Long ago and not far away there was a land of Sufficient. “Plenty” had not yet come, but in the land of Sufficient we had what we needed. Oh, there were signs of Plenty here and there during the summers, but mostly we had just what we needed. For us, that was Plenty.
While we had no Market Basket nor Whole Foods, we had the woods, fields and waters that were our pantry, and there we found Plenty. Fishing, hunting and gathering was our work and our recreation, with the changing seasons dictating the nature of our activities.
The waters and woods of Harpswell provided ample opportunities for hunting in the fall. It was there that my friends and I learned the basics and vagaries of securing the essentials for tonight’s dinner. For me, Orr’s and Great islands were perfect stomping grounds.
None of us ever would be cover material for Field & Stream or American Hunter, but we mostly took the endeavor seriously and tried to look the part. At first. That meant finding a hat of a particularly visible color. Since blaze orange wasn’t required by law at that time, red was a popular choice. I felt quite lethal in a wool, red plaid ball cap with flannel earflaps. Wayne, my usual partner in all things, wore a Red Man chewing tobacco hat if he wore a hat at all.
The last time Wayne and I hunted together was a typical mid-November day. Rather than being in the woods when the deer might be likely to move about, we thought right after lunch was a more convenient time. With my rifle and his shotgun, we hitchhiked from Bailey Island to a spot on 24 from which we could access what we considered to be a decent hunting area.
We arrived at the Great Island dump shortly after noon for some moving-target warmups before heading up the hill for what we expected to be a certain harvest. It was midweek, when there would be fewer hunters, what with work and school obligations for most.
I don’t remember ever considering my school attendance an obligation. While Messrs. Tonon and Caldwell had differing views on the subject and frequently shared them with me, crisp autumn days are not to be wasted in a stuffy classroom.
At the dump there was a multitude of targets just waiting to be shot to smithereens. We hoped for deer, and I had my old Winchester 30-30. Since we were realistic, Wayne had a shotgun that he was sure would dispatch most game birds should one foolishly show itself. Together we thought harvesting a meal was a sure thing, but first some practice was warranted.
Among the garbage and rotting vegetation were countless well-fed rodents of impressive size. Perfect targets. I took the first shot and missed. Wayne followed up with a blast of his 12-gauge and there was an explosion of garbage, dirt and vermin parts that was truly spectacular. I considered his to be a lucky shot and told him so.
Within less than a minute, several others came out, and with another blast of the shotgun, some number of them were obliterated, along with most of an old tricycle. Before we left to do what we had come for, Wayne had proved his superior gunmanship and significantly reduced the Rattus norvegicus population there, although by what number we could not agree.
We spent what little daylight remained prowling the upper reaches of “the mountain” without seeing another living thing. We hiked back down to the road and began hitchhiking home. A few cars went by before a familiar Cadillac slowed to a stop just a few yards past us. It was “Sheriff Sam” and his constant companion, Miss Viney.
Wayne and I considered whether riding in the back seat of Sam’s car was a prudent decision, but not feeling we were guilty of anything that could be proven in a court of law, we climbed in with our firearms.
Although Sam was the town constable for many years, he would have the distinction of never making an arrest. He was also the target of creative harassment by island mischief-makers and he had just picked up two of them, armed and hungry.
The conversation went exactly — word for word, really — as previous encounters with him had gone. It started as follows:
“Now, you boys know that I know what you boys have been up to. I would take you right to your parents, but I just don’t have time right now. But when you see ’em, go on and tell ’em that I’d like to talk about the trouble you boys been causing and I know all about blah blah that you boys blah blah and if I ever blah blah blah …”
Not soon enough we were let out to consider our evil ways. The walk to my house was a bit over a mile, giving us plenty of time to repent of our sins. Instead, we realized we had heard the same speech every time he picked us up. This well-rehearsed threat was his way of firing a shot over our bow, thinking it might have some positive and long-term effect. Either that or in the dark he had no idea who those two armed teenagers were.
Still, he did give us a comfortable, warm ride and plenty to consider. For us, that was sufficient.
