When I was a boy we had many family traditions. These traditions generally occurred around some special day or event such as Christmas, birthdays, baptisms and other important life events. As I look back upon those years with fondness the one tradition that seems to stick out in my mind was the annual pheasant hunt. My uncle Archie Huff and Aunt Lucile lived on a farm in the community of Benjamin which is located about five miles west of Spanish Fork, Utah. Each year the extended family would all travel to Benjamin to participate in the annual pheasant hunt. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and sometimes friends would all assemble to be together and to enjoy the hunt.
Traveling to Benjamin was no easy task as in those days there were no freeways. It was necessary to drive through the middle of each and every little town along the way. The main highway was State Street in Salt Lake City. We would head south on State Street, drive through Murray, Midvale, Draper, and finally reaching the point of the mountain. We would then continue on going to Lehi, American Fork, Pleasant Grove, Linden, Orem, and on to Provo. When I was a boy at seemed as if it took forever to get
through Provo. However we continued down the road and went through Springville, and eventually Spanish Fork where we traveled west to Benjamin. The trip took a better part of the day especially if you had car
trouble along the way. In those days it was quite common for cars to overheat and you would see vehicles parked alongside the road as their owners sought out sources of water to pour into the radiators. After the long journey the family gathered at the Huff residence in preparation for the big hunt.
Everyone was in attendance, my dads’ brothers Wes and Merv along with their families, his sister Grace and her husband Norm. Grace and Norm did not have any sons only girls and I don’t recall that the girls ever attended very often. The Huff kids were my favorite cousins, Marlin, Paul, the twins Sherm and Sherry, Keith, and David. We would all stay at aunt Lucile’s home Friday night before the hunt began which was quite an event. There were only two bedrooms in the home so all of the kids slept on the floor in the living room. Also, there was only one bathroom for all those people. Somehow we all survived. We had a wonderful time just being together.
On Saturday morning we were all up very early Lucile and Virginia ,and my mom would fix a big breakfast for everyone. My cousins Marlin and Paul had to get up even earlier as it was necessary to feed the livestock and milk the cows. Finally it was time for the hunt. The men and boys would move out into the fields to hunt the birds and the women would stay behind and prepare a big Thanksgiving type meal. Before we boys were old enough to carry a gun we served as the bird dogs. The hunt began and the birds began to fly it was really exciting as we pursued the rooster pheasants. At noon we would all come in and feast upon the foods which
had been prepared. After lunch the entire family would head for the fields aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, everyone would spread out through the sugar beet fields in the hopes of stirring up more pheasants. At times our line consisted of a least 30 people, it was quite a sight and very exciting for everyone.
As the years went by I became old enough to finally carry a gun, it was the biggest event of my young life. My cousins Marlin and Paul were also old enough to carry guns so the three of us had a great competition to see who could shoot the most pheasants. I remember very vividly the first rooster pheasant I ever shot and to this day I could return to the exact spot it took place. It’s interesting how such a memory is embedded so firmly in my mind. From time to time Marlin, Paul, and I were allowed to go out on our own, we thought we were pretty hot stuff. As the years passed by our family group began to dwindle. My dad and some of my uncles became too old to walk the fields, my uncle Arch had passed away and things just didn’t seem the same. Eventually the old family homestead was sold and we continued the tradition by meeting in Marlins home but with a much smaller group. Now the years have really fled by, my cousin Marlin and his brother Sherm have passed away. We no longer hunt pheasants, in fact we no longer hunt anything. Things change as we go through life but we will always have sweet memories of family and the traditions we enjoyed.
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