This story is about a gun and a family. To understand the importance of the gun, you need to understand the importance of the family.
I set out quail hunting with David Lanier at Carr Farms in the plantation belt around his hometown of Albany, Georgia. He’s an affable guy with your average mid-50s paunch and a friendly clean-shaven face shaded by the brim of a blaze ball cap. The brush pants, frayed at the hems, bunched up at the buckled wingshooter boots scuffed and rough, his forest-green hunting shirt nicely ironed and the pouches of his vest swollen with gear (he always hunts with a camera).
No, I’m not talking about Bill Murray’s character in that annoying movie and no, I am not now playing for the other team. But I am thinking of a gentleman from the prairie: Mr. Bobwhite.