Gary R. Akin

It’s a week before the Opener and I just got the call

from a fellow I hadn’t heard from since late last fall.

I chuckle to myself as I wait for his ‘line’.

Will he stammer and stutter or be up front this time?

The last time I saw him, was ten months ago,

we had a buck hangin’ and beer had started to flow.

It was a grand evening, it was a great celebration,

and a ‘Promise’ was made, was it my imagination?

Gary, your camp is the best, I hope you’ll have me back.

When do you cut the wood?  I’ll help you split it and stack.

This scene plays itself out, each year without fail,

‘Promises’ made with a gut full of ale.

And each year I tell him, I skid the logs in by May.

With two or three guys here, we’d get it done in a day.

So give me a call then, you can meet me up here,

and when the work’s done, we’ll have a cold beer.

But each year I find myself working alone.

The guy with the ‘Promise’ must not have a phone.

I can’t get it done in a day, it takes four or five.

As I work I will wonder,… is he still alive?

But when the first frost comes, and leaves change their hue.

I get my first phone call from ‘you know who’.

“Gary,… how ya doin’,… remember me?”

“Hey, I’d like to come up, where can I find the key?”

Well you can’t come up now, not to hunt on my land.

The first watch is reserved for Uncle Don and the ‘Old Man’.

But come on up later and we’ll chase some deer

and throw a few darts and tip  back a beer.

And you know that you’re welcome up here every year,

‘cause the camp’s never cleaner than when you leave here.

But should I start laughing,… well I just heard a joke,…

It was the ‘Promise’ you made when you just spoke!

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