Last night we were at my mom and dad’s house eating jambalaya. After dinner, my dad started telling my son Lucas stories of the hunting camp. He got into stories of Old Black Charlie, the best dog he ever had. Sitting on the hearth listening to him go, it occurred to me that I had better record it. This is a nice little vignette, but what’s so meaningful about it to me is that it shows what a good storyteller Paw is. You don’t hear that old West Feliciana accent as much these days. (Off screen, you can hear my mom’s voice a little bit; she’s on the couch doing a puzzle with Nora). I missed the best story: the time Old Black Charlie jumped up five bucks in one morning. Anyway, if you’ve read The Little Way Of Ruthie Leming, that’s how Paw looks and sounds.

Lucas is the kind of boy who would have been at his Pawpaw’s side every time he went into the woods, had he had the opportunity. Paw is too old and slow-moving now to go hunting, but at least Lucas has these stories. If we hadn’t moved down to Louisiana, moments like I recorded last night, and which I present to you above, really wouldn’t exist. What I’m telling you is that this short clip above is a grace.