It’s funny how odd little things can trigger memories of things past. We were sitting at a park yesterday enjoying the sunshine and in the park you could hear the traffic off in the distance on 283. There were also occasional gun shots at the nearby shooting range. Both of these things along with being outside really had me thinking of growing up, going to Hazleton with my dad or my grandparents to go to the mountains. In the evenings at the campfire, especially or during the day if the wind was calm you’d hear the steady sounds of traffic, especially trucks on I 81 which was elevated above the valley.
That being an outdoor club meant you could hear gun shots at any time, and you did hear them randomly and pretty steady late summer into deer season as people were practicing. I did my share of shooting too, obviously with other people making sure it was safe (No one was out beyond the target or that sort of thing) because of my vision. That was my happy place growing up. My vision didn’t matter there, I was no different from anyone else.