Family Time
Family Time
2019
Blown Borosilcate Glass Hand Colored with Pencil
18in. x 8in. x 6in.
A cold breeze that bites the nose moves across an over grown field in Michigan slightly bending the golden, straw like grass in front of me as I scan left and right for our elusive prey. Walking a few feet apart, in a line, shoulder to shoulder we make our second pass through the filed goading the dogs on ahead of us to “get the bird!” paying careful attention to the nuanced cues the Labradors give us. This is at least my 12th year attending a four-generation family tradition of pheasant hunting after thanksgiving. While none of us may be the best hunters in the Midwest we’ve gone for as long as I can remember for the conversation and camaraderie of family it brings.
I’ve found that admitting to people I am a hunter is one of the more peculiar facts someone learns about me. As my general appearance and demeanor wouldn’t give away that I find it important to participate in such a tradition of killing birds for food. But, as I’ve grown older and with every muddied step through a field I take I can feel the bond between my father, brother, cousins, friends and late grandfather grow stronger knowing they’ve all participated in the same way for many years. As my arms ache from carrying the shotgun my grandfather used I found myself thinking of how the food we bring home will feed the rest of our family. Which even the preparation of various dishes has become a sense of pride for my father that makes my young nephews curious about the tradition of seeing us dawn our safety orange covered costume each year and leave for the day. It is thinking of this yearly ritual of family and hunting that I’ve a created a glass pheasant to epitomize what has been important for decades when visiting home.
2019
Blown Borosilcate Glass Hand Colored with Pencil
18in. x 8in. x 6in.
A cold breeze that bites the nose moves across an over grown field in Michigan slightly bending the golden, straw like grass in front of me as I scan left and right for our elusive prey. Walking a few feet apart, in a line, shoulder to shoulder we make our second pass through the filed goading the dogs on ahead of us to “get the bird!” paying careful attention to the nuanced cues the Labradors give us. This is at least my 12th year attending a four-generation family tradition of pheasant hunting after thanksgiving. While none of us may be the best hunters in the Midwest we’ve gone for as long as I can remember for the conversation and camaraderie of family it brings.
I’ve found that admitting to people I am a hunter is one of the more peculiar facts someone learns about me. As my general appearance and demeanor wouldn’t give away that I find it important to participate in such a tradition of killing birds for food. But, as I’ve grown older and with every muddied step through a field I take I can feel the bond between my father, brother, cousins, friends and late grandfather grow stronger knowing they’ve all participated in the same way for many years. As my arms ache from carrying the shotgun my grandfather used I found myself thinking of how the food we bring home will feed the rest of our family. Which even the preparation of various dishes has become a sense of pride for my father that makes my young nephews curious about the tradition of seeing us dawn our safety orange covered costume each year and leave for the day. It is thinking of this yearly ritual of family and hunting that I’ve a created a glass pheasant to epitomize what has been important for decades when visiting home.
