I don’t think anyone enjoyed his time at Blue Heaven more than my father. It was his favorite place to be. He was always in the mood to make the trip up there and could be ready to go at the drop of a hat. He was always willing to put together the supply list to make certain any event would be a success.
He meticulously maintained an inventory of all the staples stored in the cupboard at camp and knew at a glance what supplies were needed. If anyone used any of these supplies without informing him, they would feel my father’s wrath when he found the supplies depleted.
God love my mother; she knew how much the hunting camp meant to my father and always encouraged his participation, doing whatever she could to assist him.
My father, like all the Jolly Boys, kept essential personal articles on hand in the small storage lockers assigned to each hunter. Frequently one of the men would be up at camp for a planned day trip and then decide to spend the night. Spare bedding was available to accommodate the unplanned overnight guest, and one might even be able to find a spare unused toothbrush. So many of the events that occurred up there were impromptu, and that was part of the fun of it all.
My parents couldn’t afford expensive vacations in faraway places, nor did they have much desire to venture far from home. Their vacation destination of choice was a trip to Blue Heaven for a weekend or the entire week, if they could arrange enough time off work.
Their retreats to the cabin cost them almost nothing, and they took ample food and beverages for their stay. They had this down to a science. My mother would even crack the eggs needed for breakfast and store them in a small mason jar to help keep them cool in their ice chest and as a precaution so they wouldn’t break. The same careful planning extended to the snacks they would bring, the ingredients for their meals, and the cocktails and other beverages that would be required. My father always enjoyed a martini or two before his evening dinner, so bringing the right number of olives was also important.
Both Mom and Dad loved to read and would bring a few good books with them in the event that it rained and they couldn’t be out in the woods hunting for partridge. My father would sit in his chair at the table, chin in his hands, with elbows planted firmly for support while he read. My mother was more innovative. She would make my father haul up a folding chaise longue on these trips and would position it close to the wood-burning stove to enjoy the warmth while she read and listened to the rain on the roof of the shack. Most days they also managed to sneak in an afternoon nap in the bunk area under one of the many soft quilts. Their cocktail hour would begin promptly at 5 p.m., along with a few snacks, and they often enjoyed a card game or two while dinner was cooking.
My parents learned that it was difficult to sneak away and get much time by themselves. Someone would invariably get wind of the fact that they were going to be at Blue Heaven and would either pay them a surprise visit or ask beforehand for permission to be included in the activities. The door was always open, and the more the merrier! There always seemed to be more than enough to eat and drink, and those who came up and crashed the party never showed up empty-handed.
When bedtime came, my father would turn off the light plant and light the night candle in the event that one of them would have to get up in the middle of the night. They would crawl into their bunks, and my father would fall asleep instantly. His snoring would break the silence and keep my mother awake. To counter his racket, she would use a small portable radio that had a cord with an ear-jack for private listening.
My father was dead set against any type of electronics at the hunting shack. This included telephones, TVs, and radios. He wanted nothing to disrupt the tranquility of being in the woods. These and similar items were and always have been banned from the hunting camp. But my mother needed the device to help her fall asleep, and, although I think she knew that he knew that she was hiding her radio, he never said anything about it.
To this day, I bring my mother’s radio up to the shack during deer season so I can get the weather forecast for the day. I will sit at the table, sipping on my coffee and waiting for the others to crawl out of their bunks, and get the news and weather from that beat-up old radio. As soon as the weather is announced, I turn up the radio and pull out the ear-jack to convert the radio to speaker so everyone can hear the weather forecast. As soon as it’s concluded, I plug the ear-jack back in so I am the only one who can hear it. Several hunters in our camp are still amazed that I can turn on the radio at the precise moment that the weather forecast is being announced. I am keeping the ear-jack my secret.