At 86, this grandma still keeps up with tradition
Finally, a nice day to take Mémère hunting. Every fall, my grandma Gilberte Tremblay and I hunt for partridge. Back in the day, she used to join us for deer and moose hunting as well, but at 86, the long treks in the woods are too much for her now.
I pulled into the driveway of the small house where she lives on her own, and knocked on her door. She greeted me wearing her hunter-orange gear, consisting of her favourite cap and warm jacket—she was raring to go. With a fanny pack around her waist to carry her ammunition, off we went in pursuit of perdrix, as partridge are called in French.
These days, we don’t do much walking; instead, we drive ever so slowly along trails wide enough for my small pickup truck. When the trail becomes too narrow, we head off on foot in hopes of seeing a partridge or two.
Mémère is always careful not to make too much noise and steps lightly as she scans the bush for any movement. When she sees a bird she wastes no time, aims and kills her supper. She spends little time celebrating and is right back on the search for a second target.
As we walk along enjoying each other’s company, we can’t help feeling rejuvenated by nature’s beauty. We call it a day when Mémère reluctantly complains about leg pains.
I’m so grateful to have such a wonderful grandmother, who enjoys the same hobbies I do. Let’s face it…a grandma who hunts is the coolest thing I can think of.
We drive back to her place, clean the birds and fry them up in a pan with butter. We toast each other with one of Mémère’s favourite beers as we wonder how many partridges we’ll bag next year.
—by Carmel McDonald, Garson, Ontario