air hollow, working north, a feely morning
...where she’d also been sampling my turnips the night before. Besides, it was a feelly morning — air hollow; woodpeckers hammering away, and the sun squinting sleepily through that ashey haze of Injin Summer, that makes boys skip school, and the puttering wind that was working north, and fluttering the red and brown and yellow leaves, also carried a dozen thin fall smells from ripe-and-ready things in the river bottom, that just made Gus’ nostrils stick right out.
Almon Henry Gardiner (1878-1945) ?
turns up in google book search, in this journal and in another (called Outing); colorful, energetic writing... will leave it at that.
a brief entry on Hunter–Trader–Trapper at wikipedia : link
starts thus —
Speaking, specially, of deer hunting, and in general, of life, and based on my thirty falls of hunting and fifty falls of living, I’ll say that the thoughts aforehand, or brain pictures of some “good-time” to come, almost always breeds more pulsing little thrills, round a deer hunter’s heart at least, than the real pulling-off of said pre-planned event.
And all of this philosophizing brings me to the regretful knowledge that I didn’t half appreciate the value of that fiery imagination, in my hunting partner Gus Moore, till lately — since deer as got as scarce as cotton socks.