waders, army surplus coats, Duxbax hats and Winchester pumps, no water, thermoses of coffee or food. We went hunting not picnicking. Waking at four o'clock in the morning, we drived the 40 minutes to the
