I’ve been doing a lot of thinking of deer hunting lately..mostly in the reminiscent mode, back to “yesteryear”. Actually many years ago, my grade school years, when my father would allow me , include me, put up with me, (probably the put up thing more than the others) to accompany him on one of his frequent deer hunts.
As I’ve mentioned in earlier posts that my Dad was an avid fly fisherman but he had a special love for deer hunting. I’m not sure why he held it so close to him. Maybe it went back to his childhood on the family farm in Monroe, maybe it was the time of year, maybe it was the comradery with his hunting buddies..Not sure, never asked..
So I’m putting together some thoughts, I actually have been doing so very sporadically for a little while, now that it is the season, and my impression of “it”, the feel of “it”, the lasting significance of “it”, the it of “it”. Why, at this time of year, every year, “it” takes hold of me so firmly. I seemed to be warmed by the bosom of “it”.
Funny..because I’m not an active hunter any longer and haven’t been for many years..and bird hunting was always more enjoyable to me..AND…I am definitely not anti-hunting, just haven’t done it in a long while.
So in my next post I will be trying to explain what it was like to go “Deer Hunting With Dad”. The basic story is absolutely true..some of the comments that I attribute to my father and myself?..I think they are close but, I’m not sure , probably an interpretation of what I think was said some 50 years ago.