Time flies by and the world changes. Some for the better, others, maybe not so much. Technology feeds upon itself and increases at a dizzying rate. I’ve managed to keep up enough to function in today’s world and have a cellphone which I can actually text pictures with.

That is if it isn’t misplaced!

The number of apps available for free TV and other uses is complicated though younger folks, sometimes less than 10 years of age, have no problem comprehending and profiting thereby.

I must be a dinosaur in their eyes. Cell phones! In my youth we shared a party phone line. You had to wait until someone hung up to make your call. Some of the older Italian ladies on the line were not averse to listening in to your conversation. I tried to extract revenge by listening to theirs but found it impossible, a few minutes of their small talk had me almost screaming, so I’d very carefully replaced the phone back in its cradle to avoid that loud, telltale click.

All of junior high and the first year of high school in town Bradford students walked. The high school was exactly 1 mile. Junior high a quarter of a mile less. Like the silly boys we were, on our way any Lucky Strikes cigarette pack discovered lying on the street meant the first boy of our group to stomp on it got to punch the others in the shoulder. Believe me, we knew where every pack was and eyes were constantly scanning for a new discard. A couple hard punches in the shoulder improved your eyesight and memory amazingly.

Those were the days of plenty, before corporations began to systematically rob us on pricing. Candy bars were a nickel and huge compared to those of today. Mallow cups sat on a coupon worth from a nickel to $1.00. For a dollars total of a dollar, you received a free candy. Yes! Reese’s were at least four times the diameter and thicker than today’s and candy bars of all types heavier and longer. Most cost 5 cents. There’s a quick study in inflation for you. Sure, wages were far lower but your money had equal or greater purchasing power.

Hunting was straight forward back then. One of the biggest challenges was obtaining a rifle and ammo. Then you simply dress as warm as possible in the clothing available to you. There was no fluorescent orange requirement though many dressed in a traditional Woolrich red and black or red jacket. Boot technology was basic; leather boots or Northern rubber ones. Leather boots have to be greased or treated with silicone to remain waterproof. I felt the most effective treatment was mink oil. Smear the boot with it, then heat with a hair dryer until it absorbed into the leather.

It was a good idea to leave your boots outside, avoiding wearing them until you left camp. Cold on the outside prevented snow from immediately melting on them, keeping the pores closed. They were chilly to put on at first, but walking soon warmed your feet up, your boots remaining waterproof.

My dad, a bit tight with the pocket book, felt I was young and tough. Thereby he didn’t feel obligated to buy me hunting clothes. Cheap boots, those green upper, yellow laced, yellow soled ones afforded no warmth whatsoever if standing. You better be by a fire or walking to prevent frostbite. But they were cheap, $3 at the time. Cotton long johns over blue jeans and whatever sweaters and coats Mom could wrap me in was the extent of my hunting garb. She always looked anxious when I left and surprised when I returned. Perhaps, she feared Dad was trying to get rid of me.

Now, I wasn’t not complaining at the time, desperate simply to go hunting and the additional benefit of not knowing how underdressed I was, no doubt helped me keep my cherry, slightly frosty, positive attitude. In fairness, Dad was just as poorly attired.

In an hour our jeans would be frozen to the knees, fingers clad in those cheap cotton, brown gloves, stiff with cold, our cheeks bright red. One particularly bitter day it was zero degrees. After a morning’s hunt near Bingham even Dad felt it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go to camp for lunch to escape the vicious cold, forsaking our usual wood fire in the forest. When the VW pulled into camp, their heaters were practically nonexistent as well, grandfather heard the car and walked out on the porch to welcome us in. I clambered out of the VW, jeans froze solid and covered in snow, my gloves stiff, wearing a second-hand jacket with a tattered stocking cap perched on my head, a look of alarm came over his face.

Fixing my dad with a stern look, his eyes flashing, he exclaimed heatedly; “My God man! You’re trying to freeze that boy to death!”

My father grinned nervously and told grandad I was fine, just hungry. I think granddad wanted to say a little more, but controlled himself. We enjoyed a great lunch and dried out my clothing.

The next week granddad presented me with a new coat, wool pants and better boots. To this day I’ve always harbored the suspicion that may have been the reason my frugal dad took me to camp!