It was the year 1933 and little nine-year-old Marguerite walked the long, dirt trail to gather her cows and drive them home as she did every evening. With the companionship of her dog, she made this long walk daily, watching with anticipation for any movement in the thick underbrush which might indicate the hiding place of a wild cottontail. In her arm, she cradled her Stevens Crack-Shot level action single-shot .22. She lived near Joy Coy, Colorado 
and there was a bounty on rabbits... a nickel for a pair of ears. Many a boy's pockets jingled with money made during those days collecting rabbit ears... and at least one little girls'.
Wild game was scarce in the area where Marguerite lived, but there was an overabundance of rabbits and the County had offered a bounty to encourage the public to help eliminate the rapidly growing population of these creatures which can be quite destructive when found in large numbers. Marguerite was only too happy to do her share, plus her daddy had a huge appetite for rabbit and never complained when he had the chance to indulge in a a delicious meal 
of rabbit stew, fried rabbit, or rabbit dumplings. Her parents were never surprised when she arrived home toting supper by its feet...and sometimes by its nickel's worth of ears.
Looking through old photo albums of Marguerite as a child, I am always amazed at the photos of this little girl nearly always dressed in crisp, bleached, white dresses and gowns by her mother. Never would I have imagined her as one who would have enjoyed toting a gun or the sport of hunting rabbits or any other wild game for that matter. She was a beautiful child and no doubt, the apple of her parent's eyes. She was 
raised as an only child, born in 1923; her only sibling, an older sister, dying from diabetes when Marguerite was but an infant. Often, I have referred to her as a spoiled little rich girl.
Marguerite will soon be 84-years-old and resides in northern Arkansas with her husband, age 88. They've been married for nearly sixty-five years and raised ten children in the Ozark Mountains they call home. Though she no longer hunts with her Stevens Crack-Shot, the gun still exists and is still in perfect condition and is as accurate today as it was 75 years ago, when Marguerite hunted with it. It is now a family heirloom which will be passed down for generations to come.
Now with her eyesight poor and after suffering a stroke, she retells her stories of hunting for rabbits as a child with fond memories of days past. However,
her hunting adventures didn't stop with rabbits in Colorado. After marrying in 1942, she moved to Arkansas where squirrels were abundant and she learned the skills necessary for hunting squirrels with her husband, one of their favorite pastimes. She chuckled as she whispered to me mischievously that she was usually the only girl on these "all-guy" hunting trips. It didn't matter that she was a female. She refused to be left behind and would accompany the men into the woods in search for squirrels and an occasional rabbit.
I visited her this past week and told her of my success during turkey season. She immediately lit up and told me how proud she was of me. No doubt she could remember the excitement of her own hunts years before, the adrenaline rush when the prey finally made itself known, and the overwhelming emotions that she felt when she located her harvest and the reality that she'd been successful. 
Surely she misses those days in the outdoors, enjoying the serenity and peace that the woods bring; the satisfaction and thrill that hunting offers.
Marguerite doesn't get around very well anymore. Her walk is unsteady and she moves at a snail's pace, though I can imagine a day when she was very spry and could stalk her prey with grace and confidence, moving quickly though quietly across the forest floor, ghosting from tree to tree. Most of her days are now spent sitting and watching the birds and squirrels playing in her yard and looking forward to the next visitor who might arrive to help her pass her time away. 
Though she has trouble remembering things, I'm always quite amazed at her recall of her past hunting days and her favorite gun. She loves to share her stories and will often retell the same tale to you more than once in a day's time. I don't mind. My time with her is precious and as Mother's Day arrives, I am proud to know that I have inherited her love of the outdoors and hunting.
I applaud my mother, Myrtle Marguerite McClaran Linderman for being a pioneer lady who didn't mind intruding on the men's hunting trips and her role in helping to open the door for other women to be accepted in a man's world. Thanks, Mom, for your part of instilling in me a love of the outdoors and your encouragement to follow my dreams! Happy Mother's Day!
