It’s been a while since I’ve written. Lots of things have happened. I’ll try to keep it brief…but…well…I’ll go
ahead and apologize, this might be long.
I’ll keep it simple, no salad, no soup, just meat and potatoes.
…
I moved into a FEMA trailer so we could renovate the check
station. The war on mice began. So far death toll is 3, sleepless nights
2. I’ve discovered that Hooker shooting
hogs out our bathroom window might not wake me up…but mice pitter pattering
around my kitchen (or ON MY PILLOW) will.
Figure that one out. I used glue
traps for the first time. After those
two were used…I promptly switched back to snap traps. So far, I’ve only managed to catch one mouse
and Randy (HA! He stepped on it one day
during the hunt), but I have hopes that either the mice know this trailer is
certain death for them, or that the remaining snap traps will do their duty.
Bow season opened.
I drove all over the state in one weekend: dancing the night
away in Athens on Friday, working on Ocmulgee on Saturday, and spending time
with the beautiful family in Albany on Sunday.
We got a call about a road-kill bear in the middle of the
night, I picked him up the next morning and hearse’d it up to Athens for
Chamberlain’s necropsy class. The vet
running that particular lab opted not to necropsy the bear (apparently, dead
bears are stinky), and insisted we take it to the vet school. We then piled five people and a bear into my two-door,
Chevy half-ton (I’ll let you figure out the seating arrangements) drove across
campus, and necropsied that bear for three hours. It.was.cool.
We out-lasted most of the vet students (it was cute to see them run away
with their white coats over their noses), and collected all manner of samples…and
jawbones…and claws…and then dispatched of the rest. Rule number one of dealing with dead stuff
(Yes, this is one of Hooker’s bear camp rules): if you’re going to puke, puke
in the bait bucket. Don’t ask, just do
it.
Scott and Maggie got married in Jax the next weekend. It was beautiful. I love her and cannot wait to see them both at
the next family gathering (hey, family who reads this…let’s not make it so long
in between, okay?). I also found out my
outlaws read my blog. It made my
weekend! It is so encouraging to hear
that you enjoy reading about my adventures and misadventures. It brings me joy to relay them to you, even
though I cannot do so in person.
Rifle season opened.
Ocmulgee had their first check-in hunt of the season last
weekend (Thursday-Saturday). We cooked
lunches out of my single wide and stuffed four DNR guys and myself in there
around the hot coffee pot in the morning (PS, Daddy, thanks for teaching me how
to make coffee with love. It was much
appreciated by all.). We started
cracking jokes as soon as the sun came up and didn’t quit until long after it
went down. They called me “one of the
guys.” That made my week!
[Explanation: While to some women, it might be a slight to
be called just one of the guys, those of us in male-dominated fields relish
it. It is tough to be a woman in a field
where the men are used to talking about us without us hearing. It is tough to be treated equally in a field
where women aren’t always equal, and certainly haven’t even had a presence in
the past. It is tough to, well, be as
rough and tough as they are, sometimes.
But we have two options: be porcelain-skinned like they expect, easily
offended by off-color remarks, and squeamish about dirt…OR hit them right back
with the pranks, jokes, spiderwebs, and slaps on the back. I have found that to relax and revel in life
with them is far more productive, meaningful, and fun in the long run. Besides, as Randy says, “they don’t pay us
enough for us to be miserable.” We have
to have fun somehow.]
I killed my first deer.
Yes, you read that correctly. I
shot a deer. The girl who, in high
school, was skeptical of all things camouflage, got fresh deer blood spread on her
face last night (it’s a tradition, don’t knock it. Just, don’t.). I owe a big thank you to Randy: he gave me
good instruction and let me use his land.
Those of you who are hunters know how much work goes into food plots and
deer management, so you know how much of a gift that is to me. For those of you who don’t know much about deer
things…well…it’s close to letting someone in front of you at a huge shopping
sale.
I expect you hunters will want details (Anti-hunters, the
paragraph below is the one you skip over.
If you have questions or concerns about deer hunting, PLEASE don’t
hesitate to ask me. I will answer.).
We were in a stand looking at a food plot about 200yds deep,
and probably about that wide. The stand
was in the back-middle. We got in it by
about 5:30pm, and within five minutes saw our first doe-fawn pair, followed by
a spike and a three pointer (it’s okay, he’ll grow into it…we hope). They milled around and took the back exit out
to another rectangular food plot (we had sat in that one a couple days before…upwind
of ALL THE DEER…oops). The doe-fawn pair
came back, alerting us of more deer…another doe-fawn pair. To our far right, there was a 4pointer, but
no clear shot because of tree limbs. He
meandered off. We decided it would be
okay to take one of the does (about 100yds off), so we began the slo-mo process
of moving the gun, sandbag, etc into a better position. As soon as we got that settled…out pop two
fawn-less does on the far right. One
meandered out of range and the other meandered into range. SO we began the slo-mo process of moving
everything to the opposite side of the stand…I pulled the safety, didn’t flip out…and
double-lunged her at 60 yards. She mule
kicked, ran another 60 yards into the trees, and dropped. (I’m SO thankful it was a clean shot and a
quick death. That has always and will
always be my biggest concern about my hunting experiences.) We tracked her (more for experience than
need, we knew where she went) and then hauled her out. It was pretty excellent. Thankfully, my adrenaline dump waited until
AFTER I pulled the trigger and not before.
I’ve heard buck fever is intense, but apparently I was pretty cool.
Yes, the blood painting did happen. And you know what? I liked it.
In fact, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. To non-hunters, I guess that sounds
disgusting. But it’s like an initiation,
a passage from the outside, in. You’re
marked for life, forever in the fraternity of those who have killed their own
dinner. I wore that paint proudly last
night, and it’s something I’ll never forget.
…
That was a big update.
Simple, straightforward, not one of my more fanciful posts. But sometimes, the most joy, the most peace, comes
from the little things, the quiet days passing, the coworker mischief, the
habituated activities, the comfort of things familiar.
And, of course, always trying something new, like hunting
for your meat, and growing your own potatoes.
