Bright Idea Outdoors Weblog

October: The Best Month of the Year

Top 10 Reasons October is My Favorite Month of the Year:

1. Great Weather;
2. Fall foliage/color;
3. The shock of the beginning of the school year has worn off, and the kids are settled in;
4. Mosquitoes and other biting and stinging insects have, for the most part, gone to bed;
5. Football season is in full swing, yet it's still new enough be believe my teams have a chance at greatness (well, it would be if I didn't like the Redskins);
6. Pumpkinfest at Layng's Flower Farm;
7. Halloween is a lot of fun;
8. Bow season has gotten underway;
9. Gun season lies ahead of us;
10. November is right around the corner!

 

Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven, But. . .

First of all, credit for the title of this post goes to Kenny Chesney and his song "Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven."  Click here to listen.

So my nearly-three-year-old son Brett and I are driving home in Boss Blue--my dad's old truck--and he asks me if Grandpop has a beard anymore.

"No," I say, then think better of it.  "Well, I guess he might have a beard, in Heaven with God.  I think beards are pretty popular in Heaven."

"You go to heaven when you die?" Brett asks.

"Yeah, you do if you believe in God.  Remember Pastor Chip was talking about God today?"

"Yeah."

"You believe in God, don't you?"

"I do," he says.  "But I don't want to go to God!"

I smile, thinking that I don't blame him.

A Post I Didn't Post

I spent a lot of time Tuesdsay night working on a rambling blog post that ended with my dad walking out of the cornfield in the background of this picture.

But by the time I got a chance to put it online, I was out of the weird mood that inspired the post.  So instead, I'll just say that pictures are important and I'm lucky to live with someone who's really good at taking them.

I'm also lucky to be the father of some fine young athletes, and I'm not sure what to do with myself now that we've come to the end of a thrilling spring season of NFL Flag football and Little League baseball.  Maybe my dad's not going to walk out of that cornfield--not today anyway--but I know he was with his grandsons all spring and that he will continue to with us--on the diamond and the gridiron, on the water and in the woods--long after that corn is gone.

An Eastern Shore Salute

A memorial service for my dad and celebration of his life was held Saturday at his farm on the Eastern Shore of Virginia.

The event was somber at times, but everyone there knew that my dad would have wanted people to enjoy themselves, so we tried to keep the mood as lighthearted as possible.  One of the highlights of the day came when, after the memorial service and meal, Jake, myself, members of the Big Daddy Hunt Club and several friends and neighbors saluted my dad with a shotgun volley.

 
This hail of gunfire was a great release of tension, and I know my dad would have enjoyed it.  In fact, he would have enjoyed the whole weekend!

Thank you so much to everyone who made it possible, including but not limited to Linda and her family, the guys from the hunt club, members of Epworth United Methodist Church, Pastor Liz, Roger from the Clam Shack and many many more.  I'd also like to again thank everyone who traveled a great distance to be at my dad's memorial service, especially my Aunt Jean and Uncle Jim, Aunt Margaret and Uncle Frank, and my cousin Siobhan.

Even though I can no longer visit my dad on the Eastern Shore, I know I will return.  It has become one of my favorite places on Earth, and a part of me will always be there.

Some Things My Dad Didn't Get to Do

My dad was thrilled when Washington finally got its baseball team; he was a big Nationals fan.  So as I sit here in the dark, watching the Nats try to build on a one-run 8th inning lead, I can't help but think about some of the things my dad said during the last three days I spent with him, the last three days of his life.

By Saturday April 10 he knew he would not get out of bed again.  Still he looked forward to getting the TV for his room delivered on Monday.

"I figure I've got three or four baseball games left, and that's it," he said.

By the time the TV got there, my dad had been gone for almost a day.  He never got to watch any of those games.

Dad also never got to go hunting out west.  He mentioned that to me Friday night, shortly after I got to his house.  It surprised me because, even though he'd always been a big supporter of my hunting habit, dad had never expressed any interest in hunting himself.  I guess sitting in a tree stand, practically in his own back yard, just wasn't his idea of hunting.

On Saturday, after he'd started on the morphine, Dad mumbled something about stalking game in the mountains. He wanted me to go out west, do some real hunting if I ever got a chance.

I hope I do, but I'm not sure when it'll be.  In the meantime, I'm going to watch a few more Nats games.

Tough

It wasn't until my dad was in his early 60's, when he was commuting five hours each way to work three 20-hour days in a row, that it dawned on me what exactly it was I admired so much about him.  Whatever anyone said about Dave Coughlin, his physical toughness was never in doubt.  I admired this toughness so much, partially because it was something to which I believed I could never aspire.

Then last summer, when I lost my job, I had to ask my body to do things it hadn't done in a long time; digging holes, lifting root balls, pushing a wheelbarrow filled with stone.  After one 12-hour day working on a paver patio, I realized that maybe just a little of my dad's toughness had rubbed off on me.

Saturday, I cut the grass at my dad's house.  I wondered if the noise from the mower would disturb my dad as I drove it past the bedroom where he lay, his forearms--once thick ropes of coiled steel forged by years of turning wrenches--suddenly yellow and weak, unable to even push himself into a comfortable position on the bed.

I turned the corner and went on with the mowing, asking myself:

 "Am I tough enough for this?"

Author's Note: Even in his weakened state, my dad died the way he lived: independent; unwilling to conform to anyone else's pre-conceived notions; and, to the moment he breathed his last breath, tough.

Dave Coughlin; March 26, 1946-April 11, 2010

I love you Dad; goodbye.

Dad's Pals

Forgotten Shoals, Virginia--Dad and Cisco had a great time riding around on "Buck."

Huckleberry got to back "Snap" into the shed.

"Sarge" is the newest addition to the family.

Sarge wanted to park next to "Mr. Bumbles" (far right.)  "Boss" (far left) was jealous, but he got over it.

Next up: The Greatest Panfish Pond on Earth.