Maybell Restaurant

It is Thursday, October 22, 1998 and we arrive at the Maybell Restaurant for breakfast after the morning hunt. I am buying this morning to thank Michael for helping me harvest my deer. The restaurant is a favorite with hunters visiting Maybell. Well, for one it is the only place to eat for miles in any direction. From the moment you set foot in the door, you know this is a hunter’s diner. Trophy mounts of deer, elk, antelope and even a full sized cougar adorn the walls. The scene is set for tired hunters coming in from the morning hunt.

We order a breakfast sure to fill our growling bellies and wait for delivery. The tables and booths fill with men in orange. One table in particular caught my eye. There were five men wearing much more than the minimum requirement for orange in the Northwest Colorado hunting grounds. Their table glowed. Three of the men were rather plain looking with features that attracted no attention. One man was rather robust with a full black beard with just a touch of gray. The other man had a face of knowledge and wear. He looked like the leader of this band of hunters. He wore a Ruger Blackhawk in a well-worn holster at his side. He seemed rather mater-of-factly in his mannerisms.

Also at their table was a young boy I would guess to be eleven or twelve years old. He too was sporting every bit of hunter orange he owned. This boy was the object of my attention. I watched as his thirsty eyes scanned the table with his full attention. His hungry ears gobbled up every story the elderly hunters told. I imagined he was with his father and his father and a couple of his uncles on their annual hunting trip. They were expounded tales of hunts gone by in years transcending lifetimes. The young lad was taking as much as he could into his memory., savoring every moment.

I imagined this lad was learning the ways of the wild. He was probably learning to track deer and elk, determining the different types of animal tracks and perhaps even being taught how to call big game into him. He was also learning camping and survival skills and the value of family and camaraderie.

I felt a little saddened that I missed opportunities such as his when I was young. I also imagined my own sons, Neil and Sam and even my daughters in a few years taking his place, listening to the tales of my hunting buddies at the breakfast table. I thought, these are those very special moments in time that are what memories are made of. Times short and sweet and maybe unnoticed by those at the table. To the five older diners it may have been just another breakfast at a cafe in Maybell, Colorado. But for the young boy soaking it all in, it will be a life long memory of a time long ago.


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