by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy

Sam was out being a Man. Working his way through life by day; he was born in the wrong era. The first of six children, Sam was raised backwoods-style. He could have been a Pioneer. He and his brothers knew all about hiking, camping, fishing, and hunting.

It was a cold, almost snowy day in November when he picked up his deer hunting license, his rifle, his gear, and headed out. He was hungry for venison.

He set up quietly in the woods of Superior, Wisconsin. And waited. And waited. After a long enough time, and even longer, there was no deer to be had so he started the trek back to civilization.

In minutes that flashed by too quickly yet took too long to endure, a young bear wandered out of his den. He was too hungry to hibernate just yet, and Sam looked awfully tasty.

Being an experienced woodsman, Sam did what he could to scare the bear away. But the cub was young and had a mind of his own. He kept after Sam with a growing growl.

Bang! came the first shot. It got the bear in the shoulder blade. The bear was turning impatient.

Bang! the second shot caught him just above the left eye. It still wasn’t enough. Now the bear was just ornery.

Bang! the third and final shot choked the bear through his open mouth.

It fell, finally. Sam had conquered. With the help of other hunters in the area, he managed to drag it and strap it to the back of his car and make it home. A local reporter/photographer happened by, and turned around to get the story.

Sam made the paper. A butcher made the meat. A tanner made the skin. And Sam’s legacy lives on, its rug locked in the cedar chest; the story locked in our hearts.

And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!

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