Grandfather's Pocket Watch Baby Onesie

My grandfather Phillippi's pocket watch. As the story goes my grandfather could not wear a wrist watch. Each time he wore a wrist watch it would run for a short period of time and then stop. They wouldn't last long enough for the spring to wind down.

Leaning against a tree, foot sore from endless walking through fields and fence rows, I rest, a shotgun cradled loosely in my arms. I've paused in a woodlot on the far side of my grandparent's farm. Dad is 40 yards to my left working his way through the timber with our dog. The air is cold, but the sun warms my face. It is quiet. I could take a nap right here. My mind begins to drift but something brings me back. Peeping and cooing noises slowly work into my consciousness along with the tick and scrape of leaves on the ground. The chaos of fall leaves, tree trunks and buck brush gives way to an orderly line of quail marching through the undercover in single file - bobbing their heads as they go. Less than 20 feet away the squad of...