A Childhood Memory: Deer Hunting with Daddy
Picture it... Williamsburg - 1989...
I was thirteen years old, I think. I had just taken my hunter's safety course, so this was my first year to legally go deer hunting with my dad. He was so excited - we spent days going through his hunting gear - me trying on his clothes - clothes that smelled like a mixture of nothing with a hint of him. Clothes that had been packed in his room since last deer season, so they smelled like home. (Well, at least until they were doused with deer lure to mask the smell of human.) None of his clothes fit me, as I stood five foot tall to his five-foot-nine-inches and he outweighed me by double, but he rolled this sleeve, tucked this pant leg, and eventually, I was donned in the outfit that would make me a fierce, deer-killing machine.
It was a bitter cold weekend. I think the high was in the single digits that weekend, but with my thermal underwear, wool socks, and multiple layers of clothes, Daddy assured me I would probably get hot sitting in the deer stand. (Lie- but I'm getting ahead of myself.)
The morning finally arrived. He excitedly woke me up, made me a thermos of hot cocoa, and packed a snack bag in preparation for our morning hunt while I got dressed and grumbled to myself about deer not even being awake at four in the morning. Daddy loaded up the wood stove so my sisters and Mama would be warm when they got up, grabbed our guns and his coffee, and out the door we went.
We got to where the road ended and Daddy shut off the truck. I looked at him puzzled, and he pointed off in the distance. "Our stands are over there. We'll have to walk the rest of the way." God in Heaven, I thought. It is way too cold for this.
Daddy led me to my deer stand and pointed up. Way up. There were these janky wooden planks nailed into the tree and what appeared to be five or six two-by-fours haphazardly arranged in something supposed to resemble a tree stand. I was not impressed. Trying to figure out how to climb, carry a gun, my hot cocoa, and my snack bag while scaling a tree in bitter cold temperatures was literally the last thing on my list of ways to have fun on a Saturday morning. But I did it. I reached the top, settled in and waved to Daddy to show him I was settled. He gave me a thumbs up then pointed to the general direction of where his stand was. I still to this day have no idea where that was, because my glasses kept fogging up from my breath. Not a great thing to have happen when you're trying to watch for deer.
I laid my gun across my lap and tried to open my hot cocoa, but my gloves were so big, I couldn't get a grip on the lid. So, I took my gloves off and instantly regretted it. The wind blew as if in attack mode, and my fingers instantly felt frozen. I twisted with all i had to loosen the lid from its man-hand placement and thought my hand would break before the seal did. When it finally popped loose, I nearly dropped the cap, fumbled for it, caught it, (DIDN'T fall out of the stand, thank you very much), but managed to douse myself and one side of the tree with hot cocoa. Oh, I was so pissed. Pissed because now i had to sit out there for hours with only a quarter of a thermos of hot cocoa, pissed that my pants were wet, pissed that my dad would be pissed because every deer within three miles would catch the scent of my delicious goodness and not come within a mile of this human... Oh,so not happy.
And, all of this happened before the sun even came up.
finally, it was dawn, and I started scanning the terrain looking for something to kill. There was nothing. For hours. I decided to adjust my position to see if there was anything going on behind me, and I saw it. Up against the hill, broadside, looking right at me. I could see the antlers, I could see the body. But with my position change, my gun was no longer easily moved to be able to get it to my shoulder without spooking the deer.
We were in a staring match. He was probably fifty yards away... I didn't move, he didn't move... then he didn't move. And still didn't move. For what felt like forty-five minutes. It was at that point that I waved my arms (#1 because they were asleep, and #2 to prove my theory.) I had just spent forty-five minutes having a staring contest with a downed tree. Well, kiss my myopic ass. What was initially assumed to be antlers was in fact a bush and tree limbs. NOW I was really pissed.
Day two:Or day three.... can't remember. Might have been a week of this, but I doubt it.
the LAST day I went deer hunting with my dad.
He and I had to share a stand - the same stand I barely fit in by myself.... one of his buddies wanted to go hunting with us, so Daddy gave him his stand, and I shared mine with him. We got up there, got situated, and again, nothing happened. For hours... I got hungry, so I dug into my bag (mind you, my dad packed this bag....) which had a velcro opening. In the quiet, still forest, I tried to open a velcro bag.... rip...rip... riiiiiiip.... Daddy swung his head over in my direction, and I stopped. Rip...rip... head swivel, stop.... I finally got it open and pulled out one of the snacks he'd packed for me. A Little Debbie Coffee Cake. In cellophane. as if the velcro wasn't challenging enough, trying to open a Little Debbie Snack Cake quietly in a dead ass woods was not happening. But I tried.
I took off my gloves and laid them on top of my hands to muffle the sound while I worked the cellophane. It was soooo cold. Crinkle... crinkle... Daddy looked at me and shushed me. Sigh.... crinkle crinkle.... head whip... pause. Finally I got the snack cake freed, but my hands were so cold, I couldn't hold the cake. So I sat the snack cake on the board in front of me and stuffed my hands in my gloves. I stared at the cake, mouth watering, willing my hands to warm enough to hold this delicious goodness I'd worked so hard for.
Then it dawned on me.
I leaned over, opened my mouth, and just before I took a hands-free bite from this treat, I roll my eyes to see my dad's bewildered face, and out from my gut came a huge, roaring belly laugh. It echoed and echoed, bouncing off every hill and carrying my hilarity for miles. Daddy couldn't help it - he started laughing so hard, gasping for air and trying to ask me what the hell I thought I was doing. The absurdity of how I must have looked, like a giraffe at a zoo trying to reach that treat in the back. We both had frozen tears stuck to our faces from laughing so hard.
And that was the last time he ever asked me to go deer hunting. LOL
I was thirteen years old, I think. I had just taken my hunter's safety course, so this was my first year to legally go deer hunting with my dad. He was so excited - we spent days going through his hunting gear - me trying on his clothes - clothes that smelled like a mixture of nothing with a hint of him. Clothes that had been packed in his room since last deer season, so they smelled like home. (Well, at least until they were doused with deer lure to mask the smell of human.) None of his clothes fit me, as I stood five foot tall to his five-foot-nine-inches and he outweighed me by double, but he rolled this sleeve, tucked this pant leg, and eventually, I was donned in the outfit that would make me a fierce, deer-killing machine.
It was a bitter cold weekend. I think the high was in the single digits that weekend, but with my thermal underwear, wool socks, and multiple layers of clothes, Daddy assured me I would probably get hot sitting in the deer stand. (Lie- but I'm getting ahead of myself.)
The morning finally arrived. He excitedly woke me up, made me a thermos of hot cocoa, and packed a snack bag in preparation for our morning hunt while I got dressed and grumbled to myself about deer not even being awake at four in the morning. Daddy loaded up the wood stove so my sisters and Mama would be warm when they got up, grabbed our guns and his coffee, and out the door we went.
We got to where the road ended and Daddy shut off the truck. I looked at him puzzled, and he pointed off in the distance. "Our stands are over there. We'll have to walk the rest of the way." God in Heaven, I thought. It is way too cold for this.
Daddy led me to my deer stand and pointed up. Way up. There were these janky wooden planks nailed into the tree and what appeared to be five or six two-by-fours haphazardly arranged in something supposed to resemble a tree stand. I was not impressed. Trying to figure out how to climb, carry a gun, my hot cocoa, and my snack bag while scaling a tree in bitter cold temperatures was literally the last thing on my list of ways to have fun on a Saturday morning. But I did it. I reached the top, settled in and waved to Daddy to show him I was settled. He gave me a thumbs up then pointed to the general direction of where his stand was. I still to this day have no idea where that was, because my glasses kept fogging up from my breath. Not a great thing to have happen when you're trying to watch for deer.
I laid my gun across my lap and tried to open my hot cocoa, but my gloves were so big, I couldn't get a grip on the lid. So, I took my gloves off and instantly regretted it. The wind blew as if in attack mode, and my fingers instantly felt frozen. I twisted with all i had to loosen the lid from its man-hand placement and thought my hand would break before the seal did. When it finally popped loose, I nearly dropped the cap, fumbled for it, caught it, (DIDN'T fall out of the stand, thank you very much), but managed to douse myself and one side of the tree with hot cocoa. Oh, I was so pissed. Pissed because now i had to sit out there for hours with only a quarter of a thermos of hot cocoa, pissed that my pants were wet, pissed that my dad would be pissed because every deer within three miles would catch the scent of my delicious goodness and not come within a mile of this human... Oh,so not happy.
And, all of this happened before the sun even came up.
finally, it was dawn, and I started scanning the terrain looking for something to kill. There was nothing. For hours. I decided to adjust my position to see if there was anything going on behind me, and I saw it. Up against the hill, broadside, looking right at me. I could see the antlers, I could see the body. But with my position change, my gun was no longer easily moved to be able to get it to my shoulder without spooking the deer.
We were in a staring match. He was probably fifty yards away... I didn't move, he didn't move... then he didn't move. And still didn't move. For what felt like forty-five minutes. It was at that point that I waved my arms (#1 because they were asleep, and #2 to prove my theory.) I had just spent forty-five minutes having a staring contest with a downed tree. Well, kiss my myopic ass. What was initially assumed to be antlers was in fact a bush and tree limbs. NOW I was really pissed.
Day two:Or day three.... can't remember. Might have been a week of this, but I doubt it.
the LAST day I went deer hunting with my dad.
He and I had to share a stand - the same stand I barely fit in by myself.... one of his buddies wanted to go hunting with us, so Daddy gave him his stand, and I shared mine with him. We got up there, got situated, and again, nothing happened. For hours... I got hungry, so I dug into my bag (mind you, my dad packed this bag....) which had a velcro opening. In the quiet, still forest, I tried to open a velcro bag.... rip...rip... riiiiiiip.... Daddy swung his head over in my direction, and I stopped. Rip...rip... head swivel, stop.... I finally got it open and pulled out one of the snacks he'd packed for me. A Little Debbie Coffee Cake. In cellophane. as if the velcro wasn't challenging enough, trying to open a Little Debbie Snack Cake quietly in a dead ass woods was not happening. But I tried.
I took off my gloves and laid them on top of my hands to muffle the sound while I worked the cellophane. It was soooo cold. Crinkle... crinkle... Daddy looked at me and shushed me. Sigh.... crinkle crinkle.... head whip... pause. Finally I got the snack cake freed, but my hands were so cold, I couldn't hold the cake. So I sat the snack cake on the board in front of me and stuffed my hands in my gloves. I stared at the cake, mouth watering, willing my hands to warm enough to hold this delicious goodness I'd worked so hard for.
Then it dawned on me.
I leaned over, opened my mouth, and just before I took a hands-free bite from this treat, I roll my eyes to see my dad's bewildered face, and out from my gut came a huge, roaring belly laugh. It echoed and echoed, bouncing off every hill and carrying my hilarity for miles. Daddy couldn't help it - he started laughing so hard, gasping for air and trying to ask me what the hell I thought I was doing. The absurdity of how I must have looked, like a giraffe at a zoo trying to reach that treat in the back. We both had frozen tears stuck to our faces from laughing so hard.
And that was the last time he ever asked me to go deer hunting. LOL
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