By Ron Spomer via sportingclassicsdaily.com
Dad wasn’t a hunter, but he was an enabler.
We were farm kids, mostly, third-generation Norwegian and Kraut and Bohemian and Dutch immigrants, but we put no hyphens in front of American. We were racing the Russians to space and Roger Maris was chasing Babe’s home run record and the British bad boys of rock and roll had a whole lotta shaking going on, but the biggest thrill in rural South Dakota was hunting. Pheasants in the corn, ducks in the sloughs, jackrabbits in the pastures and plowed ground. So we went hunting, every chance we got, without Dad . . .
Walther Philip Spomer worked. Everyone’s dad worked back then, and most moms. Six days a week, often seven. They’d all come through the Depression and took nothing for granted. Next to godliness and cleanliness, hard work was the greatest virtue. Life had to be wrestled from the black prairie earth, and it didn’t roll over easily. During his 82 years Dad grew the corn, raised the beef, butchered it, turned it into sausage, cooked it and served it at his small town cafe. He also managed to shingle every church in town …read more
Source:: Truth About Guns