Labor Day Dove Tradition

The dog days of summer in south Georgia are approaching their terminus. The calendar says Sept. 4, but the warm sticky humidity of the morning air tells me that summer is reluctant to relinquish its grip. The dog days of August were sleepy and slow, but the days are getting noticeably shorter now. The corn stalks have long since browned in the field. The golden glory has faded from the sunflower petals, leaving behind a field full of droopy black seed heads. The whippoorwill’s nighttime song will soon fade out. The screeching bull bats will soon be silent at dusk. The purple summertime thunderheads have almost showered their last rain. The lightning bugs are soon to dance their last dance of summer. Summer has all but passed us by. Fall is coming. But even more than the changes leading up to the autumnal equinox, there is one event that more truly and definitively signifies the beginning of fall for me. A Labor Day tradition. The Patton Family Dove Shoot. 

The morning of the dove shoot always seems to dawn a bit cooler than all the previous summertime mornings. Whether the temperature is lower or not, I cannot say. But the day is so representative of a new season that I can’t help but think that the air is crisper than it was the day before. I step onto the front porch with my cup of coffee billowing wispy tendrils of steam. I take a deep breath. The rising orange sun is just beginning to chase a thick blanket of fog from the hay pasture. The cows graze silently in the stillness of the damp morning air. My spirits are soaring, and my anticipation is at an all-time high for the events of the day. 

Everyone who attends the Patton Dove Shoot has come to consider it a fixture on the calendar. I think for most folks who come, the Dove Shoot ranks near the top of the list of important holidays on the calendar. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter and the Dove Shoot. Something like that. It’s a sacred time. There is hardly a discussion of what everyone’s plans are for that weekend. My friends and family understand that Labor Day weekend is reserved for the trip to Baxley for the Dove Shoot.

The Dove Shoot is a special day. It’s far more than a few hours blasting away at little grey feathered fighter jets. It’s far more than retrievers and swiveling dove buckets. It’s far more than coolers full of drinks, shooting a limit and picking up spent shell casings. The Labor Day Dove Shoot is a blend of sights, smells, sounds, emotions and people who create a particular experience of fulfilled anticipation unique to all others. You can’t feel what you feel at the Dove Shoot anywhere else. 

Eric Thompson, the dad of one of my best friends, always said that making the journey to Baxley for the Dove Shoot was as good for his health as anything. He used to say that as soon as his wheels hit the driveway leading to the big oak tree, his blood pressure would immediately drop 10 points. I know what he means. It’s like time moves more slowly on opening day of dove season. There is an air of universal contentment among all. The grazing cattle, the gentle stirs of a pecan orchard, and the sways of the weeping willow hypnotize everyone into submission to a slower pace of life. The sense of contentment fills us as we swing on the bench swing under the old shade tree and sit in folding chairs in front of a big shop fan. The aroma of barbeque and baked beans draws us to the picnic tables under the tree’s droopy limbs. Scott Howard’s commentary of the Dawgs plays on the FM radio. Jokes and laughter run rampant as my buddy Tony shows up in his sleeveless camo shirt and cut-off jorts… Just like he does every year. These feelings of contentment are so predictable. You can count on them. For all our anticipation of the enjoyment of deep friendship we will experience at the Dove Shoot, the event has yet to fall short of our expectations. Mr. Eric was right; there is no better serum for what weighs heavy on a heart, mind and body than the Dove Shoot.

Noon approaches and everyone waits anxiously around the picnic tables, hoping someone will say those magic words… “Is everybody ready to eat?” My dad was originally the one to do the honors of calling to order the gathering before the great Labor Day feast, but in the last few years, I have taken on more of a role in organizing the event. Consequently, the privilege has become mine. There is something ceremonial about every part of this day, and without welcoming everyone, giving a quick safety talk about rules for the field, and praying for the food, the day would feel incomplete. 

“Hey everyone! I’m so glad y’all could come. I think Mama has barbeque over there, baked beans, coleslaw, Tony’s ribs, chocolate delight… Drinks and ice are in that cooler over there. Sit and eat anywhere you want; we have plenty of tables and chairs. Also, for those who go in the field early, remember to let the low birds go and only shoot if you can see sky behind the bird. Okay! Let’s pray and eat! Lord, thank You for our friends and all the families represented here. Thank you for fellowship around the table and in the field. Most of all, thank You Lord for the greatest of all Your gifts, Jesus Christ, and the work He has done on our behalf. Thank you for this food and please bless it so that we may be strengthened to do Your will. In Jesus name I pray, amen.” A resounding “Amen!” follows and the feast begins. 

Lunch concludes and everyone turns their attention toward the dove field. The young guys make a mad dash for the field immediately after lunch, fearing missing a chance at a single bird. The older men hang out under the shade tree for a few more hours, chuckling at the “young guns” for hurrying out into the field in 95-degree heat, all the while knowing that the birds won’t fly much until 5 o’clock anyway. Nonetheless, all the 20-something’s load up their dove buckets, shotguns, and water bottles and make the short drive to the field.

I always anticipate that first gunshot that rings out across the field in the heat of the September afternoon. It’s another ceremonial event of the day because it signifies the initiation of another fall hunting season. POW! The hollow staccato boom of a high brass dove load echoes across the field. The gavel of fall has fallen, declaring the dog days of summer complete. And although the heat of the day makes the air shimmer as you look across the dry sunflower field, the gunshot refreshes your spirit like a deep breath on a late October morning. The greatest season of the year has arrived.  

As the sun dips lower and lower in the sky, the birds flood more and more into the field. Gunshots rattle off in three-shot bursts and the smell of gunpowder fills the air. Whoops and hollers sound off across the field as the birds dive into the field over the tree lines surrounding the field. All is chaos. “Over you, Chandler!” someone yells. “Kyle! Kyle!” shouts someone else as another pair flies over. “Great shot, Abby!” we all cheer as we see her get her first dove ever. It’s the most relaxing kind of chaos you’ll ever experience.

The afternoon turns into evening and the rosy-cheeked shooters begin to file out of the field one by one. With their buckets full of spent shells and their 15 birds, all my buddies are dehydrated, sunburned and exhausted from sitting in the field since 2 o’clock. But everyone is smiling ear to ear with the satisfaction of another successful shoot. The post-shoot tailgate talk is as entertaining as the shooting itself. An excited buzz of laughter and storytelling fills the air. I stand back and listen to everyone recount the highlights from an exciting day in the field: “David didn’t miss today…” “Rick’s boys were wearing them out…” “I promise you Foster shot one at 100 yards today…” As we stand under a line of old live oaks next to the field, we re-live the most incredible moments of the day. Then someone says, “You know, I didn’t think it could get any better than last year.” Everyone nods and “Mm-hmm’s” in unison. Somehow, it always seems to get better. I’ve never had envious feelings of the previous year’s shoot. It just gets better and better every year.

Our memories and shared experiences in the dove field form the foundation of what makes the Dove Shoot truly special. The point of the Dove Shoot is not shooting doves. The point of the Dove Shoot is that we are all together. The Dove Shoot provides the context for a truly wonderful and unique shared experience, and shared experiences are what establish, strengthen and sustain all our relationships. The glorious thing about the Dove Shoot is that it’s a community venture. Everyone can participate. You don’t need specialized hunting skills or knowledge to have fun at the Dove Shoot. You don’t have to be a fantastic shot. The whole point is that you’re out there together, shouting out “Over you, Connor!” and “You’ve got this one, Abby!” while sharing a deep appreciation for the tradition and hunt. We love to shoot our limit, but what we love most about opening day is one another. We love the togetherness. We love the unity of pursuit. We love the shared experience. These are the things that bring us together. These are the things that form the foundation of a Labor Day Tradition.