Opening Day

I am a hunter. I was not always. In my family I was the only girl with three brothers and the "boys" went off each fall and the "girls" - my mother and I - stayed home. I did not feel left out because in the absence of my father and brothers, we had a field day of our own. With no
5 o'clock dinner to prepare, we ate when and what we wanted. Grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup and a good book was the treat I got while they were away. On the weekends we took Fall Foliage rides over winding back roads and stopped for penny candy and ice cream. It was wonderful.

I grew up and married a non hunter. Every opening day I would call home and see who had bagged a buck and from time to time I would go get Mom and we would take a ride for old times sake. At the Thanksgiving table Daddy would give us a venison roast and some steaks for winter meals and share a camp story or two before he went back in to hunt some more.

But all seasons change and the season for me to stay home every November came to an end when my father died in 1999.

Without Henry, the prospect of hunting was grim. A dear friend knew that and saw a remedy. He took me elk hunting in the high Cascade mountains of Oregon and I learned the ropes of hunting camp and how to handle and shoot a gun. When we came back, my brother gave me a sweet, sweet rifle, and stood by while I sited it in. Passing muster, I was allowed into the truck, and off we went into the woods.

I could never take my father's place, but I could join the boys as they carried on the family tradition and then I could pass that tradition on to my own children. I was honored to do so.

Opening day dawned cold and bright that year. Three deer were hanging in the shed at dusk, none of them mine. But the next day I shot and killed an eight point buck. Boom/Flop it is called and the celebration, as I was taught what comes after the gun is fired, was a tribute to my father.

Yesterday was the first opening day since then that I did not spend in the woods with my brothers and now grown man children. At 58, with a knee that will not allow me to climb a tree stand or sit in the cold, wee hours of the morning, I woke on opening day at dawn and said a prayer for my brothers and sons and for all hunters and then donned my scrubs and headed out to my job as a nurse at our local hospital.

I am a hunter. In some ways I will always be a hunter whether I am out on opening day or not, much like I will always be a nurse, whether I am making my living as a nurse or not. As I sit at my computer thinking about hunting and tradition and recipes for the venison that will be shared with me, I realize that this November I find myself in an entirely different season. These last few weeks I have spent, not buying bacon and eggs, not cleaning my gun or target shooting, not gathering sleeping bags and camouflage gear but preparing for a season of life unlike any before this.

Yesterday was opening day for deer season. I missed it in body but not in spirit.

Today is another opening day. This November while my brothers cleared shooting lanes, I painted my late husband's office. This tiny room in my big old house has been a nursery and an office. My babies slept here and Dennis built his first computer here. Now it is mine. It is a soft yellow with a sea colored ceiling. The book case is painted a wonderful shade of orange. After a typo in a memo to my writing coach, this room was christened "The Quest House".

On the surface it looks nothing like hunting camp, but there are many similarities.
I am learning how to share my thoughts and experiences with others which takes practice just like shooting a buck takes practice. I am learning what to do with my words after I have them on paper just like I had to learn what to do with a deer once I had shot it. And I am opening my heart to the joys of sharing my writing just as I opened my heart to the joys of sharing the bunk house in hunting camp and a meal of venison that I had shot myself.

And so, as I sit at my computer in my newly painted writing/thinking/creating room I recognize this November day as Opening Day of The Quest House. Opening days are full of promise. Exciting. Invigorating. There is so much to look forward to when a new season opens, so much hope even in the midst of fear.

Thursday is Thanksgiving and as always, there will be much to be thankful for. This year I will add opening days to the list.