|
|
A Tradition Fails to Pass
by Tony Pallotta -- 06-23-00
As has been the tradition for generations of Vermont families
the sport of hunting game for food and just plain fun is passed on from
father to son as well as mother to daughter. I had hoped that since my
beautiful wife had presented me with 2 healthy and funloving sons, that
I would be able to pass on to them my love of the sport of hunting the
elusive "white tail deer" and the equally figity Vt. partridge.
Jeremy, being the eldest of the 2 boys, was the first to get a taste of the
wilds of Vt. with his Dad. It was as I remember a cool fall day in the
year 1992. My best friend for hunting, Tom, had broken his ankle just
recently and had a cast on it so was not able to go out "bird hunting" this
fall. I went a couple of times by myself that fall, but had minimal
luck finding places that the birds were feeding that fall. Jeremy had a
birthday in October and for that occasion I had convinced my wife that it
was time that he had his own shotgun so that he and I could go hunting
together and both have a shotgun to use. I decided to get him a
single shot 12 gauge gun as his first gun; I remember getting my first
gun from my father--a single shot 22 rifle--it was a proud feeling to
know that your father trusted you enough to have your own gun; you were
responsible, trusted, and now becoming a MAN. Anyway, I hoped my son felt
that way now as he got his own first gun. Saturday of his birthday week
finally came and we decided that this was a great day to take the gun
out into the field and see if we could bring down any of those darned
partridges. During that time of the year in Vt. it is not only bird
season, but also it is bear hunting season so for that hunting trip I
decided to bring my rifle, just in case we came accross a bear on our hunting
trip. Tom road along with us to the area that we were to hunt that day
and he was staying right around the truck while Jeremy and I went into
the woods looking for partridge. Not long after heading down this
path into the woods we scared up a bird and Jeremy pulled up his gun,
but the bird was too fast and the tree branches it flew towards were
thick so there was no shot. I said lets follow where we thought that bird
flew because often they do not go very far before landing when spooked
for the first time. Off the path towards the bird's direction of
flight we went, suddenly that darned bird flew off again from a branch just
above us; neither of us having seen it until the loud flutter of it's
wings told us it was off; we had been so close and not seen it!!! That
damn bird was not going to get the best of us yet so on we continued ,
watching the trees and the ground for this bird. Further and further
into the woods we trailed this bird as it lead us on the proverbial wild
partridge chase. After some time we finally gave up on that bird and
decided we had better find our way back to the trail and seek some other
prey. We headed to the left and went quite a ways but found no trail,
so we went up a small hill in the woods but again found no sign of
the trail, so to the right we trugded for quite a long ways but all we
found was swamp that we had to try and get around. This was not easy at
all and now we had been gone at least 2.5 hours and were both feeling
lost. Jeremy was getting scared and wanted out of those woods and away
from the swamp in a very bad way. I too wanted to get away from the
swamp as there was lots of downed trees to climb over in the swamp as well
as all the water pockets to get by or through. I decided to fire a shot
from my rifle and hope that Tom would hear it and sound the truck horn
for us to get some sort of bearing to head out of that infernal
swampy area. One shot but no reply in the distance from Tom; perhaps another
shot or two and he might signal back. Bang, bang but still no response;
then I realized that I had the truck keys and perhaps the horn did not
work unless the key were in the ignition and partly turned on. I admitted
to Jeremy that we were lost and that we had about 2 hours of
daylight left to find our way out of these woods. I said we needed to go
in one direction for a length of time and try to not go in circles
because eventually we would find an old wood road to lead us out of the
deep woods. It was very tiring climbing over downed trees and up steep
hills and each hill crest not seeing a woodroad to be able to follow.
Finally we came to what appeared to be an old, old woodroad- hope at
last-- but it was only there for a very short while and we lost it to the
vegetation. I could sense that Jeremy wanted to cry out for help, but
knew that it would do no good; I was thinking that I should have worn my
other hunting jacket because it had matches in it that we could use to
start a fire if we needed to spend the nite. Finally up ahead of us
there appeared to be an opening coming, perhaps a field or something like
that that would mean a path or road to it. Yes it was an open field,
with signs on it that bear or deer used it to sleep in as there was
places where the grass was matted down from the weight of an animal
laying there for a period of time. We crossed the field and sure enough
there was an old road leading out of that corner into the woods again. This
road did not appear to be used any more but it had to lead to
someplace, hopefully toward our truck. We followed for about 15 minutes when I
decided that it was getting us nowhere as the road was getting harder and
harder to follow as it got smaller and more growm up with brush from
unuse. This was very frustrating as we turned around and headed back to
the field to see if the road came into field from another direction; and
thankfully it did and it seemed to be in better shape as we started to
follow it into the woods again. Both of us were very tired and hungry
as we trudged along this road-path but we did feel a lot better to at
least have the road-path to follow. Eventually it came out onto the
dirt road we had traveled on to get to our hunting destination and we
walked about 1.5 to 2 miles to get to the truck; we were so glad to see
Tom again and so was he as he had no truck keys to have been able to
have gone for help for us and with his leg in a cast could not walk
anywhere for help either. Sadly to say this trying experience was the last
hunting trip that Jeremy ever trusted me to take him on so the tradition
has not been passed on as it should from generation to generation.
|
|
Brotherly Love
by Mike Pettengill -- 04/14/00
When the Pallotta's first moved into the house across the
street I was attending UVM. I came home for the summers, but between
my work and social life I only really got to know Marco. This was
because he always seemed to be at our house. He was pretty annoying, but
with time I grew to accept his presence.
Jeremy was often busy doing his own thing as well. One day the
four of us were all home and decided to play 2 on 2 football. This was
pretty much a first, but before long we were having a great time.
After about an hour Team Pallotta began to suffer internal
discord. Marco was goofing around and Jeremy was getting fed up. I'm not
exactly sure what Marco said or did, but suddenly he was running for his
life. After much running and shouting, Jeremy took him down in the
middle of the Dudley's driveway. He sat on Marco's head and delivered a
series of frantic body blows while screaming at him. It was pretty much
the end of our game, but I thought to myself, " These two guys really
know how to have fun. I can't wait for a rematch."
There have been many rematches since then. Some have even included
yelling, but from that day I can still remember the exact color of the
grass which cradled Marco's battered body.
|
|
Hit-man
by Marco Pallotta -- 04/11/00
Within this story, I am about to tell you about one of the
greatest games ever invented. Why it has not developed into an olympic
sport, I am still not quite sure. It all started in the little town of
Orleans, VT with me, my brother Jeremy, and our neighbors, Mike and
Pete. We were out playing basketball when Mike got mad and threw his ball
at Pete's. Well that ball slammed Pete's and sent it flying down the
road. Seeing this, I reeled back my arm and whipped my ball at Mike's.
I ended up hitting it, and then Jeremy did the same thing to mine.
Well we all got an idea then. Let's turn this into a new game we thought.
We will shoot for order, and then the first person will throw their
ball in the air, and the next gets to try to hit it before it hits the
ground twice. Then after he tries for that ball, he throws his up and the
next person tries to hit his, and so on. Well we all became
professionals at this game. We would play day in and day out, but at the same
time people were getting a little
more frustrated at each other each game. We then made the rule that if
you hit the person's ball into the garden that you got to throw their
ball down the hill that we lived on. Now everyone was going for the
garden. What a deal to be able to throw the ball and watch that poor
sucker run after it!!!! Well we continued entertaining ourselves, but the
fire kept building inside also until one day. We were all outside
playing and then Jeremy decided to get a little crafty because he missed a
ball, and he knocked little Pete's ball into the garden. Now Pete was
the youngest by quite a bit, so Jeremy had his way with it and threw
the ball down the hill. The game went on, but Pete was not too happy
about this. Then Jeremy tried another little weasel manuever and kicked
my ball when I was going to get it. Well I didn't like that at all, so I
ran immediately at his ball and wailed it. This lit the fire
completely, and Jeremy grabbed my ball and kicked it all the way down the hill
to the center of town. I
tried to get his ball, but he was to quick for me. I ended up pulling
it out of his hands and rolling it down the hill. We then proceeded to
get our balls and yell at each other the whole time, calling each other
some pretty harsh names. Needless to say Mike and Pete were getting a
kick out of this, but we sure as hell were not. I finally got my ball
and refused to play anymore, and this brought the sad end to a very
TERRIFIC game. We have all now gone our separate ways, but whenever we
get together and start talking about the game, you can tell that we all
start getting that competitve edge again. Maybe someday we will get
back out there and revive the game bringing it up to the level that it
deserves, Olympic stardom!!!!
|
|
Trees keep falling on my head
by Jeremy Pallotta -- 03/01/00
One day, in the small town of Orleans, VT, my best friend and I decided to take a walk in the nearby
woods of my house. Despite living there for years, I had only explored deep into the woods a few times when
I was playing guns with my friends at a much younger age. It seemed like a good idea to get rid of the boredom
of the day. We started along a walking path which quickly turned into "NO PATH" where blackberry bushes and
various other vegetation was ripping at our legs. We trounced through it all until we reached a patch of
trees where the vegetation was "normal" (not attacking our legs). In this patch of woods, we began entertaining
each other by throwing sticks around, ripping vegetation out of the ground, and all kinds of other fun, destructive things.
Finally, as we approached the end of the trail, I found a barely standing dead tree. This seemed all too good
since my friend had already passed it...I could really show off by knocking the entire tree down. I called
out to my friend, "JEFF!! JEFF!!" He turned back and once he did, I reeled back my leg and gave it the
biggest Chuck Norris I could. The tree crumbled at my feet and began to fall. I turned, with my chest out,
to look proudly at my friend when suddenly, he yelled "HEADS!!" (for those who don't know, a common term to
say "duck" in sports) I folded immediately into a ball and waited for what seemed like 30 seconds (but was
probably about 1 second) until BANG!!! I felt a ton of pressure on my back and as I tried to stand to look
at my friend, all I could see was a spinning world. It turns out that the tree, as it was falling, hit another
tree and broke...this top piece of the tree came back to hit me. I had some big cuts on my back and a headache
for the rest of the day, but it was a good thing my friend yelled to me or it would have been my head. I took
a walk back with my dad a few days later and saw that the piece of the tree was about 10 ft long and about a half
a foot wide at its widest point. The moral: Don't knock a tree down because sometimes they hit back.
|
|
|
|
