The smell of oil was definitely in the air, as we entered the city known as Battle Creek.  It was definitely apparent that we were approaching the Kalamazoo River – which passes through the southern portion of the city – because the smell increased the farther south we went.   As we approached the river, we could see that we were entering the “oil spill zone”:  men and women in brightly colored uniforms were abundant, and you couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting someone who was rubber-necking.  I guess that’s only human nature, though.

The wife, Abby and I weren’t sight-seeing, though.  We were heading to the local mall in Battle Creek, because I had managed to ruin a couple pair of work pants in the previous weeks, and going to work without clothes would probably be frowned upon.  And in order to get there, we had to pass over the Kalamazoo River – it’s unavoidable.  Honestly, after witnessing the whole mess, I would have rather stayed home.

It was depressing.

Then, on Saturday night, though the wedding was a great time and the weather was perfect, we had to pass “ground zero” of the spill in order to get there.  Workers were again abundant, as well as a few nice firemen – sitting in lawn chairs on the corner – to let you know that the area was off limits.

After that start to the weekend, and witnessing such a wildlife catastrophe somewhat first hand, I was ready for outdoor activity of any kind that didn’t involve oil – and that is where Sunday came in.

The morning sun rose and greeted Jeff and I as we slowly drifted through the morning fog.  We were in search of a keeper largemouth bass or northern pike.  The fog was incredible, though, and as we managed to put a few fish in the boat, and as I managed to put the oil spill dull drums behind me, the fog was surrounding us.  At times the fog was so thick that it appeared as though we were in some abyss; or that the ghost ship would appear at any moment.  It was eerie and awesome at the same time – a perfect start to a Sunday morning.  Fishing ended up, as always, being a great time – Jeff and I both managed to put some fish in the boat, including one keeper – but the highlight of the day would come later.

The afternoon was spent at Jeff’s house – we rode quads, took care of some food plot maintenance, trained one of Jeff’s labs how to track deer, and had a great time.  Then, and much to my sanity and my soul’s delight, we busted out the bows and did some target shooting.  Shooting a bow really does something for me.  It honestly makes me feel complete and helps to put me at ease.  It’s therapeutic.  If felt awesome, and it had been way too long since we last shot.

And, though I didn’t think life could get much better, it did when a moment that I’ve dreamed of for many years finally came to fruition:  the moment when I would help one of my kids to draw a bow, take aim, and send an arrow towards its mark.

Abby’s attention span didn’t really last too long – she only made it through two shots, and then headed onto bigger and better almost two year old things – but it is a moment which will stay with me forever.  It was a moment frozen in time; a moment which I will never forget.

And may it be a moment that continues into her adult life.

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