Saturday is for sport and orange is the sport color of the season in Minnesota.
Many years of my life were devoted to being cook, bottle washer, and bed warmer for the loving husband as he patiently stalked the elusive white tail deer. Our children have grown old enough to now care for themselves on hunting trips affording me a new freedom on hunting weekends. My reward for care giving during their tender years is to finally, in my old age, learn the fine art of climbing into a tree to precariously perch on a seat barely large enough to support my mature back side so hours can be spent hoping to spot a beautiful brown eyed beastie before my feet freeze to uselessness!
It all sounds rather gruesome but there's something about hunting that draws me. Whether it's the silence in the woods which magnifies even the smallest chipmunk's walk to monstrous proportions or having all forms of wildlife come close enough to see "the whites of their eyes", the weekend alone in a cold tree has its benefits. Maybe, just maybe, the attraction is the lack of cell phone and complete peace and separation from the daily grind.
As to the deer . . . they're safe. The pictured target was mine. The two shots were mine. My husband was thrilled when he saw the bull's eye and the first ring shots. "Wow, look at that!" The problem? That wasn't the target I was aiming for. I missed the one I was aiming for by a foot. I'd say my goal right now is to hit the broad side of a barn. Once I accomplish that, we'll narrow it down to a smaller area. Until then the deer have nothing to fear from me!