The deer forage on our land, taking advantage of a virtual smorgasbord of fresh feed at their disposal. My husband enjoys hunting the deer that feed on our fields and looks forward to it all year long. He hunts turkey and deer with both crossbow and gun.
He barely gets time to pursue his hobby, but just now during bow season, after all the crops are harvested and before the time change, he went out at night when he was able, after milking for about an hour.
Since the time change, occasionally he goes out for a bit in the morning only, just after milking and before breakfast. It isn’t long, but he totally enjoys his downtime in the woods. It relaxes him. The mornings he’s able to get out, I had expectantly looked up as he came through the door. He didn’t have to say anything, I could see it register in his face. One day coming home he said, “I saw a red cardinal, two blue jays and a squirrel. A chipmunk in the tree above me kicked dirt on top of my head.”
Mentioning that to my sister, she came back with, “Oh, that’s nothing. One day he (meaning her husband) had an owl perch on top of his head!”
So the other day when I heard my husband’s truck come in, I steeled myself for the typical outcome. Looking up at him as he walked in the door I realized this day was different! His blue eyes were shining, his whole face alight.
“I hit a nice buck, Kay. Can you help me find it in a few hours?”
My heart sunk. In my head, I had my day all planned. My list was forming. It so did not include a trek in the woods. Shamefully, I admit it, I whined, “Do I have to?”
“Two pair of eyes are better than one.”
A few hours later, I was pulling on my barn boots, jeans and a light jacket. As we headed out, I talked to myself, “Would you just help him with this? Go and enjoy it!” (I listened to myself.) We headed out to the woods. It is amazing out there, earthy and solid and fresh and alive! No wonder he loves it so much. He showed me exactly where the buck came in, where it was when he hit it, what it did. He found the feather end of the arrow. It was snapped in half. The buck had run off, the broad head had penetrated. No blood! Not a drop.
We separated. He took the hill, I stayed on lower land. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Where was this buck? I walked through prickly briars, thorny blackberry brush and dry weeds up to my armpits, got scratched in the face by low-hanging brush and was bombarded by lady bugs.
I followed deer trails that looked like highways. We looked along the spring-fed creek winding at the edge of our woods. Nothing. Gingerly picking my way farther, I stopped, looked. Cocking my head to one side, I listened intently. Perhaps if the buck was still alive it would be thrashing around. That thought made me cringe.
All through our search I was silently praying, “Father, You know where this buck is. Could You please show us?”
We were looking for a good long time when finally my husband motioned, a signal for me to come. He was giving up. I started making my way over to him when the notion crossed my mind to glance over my right shoulder. (The Lord?) There, a low hanging apple tree grew.
I stopped. Thoughts zipped through my head quick as lightning: “Wait. What? Wait. What is that under those low branches?” I peered intently, eyes wide. “Something white. It looks like a part of a silage bag. Our silage bag wouldn’t be out here. Wait! That’s white fur. That’s a nose. That’s a head. There’s horns on that head! That’s a buck! That’s. The. Buck!” My heart started hammering in my chest.
Because he had kept reminding me to look quietly, I whispered loudly to my husband, “Come over here,” all the while pointing frantically. He bounced over, almost literally running. Smiling with his whole face, he hugged me and let out a whoosh of breath he didn’t know he was holding, fist pumped and then hugged me again. As he knelt down and proceeded to gut the deer he discovered the broad head was lodged inside the heart muscle. Fantastic shot! The buck did not suffer. I was thankful for that.
We hauled it through the woods to our waiting truck in the lane, he taking one side of the horns, me the other. We’d stop every now and then to catch our breath, hauling it 10 miles. No, really, it was about 75 yards, give or take, but it felt like 10 miles! Measuring the nine-point buck at the truck, he discovered it had a 19-inch spread. Later, we found it dressed out at approximately 185 pounds.
That night as I reflected back I mused, did I sign up for this when I said “I do!” those many years ago? Trudge through berry brush, weeds and thistle, and then drag a buck through the woods? Nope, but do you know what? I’m so glad I did it! It was so much fun, helping him out there in the woods. For sure, it trumped any old to-do list I had for that day!
(“God said, ‘It is not good for the Man to be alone. I’ll make him a helper, a companion.’” Genesis 2:18, The Message Bible)
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