Catherine Sevenau is a writer and storyteller who is out to capture your skittery mind. She's penned three books, compiled numerous collections of family genealogy, and has been a regular columnist in the SUN since 2016. She can be reached at [email protected].
Dad was a farmer, not a hunter
Chapter 60: Summer 1949 • Sonora, California
1949: Abbreviated entries of Larry’s diary (age 15)
Aug 31 Went to San Francisco and Sellers, Decca, Warehouseman, Dunham, Cariagan & Town were all on strike. Only had one meal, drove back in dark.
Sep 2 Washed Carters windows for first time got $15 for inside and out.
Sep 3 Two $50 radios were stolen from the store. Maybe College of Pacific boys. Stayed open until 9:15.
Sep 6 Signed up for courses at high school
Sep 9 Got Christmas cards in. Got records completely put in stock.
Sep 10 Washed Dr. Parkers windows for $1 and got regular job there every Monday. Bought new belt.
Sep 12 Back to school. Carleen frosh. I am now a junior. Only boy in typing. Cleaned Dr. Parkers windows 75 cents per hour
Sep 14 Taking Spanish, English, Typing, PE, Business Law, Band and Journalism
Sep 16 Went bowling for 1st time but I have watched before. Jim Baker taught me, got scores of 82-95-94 and I paid 92 cents.
Sep 17 Dad went hunting but did not catch a deer.
Sep 18 I am business manager for Sonora High newspaper and must get all the ads from stores
Sep 20 Read some real old Green & Golds. Got more ads. Band marched for first time.
Sep 22 Band marched for practice again. Got more ads for Wildcat. Got job at Gem Cafe washing windows and Mode O’ Day.
Sep 23 Band marched in public for first time in auditorium, downtown, and at football game with Sutter Creek.
Sep 25 Did some setting up for the printing of Wildcat. Today was Dad’s birthday.
September is deer season. My father was initiated into deer hunting up in the Twain Harte hills above Sonora in the canyon behind Sugarpine. He’d been pheasant hunting with his brother-in-law, Jim Fouch, up near Colusa a few times, but hunting deer was a whole ‘nother ball of wax. First off, my father got buck fever. Then he got lost. When a hunter has a deer in his rifle sights but freezes and can’t pull the trigger, that’s buck fever. Dad had never killed a deer; he got lightheaded when he had to kill chickens. Dazed and feeling a little sick, he dropped his gun and wandered into the clearing. With the hunters in red caps and jackets firing every which way, he hightailed it out of camp, crashing into the woods. He stumbled along for hours. Rather than hiking the ridge out to Tuolumne not that far from where he was, he followed the coursing Tuolumne River downstream through the rough canyon to Jacksonville, miles from where he started.
It took him half a day to get back to a road, and then half a day more waiting for a passing car to flag down. No one knew he was lost until he finally showed up in the early evening, shaken, embarrassed, and exhausted. Not only that, he’d lost everything he had with him. His hat. His rifle. His pride. Hunting is exciting for some, but if you get buck fever, hunting is a nightmare. For my father, who was raised a farmer and not a hunter, deer hunting once was enough.
Catherine Sevenau is a writer, humorist, and storyteller living in Sonoma, California. The stories in this series are excerpts from her book, Through Any Given Door, a Family Memoir; the full memoir is available as a web series at Sevenau.com. A longtime Broker/Realtor at CENTURY 21 Epic Wine Country, she can be reached at [email protected]
