A Maine Lens – By Brock C. Littlefield

As I pursue the nerve wracking endeavor of making my work public, I have decided to write about Maine. My deep love for the state, lineage, and journey away and back after the service, might not be exhilarating for the people who already have experienced the richness that Maine has to offer; however, my experience of the Pine Tree State is something I wish to share. It is unique in the sense that I am a 7th generation Littlefield living on the same property as my forefathers. I live beside a house that was built in 1865 where my grandfather was born and still lives to this day. A house built on top of granite slabs with a history spanning 160 years. A property that has fostered generations of stories and livelihoods that I could never attend to in such a short forum. Nonetheless, I can share insight into my upbringing here and how my love for this place blossomed. 

A Hunter is Born

Being born in the late 90’s my love for the outdoors did not always triumph over the Gameboy color. A family legacy spanning a multitude of generations will eventually get a boy to look up from catching pokemon once in a while. Hunting was, and still is, something near and dear to my heart and has remained a family tradition alongside a Maine one. I remember learning firearm safety as a young boy, probably around the age of ten. My father methodically explained why a firearm should be treated with the utmost respect. Following the detailed lesson by demonstrating the power of bird shot on a five gallon bucket. Eventually, I attended that state requirement of “Hunters Safety” and began my hunting journey. It started with a turkey hunt. My grandfather and I rose early and got to the blind before dawn. We had turkey decoys and calls and when the sun came up we called in a tom with the iconic gobbler. The “gobble gobble gobble” is a sound that I am sure is familiar to many and if you happen to be in the minority on never using the shaker call, I highly recommend buying one to annoy your loved ones with . The same youth model 20 gauge my father taught me to use, earned me my first Turkey. I was hooked after that.

In 2008 I was selected for the Maine Moose Lottery and because the permit is a lottery, you are truly fortunate to have your name drawn. My own grandfather put in for 25 years before he saw his name drawn. I was around the age of 12 and needed to start getting serious about my marksmen, unlike the turkey who was about 10 yards away, I would need to upgrade to a rifle to hunt a moose. My father selected a .308 which I still love and care for dearly and we practiced and practiced with it. Getting out of the vehicle, loading the rifle, taking a knee to get a more stable firing position. Again and again we did this drill at card board targets until the day came for the big hunt.