Joe Parry

Joe Parry

Just call me Joe. I've been writing for 30 years and doing my best to touch the hearts of my readers. I was born in Greensburg, PA, 68 years ago and blessed with a wonderful family where I learned the importance of respect to all things great and small.

I've hung up my hunting guns, but I can still be seen wandering the autumn woods. These little stories are a lifelong dream. Some money would be nice, but I'll be just as happy sharing my stories and my aging predatory heart. If you like these stories, you can check out my book "Of A Predatory Heart" available online or your local bookstore can order it. If you are around Wellsboro Pennsylvania, my local bookstore From My Shelf Books in Wellsboro always has it in stock. Also available on Amazon in Kindle format, because you might be using one of those new electronic gizmos...
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  • A Diamond for Jessica
    Few things on the Great Spirit’s planet earth match the beauty of a daughter.
  • A Hunter’s Rainbow
    This spring gobbler season found this old hunter atop one of the celebrated Endless Mountains of Tioga County, on an old favorite spot I refer to as Hickory Ridge.
  • A Just Reward
    For whatever the reason, getting old and after suffering his first of some five heart attacks, old Joe at 54 lived a rather inactive, drab life. To be honest as he always was, he was very fearful of having another bout with his ticker
  • A Lesson in Time
    As life consumes its allotted time, I find myself wanting very badly, things that are old, a clinging perhaps, to those yesterdays we may never again visit
  • A Rising Son
    Perhaps you dream of someday taking a trophy white-tailed buck? Many of us do. Others, however, may dream of yet another blessing: of someday having a hunting partner in the form of a child, a son or daughter?
  • Short Story: Beyond the Dread Remorse
    There is a painfully obvious impulsive nature about the hunting man. At least I speak on behalf of myself and many acquaintances
  • Short Story: Birth of a Friendship
    Only a dyed-in-the-wool hunter knows of the bond that can form between two members of the hunting fraternity. Love of brethren some call it.
  • Short Story: Butch and the Kitchen Buck
    This piece is true to the last period, the last dotted "i," the last cross of the "t." It is about my old friend, Clyde "Butch" Murray.
  • Short Story: Circles of Life
    In all my studies of the Native Americans of this country, the one belief that has seemed to me, most profound, is the power of circles.
  • Short Story: De Agony of De Feet
    Like many of you in our sacred hunting fraternity, I often have to deem myself totally undesirable to the real boss of the household if I wish to go hunting.
  • Short Story: Hunters Are Made from a Hole in a Can
    "Dear Santa: I hope you are fine. I'm writing this letter to let you know what my little sister and I would like for Christmas…"
  • Short Story: Last Grouse for Joey's Hero
    Those things your mentor or children accomplish in life seem so much more important than your own accomplishments. At least it was in this storybook hunt.
  • Short Story: Mr. Mediocrity's Magic Mountains
    "Joey, average means you're the best of the worst and the worst of the best," my father always told me.
  • Nahani: Beyond the Hunger Moon
    The hunting seasons were long over. The world around his modest mountain home seemed as empty as his thrice-damaged hunter's heart. He needed rejuvenation.
  • Short Story: Of the Wolf
    I am cold. My bone marrow feels the pain of a gentle, but knifing morning breeze that followed me to the chasm where I now sit.
  • Short Story: Reign Over Sugar Run
    As I stood over the deer in this piece, feeling that ever-familiar remorse, that heaviness in the heart, I thought of this from Desiderata...
  • Short Story: Season of the King
    A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh...
  • Short Story: Shades of Gray
    This story was very hard write. I made even more mistakes than admitted to here, these are quite enough to illustrate what "not" to do to a hunting son.
  • Short Story: Song of the Little Gray Bear
    There's something almost addictive about a breeze rustling the leaves of the gray birch, the smell on the wind that defies description, and the silent "call" that seems to always come from yonder mountain.
  • Short Story: Starting with Number 303
    This story is about one Buck Budd and myself, Buck being one of this world's greatest human beings, ever. Cancer took him far too soon.
  • Short Story: The Blind Side of the King
    This is a story about the second most magnificent whitetailed buck I ever encountered. I fell in love with this buck, later called "The King,"
  • Short Story: The Flatlanders
    If you relocate anywhere west of the Rockies, "proving" yourself to a cowboy takes about the same amount of time as obtaining a Bachelor's Degree—four years!
  • Short Story: The King of Hearts
    He sat in the autumn woods, in the warmth of the sun, but with an empty heart, because he sat alone.
  • Short Story: Within Me Forever
    This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for what I have—even if it is only turkey TV dinner— and where I have traveled in the woods and wilds.
  • Short Story: Roadkills and White-lies
    Nothing like walking the autumn woods, and hunting with a friend, even though that friend is Big Bill,
  • Short Story: Something About a Gun
    It was William Shakespeare, I believe, who said. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." I doubt, however, that he was a hunter.
  • Poem: An Old Believer
    A young lad came up to me and said, "My Mom, over there says you're an outdoor writer. She said for me to ask you whether you believe in Santa
  • Short Story: Of a Predatory Heart
    A Hunter of forty-plus years sits; the smoke from a meditative pipe curls like a bland wreath about his graying head. He is in ever-deepening thought
  • Short Story: On War and Whitetails
    Dad was but 22-years old when that letter beckoned him with strange words written only "between" the lines: "Go to this strange land and fight for your country."
  • Short Story: A Requiem by Peacemaker
    After more than fifty years of living, I've never been able to make any sense of death, or come to any certain terms with it.
  • Tip's Last Bunny
    I've always leaned toward the blue-collar side of life. I even prefer those dogs that come in a plain, brown wrapper and I do love dogs...
  • An Autumn Heart
    Don't give up on those things in life you love to do, but, at the same time, don't tackle the "mountain" too soon.
  • Short Story: One Shot, Thirty-aught
    The people's names in this story have been changed – to prevent my being murdered. The story is real, as are the events, circumstances, and general locales.
  • A Hunter's Love Story
    My love of hunting began in 1951 but began to peak just after June of '72. And, for the record, after one simple, innocent, somewhat noncommittal kiss.
  • One Man's Fox
    As a youngster of the 50s, one had precious little time for recreation. There was recreation alright, but what we considered fun, may by today's standards, be labeled "work."
  • Broken Silence
    This is the story of a young man who captured my heart in 1975, the year of his birth. And he hasn't let go of it yet...
  • Short Story: To Cry for Waxwings
    A hunter's heart is almost always an understanding heart. Especially when it comes to an animal dying. I don't understand death without purpose and, even though I always question it.
  • Friends: The Old Timer
    Friends are one of life's greatest gifts, and yes, greatest pleasures, in that relationships often provide us with many priceless times spent together.
  • Short Story: A War Baby Doubles
    I'm a great believer in the old, profound adage, "War babies had it tough in the post-war times." Even though I did make it up...
  • Short Story: A Perfectly Pathetic Predator
    How can you even try to justify $36.71 a pound for venison? But you can't buy venison. It must be priceless, right?
  • Short Story: Song of the Sparrow
    Many veterans of war, from the 19th-century until the current Iraq war, come home lacking the desire to ever kill again, if just for a while or for a lifetime.
  • Writing: Through a Hunter's Window
    I sit here in my office, more often than not, my indoor sanctuary. A place where feelings and memories come easily, but words come hard.
  • Poem: Babbling Tonic
    Fishing can be a great way to supplement the kitchen table, but it's about so much more...
  • Short Story: The Royal Roachman
    Give a man a fish and he eats for a day, but reading about Big Bill learning will give you laughs for a lifetime.
  • Dreaming the Eagle—the Japanese Exchange Student
    This is the story of a young Japanese boy, Kunihiro Hattori—alias Kenny—who came to America as an exchange student and was befriended by my son Justin.

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