The Harvest Moon has passed, ushering into the midnight sky a new Hunter’s Moon to greet our annual fall hunting seasons.

Well, actually, bear and squirrel hunters entered the woods a month ago, though I must say I’m not sure how many of either remain amongst us. Interest in squirrel hunting has waned, and bear hunting has always in the modern day appealed to only a small fraternity.

When I was a kid growing up in South Deerfield, there were no bears. Now there are many, some occasionally pestering my old, more densely populated village. Times have changed.

When I was young, and less so into adulthood, I knew squirrel hunters. Not what I’d call serious hunters. Just a few diehards looking for an excuse to get out in the nut groves early and assess what was happening. These early-bird nimrods also welcomed the opportunity to fine-tune their shooting skills while getting a sneak peek at pre-rut deer sign.

Nowadays serious concerns about dangerous tick- and mosquito-borne illness have greatly complicated matters. Can’t say I recall any such worries when I was young. If they existed, I surely would have been aware. Nope. Never a word about ticks and Lyme disease, or mosquitos and triple E or West Nile virus.

The squirrel-hunting weapon of choice among old-timers I knew was the old Savage or Stevens 22/410 over-and-under. If memory serves me right, some of these handy little long guns had two triggers. Later models had one trigger with a barrel selector on the receiver. Seems to me both versions had manual, pull-back hammers, but I may be wrong on that.

The bottom, full-choke, .410-gauge barrel was typically loaded with No. 4 or 6 shot that fired tight, dense patterns for acrobatic, skittering, leaping targets. The top, .22-caliber barrel held an accurate, high-speed long-rifle cartridge for precision accuracy aimed at stationary targets standing tall and straight on their hind legs, clutching a nut at mouth level between their front feet.

Squirrel hunters would move into a nut grove as quietly and possible and settle in, giving their quarry a chance to forget about their presence. Then, once the squirrels got back into their normal, rollicking routine, opportunities for kill shots increased. Some hunters even used mouth calls as aids to stop their quarry or bring it closer.

I suspect the potential for conflict between squirrel and bear hunters, because shagbark hickory groves are popular among them. That said, I can’t recall ever learning of any ugly, confrontational incident.

Although I myself never was never a squirrel hunter, I have eaten sweet, tender squirrel meat. I’ve sampled halves separated along the backbone and sauteed with onions, peppers, garlic, and wild mushrooms in a large, preferably covered cast-iron skillet; and I’ve also eaten it parboiled and picked clean from the bones in delicious casseroles and meat-and-veggie pies.

I can’t help but wonder how many local families still have their grandmothers’ Yankee recipes? My guess is not many. Maybe some hilltowners still know recipes by heart. If not, I’m sure they could find some good ones in old, soiled cast-iron or wild-game cookbooks or by Googling it.

In colonial New England, squirrels were ubiquitous, destructive nuisances that harmed home, garden, and orchard. Eventually, bounties were offered for squirrel “scalps” – that is, pelts used for inner and outing clothing and various accoutrements. In those days, times were hard and wastefulness was sinful. So, not only were squirrels valued for their salubrious meat, but their pelts became warm stockings, hats and earmuffs, handy bags and pouches, and other useful everyday items.

Also of interest, it is said that, due to marksmanship skills honed by colonial squirrel hunters, Revolutionary snipers could outshoot the best of their better trained, better disciplined, and better armed Redcoat adversaries. Thus, those furry, mischievous pests that got into chimneys, attics, and partitions, harmed crops, and chattered loud warnings of a deer hunter’s presence in the woods helped the colonies win the Revolution.

Imagine that. Despite old Chuckles’ destructive ways around home and farm, he kept our early settlers fed, provided a source of supplemental income, and helped free them of their oppressive colonial yoke.