Deer season in the Berg family was always an important time of the year. Back in the mid-1940's, my dad, my uncle Don and others bought a good piece of land out in Gordon, WI and created the "WEMISSUM" deer camp, a place that was an important part of my life.
As a kid, I remember the excitement that coursed through our household as deer season approached. My dad and brothers fancied themselves as the great white hunters, I think, and back in those days, I thought they were, too. All that orange (or red) clothing came out of storage; the car trunk was packed with food, rifles, shotguns and booze. The end of the work week would finally approach and as soon as dinner was cleared from the table on Friday night, dad was out the door and on his way to the camp, not to be seen or heard from (by the women-folk) for the next 8 days, except for a possible hour or two on Thanksgiving.
It was an unspoken tradition that wives and children alike were not allowed at deer camp during deer season. The men needed their bonding time, not to mention time to come up with some pretty whopping stories to tell or leave untold. There was no phone at camp and the only way to get intouch with the men in an emergency was to call the Buckhorn Tavern in the Town of Gordon and leave a message.
During the week of deer season, our house was bustling to prepare Thanksgiving dinner. Grocery shopping, homemade breads and pies baking, and a polishing of the silver took place. Mom would work herself half to death to make the house gleam, which in itself was ridiculous, because back in those days, she was a stay-at-home mom with a Type A personality and finding a speck of dust in our house at anytime of the year was a more than rare occasion. Strangest thing about that was... there wasn't a room we weren't allowed to really live in. The kitchen and living room were often decked out with kids lounging around on the sofa or fixing a sandwich or snack, watching TV or listening to the stereo.
One deer season, in particular, stands out in my mind. I had turned 12 in October and the year was 1966. All the usual goings on of that week occurred, leading up to Thanksgiving. I had become the official silver polisher, along with chief table setter. I was taking Home Ec that year in school and table setting was one of those learning curve things. At any rate, I thought that table was probably the most beautiful table ever that year.
My dad and brothers were coming into town that afternoon and we were excited about it, because at that time, my brother Bill lived in Chicago and we didn't see him often enough. They walked in just as dinner was being set on the table and with them arrived a stranger to the rest of the family. His name was Ron Perik and he was my brother Bill's best friend and work buddy at Colley Elevators in Chicago.
Now, this stranger swooped in that day and made himself completely at home at our dinner table. For more than a couple hours, I don't think anyone else but Ron got a word in edgewise. He was so funny, so entertaining and beyond all of that, he was and is a really genuine, good person who quickly grew to be one of the family. My point is, though I meant to impress with my table setting skills that day, I learned quickly that there were more important things, like the friendships we gain and cherish.
There were other memorable deer seasons. Like the year my first husband, Fred, shot his first (legal) buck while hunting with my brothers. Man, did they ever scare the bejeebers out of Freddie that year! After hanging that deer in our garage to wait for it to bleed out, Freddie had to go to work and while he was gone, my dear, sweet brothers decided it would be fun to play a joke on him and roped me into the plot, as well, after considerable coaxing. Then, they set off on their mission; cutting the deer down and making off with it.
Now, you have to understand a bit of a hunter's passion and excitement when they've just scored their first (legal) buck. This deer had a nice, though not overly large, rack on it's head and more than enough venison to feed a family of four for the winter, which was more important to me back in the day.
I remember that day so clearly, it's like it just happened. Freddie got home from work in the early evening and the first thing he did was to go into the garage to check on his prize. Oh, how I wish my brother's had been there to see the look on Fred's face when he walked in the backdoor. Never had I seen such a shade of pale on a person's face as I did that night. He didn't even stop to say hello to me, but picked up the phone and called my brother, Barry, and was so close to tears as he told him that his deer had been stolen, that it surely would have broken my heart if I hadn't known better.
Of course, Barry, being one of the ultimate jokesters of his time, played right along with the ruse until he just couldn't let Freddie suffer any longer. What is now known as getting "punk'd" these days had been successful and Freddie finally learned that his deer was now being cut up and packaged in Bill Walton's garage. The crowning glory of it all was when my brothers presented Freddie with his deer rack, beautifully mounted on a plaque with an engraved piece beneath, declaring it his first "legal" buck.
If memory serves me, that rack still hangs on the wall at the deer camp. Today, sixty plus years after my dad, uncle and others first organized "WEMISSUM", my brother Bill is the last of the Berg family to still be a member. Ron Perik still travels up from Illinois each year for deer season and a few years ago, I broke tradition and actually visited the camp during that oh-so-sacred week of male bonding. I could almost hear that famous Tim Allen "Hooo Hooo" cry as I drove into camp that day, but was welcomed graciously by the men of "WEMISSUM" and enjoyed my own bonding time with my brother.
The number of members has dwindled over the years from upwards of 20 men to a handful at best now, but the memories are still as sweet. Happy hunting, brother... don't forget the Petri!
xxxJBDxxx
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