AS WE BOUNCE onto the cornfield aboard the school bus, I’m reminded of the last time my dad and I rode in one of these together. Running school buses is our family business, and when I was a kid, I’d ride with him to drop off vehicles at drivers’ houses. Today, I can see he’s thinking the same thing as he smiles at me and points out the Blue Bird logo next to the driver—the same make as the ones he used to drive. But the old bus we’re on today is different.
For starters, all of the seats have been turned to face toward the middle aisle, so my dad and I—plus a handful of fellow hunters—sit facing one another like paratroopers about to leap into occupied territory. Behind the driver, a gun rack filled with 12-gauges is bolted to the floor. We’re also towing a mobile kennel loaded with Labrador retrievers.
The bus’s brakes squeak to a halt, giving way to the sound of squealing dogs. We disembark, loading our pockets from a crate of red shells on our way out