Issue link: https://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/554642
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 2 4 a verse Walker had written in celebration of that devotion, part of an English class project this spring. I'm pleased, with Walker's permission, to share it with you. I believe you'll find, as I did, not only beauty of expression, but uncommon depth and perception for a lad of 17. Here, by Walker Italia: the clock on the wall says it's time. Walker's passion for the outdoors, sprung from the years with his dad at being a boy, crosses many borders, but its touchstone is grouse hunting with his setter dog Cooper. My old friends Brian and Martha Hays of Elhew Kennels forwarded to me B efore we blow in the dogs and snuff out the lantern, I'd have you know one other young man from New Hampshire I've discovered recently. His name is Walker Italia and he's 17—about to leave Boyland. There's a sadness in that, and yet in the level of his accomplishments eventeen-year-old Walker Italia and his setter, Cooper, in the grouse woods of New Hampshire. S A long with the "been there" rhythm of a grouse hunt, there's a pleasing texture of legacy and tradition in Walker's rhyme, and a respectful appreciation of the magical places grouse are found. So it will likely not surprise you that Walker's already an avid reader, whose tastes pleasingly embrace heritage, especially the period authors: Spiller, Ford, Tapply, Sheldon, Buckingham, Ruark, et al. It warms me to say, as well, his literary adventures include Sporting Classics. Good job, Papa Italia. Helping a boy be a boy. The years fly by, 'bout as fast as you can sneeze. One boy is gone. And you must look for another. But despite the pangs of regret, there shall ever remain the pride. Help a boy at being a boy, and you have also given him something much greater . . . the means to be the man. And I'm thinking tonight, though sometimes I deeply worry, the world I love will always be in good hands. I load up the dog and pack the truck, Double check my gear and pray for good luck. As I drive I think of all the new covers Just waiting there, ready to be discovered. I turn down the old dirt road, The forgotten path to a farmer's home. As I pullover I think to myself these woods sure look birdy I pull on my boots and pull out my gun, my granddad's 20 gauge Purdey I think of all the stories that could be told by this gun Perhaps it will know another when this hunt is done. I fill my pockets full of shells Let out the dog and put on his bell I "whoa" the dog then whisper "okay," There is no more beauty than that of a grey October day. As we stumble through the woods looking for grouse I come upon a wonderful sight, the cellar hole to a farmer's house. I wonder what made him leave Remembered by weathered stones and gnarled apple trees. Suddenly the bell goes quiet I move in and wings flash in a riot Thunder erupts as a gray blur shoots across the sky I pull my gun to my shoulder and close one eye Flick off the safety and squeeze the trigger I look for the bird but only feathers linger. I release the dog and he helps me search He runs to my left and stops by a birch There on the ground is the fallen partridge I collect the bird and pick up the spent cartridge. I reload the trusty over-under And continue through the tangled woods as I stumble and blunder The dog leads me to an overgrown apple orchard The farmer who lived here, he wasn't rich but damn he had a fortune. There is no place I'd rather be, here in the silent woods I break for lunch and open my pack full of goods I eat an apple and a ham sandwich. As I rest a grouse flushes nearby and I yell damn it The dog looks back at me in wonder We set out in search hoping the bird is still in this cover The dog soon goes on point, this bird won't fool us twice I flush the bird but I miss, this time nature shall suffice. I remind myself that I can't win them all Hopefully I'll get a second chance at the bird next fall. The day has been long and the dog is tired And the final shot has been fired I call the dog and stop the bell Load up the truck and bid the forgotten farm farewell. © Walker Italia, 2015 "Gone Grousing"