We huddled together out of sight, shoulder-to-shoulder, hidden. There was a moment when I imagined he was that 12-year old, shooting some of his first birds. Young, fresh, eager to learn with his whole life ahead of him. The moment passed and now he was college age, maturing, bright, smart. Then he was a grown man, successful in business and life, respected, admired and whispering to me about the flight coming in at 10 o'clock. God gave me those magic moments, and I will never forget them. What fun we had! But today the duck blind is vacant. Our gun barrels have cooled. And I will hunt no more.
When James Fennimore Cooper wrote his famous novel, Last of the Mohicans, the old chief said this after the death of his son, Uncas: "Why do my brothers mourn that a young man has gone to the happy hunting grounds, that he has filled his time with honor?"
Carter did, indeed fill his time with honor. Today I suspect he is in that Indian Heaven, those Happy Hunting Grounds. Here warriors and hunters enjoy a paradise of hunting and feasting. And, astonished at Carter's wingshooting accuracy, they have named him "Long Rifle." Rested and renewed, Carter is home.
In memory of Carter Kane Mullen, truly a man for all seasons.
1950 - 2011
Written by Robert A. Mullen - January 2012
This was such a beautiful piece written by my father,
I just had to share it with you.