Father Tom - A Story By Bob Fringer

About 10 years ago or so, our church requested a new priest to serve as the leader of its congregation. In a move that was new to our congregation, the new priest was a female and married to a retired priest. Many in the congregation commented that our church was getting two priests for the price of one. While this was not the exact situation, “Father Tom" quickly melted into our church as though he had been there forever. Everyone loved him for his zest for life and his interest in everything that went on around him.

Father Tom wanted to know what everyone in the congregation did and how they did it. He rode harvesting machines with the farmers, visited cotton processing operations and went to the tobacco auctions. He just wanted to know a little about everything.

One day Tom asked me to take him quail hunting. Now Tom was not a hunter and he was at an age where he should not be walking through an area which had been recently logged for timber. Old stump holes, ruts left by the logging equipment, numerous vines, branches and other debris made walking difficult. Unfortunately, that's where the quail are found. I agreed to take him but honestly hoped that he would forget about the idea.

He did not forget and persisted until one day I agreed to take him on a short hunt. I thought about the various places where Warner Perry and I had hunted that year in hopes that I could remember a location where walking would be easy and there was a chance of finding a covey of quail. I wasn't particularly interested in killing a quail as much as I wanted Tom to see how a hunting dog handled a covey of birds. I finally remembered a place adjacent to a harvested soybean field. Warner and I had found two coveys of birds there earlier in the year. We had shot several birds out of each covey and had left the rest to reproduce the next year.

Several days later Tom met me at my house shortly after lunch. It had rained earlier in the week but we had a beautiful day to hunt. He was properly dressed as well as possible for a non-hunter. He wore an old pair of army boots, corduroy pants and a warm jacket. It was a nice day so we weren't burdened by a bunch of heavy clothes. We put my English Setter, Duffy, in the dog box and headed out to the field. When we arrived I explained that we would hunt along the edge of the soybean field and let Duffy range in the woods next to us. I had put a bell on Duffy's collar so that I could keep track of him. When I could not hear the bell I knew that he was pointing a covey of birds or had ranged out of my hearing.

We hadn't gone far around the field when Duffy's bell stopped ringing. Sure enough, we could see Duffy locked up in a classic point. It was a beautiful scene. He stood there as though he was frozen. Tom stayed on the edge of the field as I walked up the small path where Duffy stood. As I stepped in front of Duffy one single bird exploded from under my foot and rocketed straight away from me. I, in my normal fashion, raised my gun, shot and promptly missed that bird. Oh well. At least Tom saw some beautiful dog work. I never claimed to be a good shot!

We continued around the field's edge while Duffy worked farther back in the woods. After about 10 minutes I could no longer hear Duffy's bell. I suggested that Tom remain on the edge of the field while I went to look for Duffy. After about 10 minutes of searching I found Duffy hunting along a strip of woods. He had gotten out of our hearing range. I called him back to me and walked out to the field.

As I entered the field I saw Tom trying to pull himself out of a ditch. Apparently, he had tried to walk back into the woods and had slipped into an old drainage ditch. I helped him to his feet and checked him over for any injuries. But he was fine. At that point we agreed that we should head back to the truck. We decided to walk straight back to the vehicle rather than walk all the way around the edge of the field. There was a low, wet spot in the middle of the bean field which we would have to walk around but the footing was fairly good with the exception of the soil being a bit muddy.

We moved along at a slow, steady pace. Tom would stop occasionally to rest and tell a short tale. The going was pretty easy if we kept moving. As we reached the area near the wet spot we began to sink a little more into the mud. Tom stopped to gain his breath and tell another short tale. As he stood there in the mud his feet began to slowly sink deeper and deeper. As I was looking at him he began to slowly tilt backwards. His arms began to flail awkwardly around in wild, erratic circles as he attempted to regain his balance.

Unfortunately, all his efforts were in vain because by now his feet were firmly held in place by the mud. It was only a matter of time before gravity took control and Tom fell backwards in the mud. He made a soft but muddy landing. I thanked God that he was not injured.

I helped Tom get back on his feet and then we continued our walk to the truck. We both laughed about the fall and decided that we had enough quail hunting for the day. We cleaned him up so that he could get in the truck and then drove back to my house. When we reached home we washed him up a bit more and put an old towel on his car seat so he wouldn't harm the car's interior.

As we were going through all the cleaning and washing processes, I thought of my Priest's reactions to our hunting expedition. I had put her loved one in harm's way and sent him home looking as though he had been mud wrestling. I certainly hoped that she practiced what she preached - forgiveness!


Bob Fringer - December 28th, 2004

Father tom went to meet his maker several years ago. He died in France while visiting his wife's daughter. His approach to life has continued to be an inspiration to me. I will always remember our quail hunt. He was a fine man and I miss his company.