In this episode, Respect for the Hunt . . .
As the first light of dawn softly painted the sky shades of orange, Ronnie (Ron) and Rodger, two brothers, left their houses. On his way out of town, Rodger stopped at Casey’s to get his morning drink while Ron grabbed a cup of coffee and quickly dictated a text.
“I’ll meet you at the gate.”
The arrival of deer hunting season stirred excitement in their hearts, filling them with a sense of purpose and connection to nature.
“My deep freeze is getting low; we must bag a big one this year.”
“Are you guys in the woods this morning? It looks pretty cold there.”
Ron’s response, "Perfect weather, if the snots not flowing, I’m not going!"–Not exactly something you’d find in a Carl Sandburg poem.
I chuckled, thinking . . . we have a comedian in the family.
“Do you guys have snow?”
“No, Snow.”
Yes, I understand the brevity of their response.
These two seasoned hunters, deeply connected to the wild, glide through the woods like shadows. Each step is deliberate, and their boots barely make a sound on the crisp, fallen leaves. The air is filled with the earthy scent of damp soil, creating a peaceful ambiance. Nature is gently interrupted by a curious squirrel's rustling and a bird's distant chirping.
Ronnie carries a well-used shotgun, a familiar weight in his hands. The younger Rodger, on the other hand, prefers his rifle. His eyes dart across the woods, searching for any sign of movement. Countless hours of practice had honed their skills, giving them a sense of confidence for the hunt.
As the sun rose, they paused to listen. This wasn’t just any hunt; it was a deep connection to something greater, a cherished tradition passed down through generations.
As they followed the fresh deer tracks into the woods, harvested corn fields opened around them, the light of dawn bathing the trees in a golden glow. The crisp cold air carried the faint scent of hickory, and their breaths puffed out in small clouds as they moved deliberately, their senses attuned to the rhythm of nature.
“Damn! It’s cold this morning.” Whispered Rodger.
“Did you forget your long underwear? I'm thinking that cold Pepsi from Casey's didn’t help.” Ron whispered back.
The tracks led them to a small clearing, where a majestic buck stood, its antlers gleaming like a crown. The animal was perfectly still, its robust frame a testament to the resilience of life in the wild. The men exchanged a glance—a moment of unspoken understanding.
Silently, Rodger raised his rifle, his hands steady. But just as he prepared to take the shot, something stirred within him–
Ron laughed, “Was that a fart, or did you sh*t your pants?”
They both broke up laughing; Rodger lowered his weapon.
The buck seemed to sense the “shift” in the air. It raised its head, locking eyes with them for a fleeting moment before bounding away into the woods, disappearing into the trees.
“Not today,” Rodger whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Ronnie, watching the decision unfold, nodded in silent agreement. “Not today,” he echoed.
“Damn! We missed that one.”
As they returned to the truck, the sun broke over the horizon, casting a warm, golden light on the path ahead. Ronnie clapped Rodger on the back. “Breakfast is on me,” he said with a grin. “And next time, I’m driving.”
Rodger laughed, the sound echoing through the woods. “Deal. But next time, let’s bring coffee.”
The rustling leaves on the trees seemed to hum around them, alive with promise and peace. They walked back, not as hunters who had failed but as brothers who had gained something far greater—a memory that would last a lifetime.
I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. I'll see you in the next episode.
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