The Fudd

There is a lot I could say about my dad. So much so, I’ve spent over a month trying to write this. My mom and I often refer to him as either Farmer Gill, the “Boss”, Elmer Fudd, or Yosemite Sam (for reasons I will not divulge on this blog). May all the squirrels in their backyard rest in peace.

My dad has taught me a lot of things in life. He’s consistently pointed me to Christ, taught me the only good education comes from NC State University, John Wayne is the beholder of all life’s good quotes, no ump is free of a good heckle when he’s present, and you must always control what you can control. While I may have learned a lot from him, my best lessons in life have been learned following him through the woods chasing bunnies.

From the time deer season closes to the end of February, my dad’s weekend attire is his Filson jacket and chaps (that are older than me), his blaze orange hat, and as always, the family heirloom Stevens side by side. It’s a given that every Saturday will be spent chasing the bunnies.

Rabbit hunting is all about the dogs, teamwork of your fellow hunters, and quick thinking. It’s not about how many rabbits can you get…but about working as a team to cut off a chase or to “find one in the bed” as dad says. And as always, rewarding the dogs after a good run.

Following my dad through the woods, I’ve got to witness just how superb his wood sense is. It’s like he just knows where to set you up or which direction the rabbit is probably going to go. He’ll say, “that rabbit’s going to make a turn and come back this way” or “let’s set up on the edge of the field because he’ll cut out to throw the dogs.” I’ll eat my crow here, but he’s always been right…and that can only come from the years of experience he’s had hunting them. I’ve also learned that he sings much better to the dogs in the woods than he does in church. We all know Granna got the musical abilities in the family.

Rabbit hunting is basically a Preddy family affair. I mean our whole group is made of Preddy’s that somehow are out of the same family tree. Up until recently, I never thought I was allowed to go out hunting with him since it normally is all the guys who go. When I got the invitation from my dad to join, I will honestly say it felt like Christmas morning. Getting the invitation was him saying “I want to have fun doing this with you.” Pulling up with him to the barn lot the first time was a little nerve-wracking. I was more concerned would it be ok that a girl crashed the party, but boy was I wrong. I’ve been nothing but welcomed with open arms and made to be included when we’re out on the hunt. As Mike Preddy says, “Tiffany brings the class.”

The Fudd has asked me to do a rabbit painting of some sort for several years now. I went through countless sketches and ideas until this past February I snapped the photo that would finally be the pick. We were hunting on the Flatwoods, which is the farm behind my parents house, a place where my dad grew up working tobacco and holds dear to our hearts.

Looking at the painting I brought out of the photo I took, I can still hear Bryson Preddy saying “Gill coming your way” and then my response of “Dad, to your right” when I saw the rabbit and ultimately my dad take the shot. I held his gun and snapped the photo as he called over the dogs with his twangy voice of “hearyah” coming out of the side of his mouth. While my dad has had my back on the rabbits I’ve gotten to take, I think my smile was bigger having his that day.

Hunting means more when it’s done with your family. It’s a tradition that you can see within our community. Generations coming together to enjoy something they all love to do. I’m so glad Elmer Fudd passed that tradition down to me, and I look forward to the many more hunts for years to come.