Opening Day

November 15th... For many this day means nothing, but to hunters in Michigan that date is the most important one of the year! It's the first day of deer season! When I was growing up, the excitement that preceded opening morning was rivaled only by Christmas! The hunting gear was gathered up and aired or washed if need be, as well as blankets and bedding and the house got a good cleaning. There were guns to clean and site in, blinds to build and food to be prepared! LOTS of food! Yummy food! Grandma baked , Mom cooked and the men folk brought in goodies only seen at hunting season. Things like beef jerky, pistachios and DONUTS! The fire was lit in the fireplace, the pot of chili stood ever ready, the beer in the fridge was good and cold and the cards sat waiting for the games of euchre, pedro and cribbage that would take place the night before and between hunts that day. Throughout the day and night on the 14th the hunters, our friends and family, would arrive. Some would come in after the lights were out and find a spot on the floor. If you happen to be the first one up in the morning, you never knew who you might trip over!

I awoke to the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying, and voices I didn't always recognize right away talking softly. It didn't take long for the house to be a-buzz with people vying for the bathroom and a place to dress, telling stories from the last hunt and ribbing one another about who was the best shot. It all seemed horribly early to me, but the rule was, if you wanted to go out with Dad you had to get yourself up, dressed and to the table by 5am! Of course the prospect of a donut was a great incentive!

Once out in the blind the challenge was to keep warm and quiet and stay still. No easy task for a busy chatterbox like me. But I knew better than to fidget or whisper too much. Doing so would result in being left home with grandma next trip out! And of course there were the snacks and candy Dad would dole out. Quiet chatterboxes always got more than noisy ones! Sometimes we were lucky and got our buck shortly after first light. Other times we had to wait what seemed like forever. And other times after sitting there until I was so cold I chattered like squirrel, we went back to Grandma's empty handed. But either way, we always went back to Grandma and Grandpa's for coffee and hot coco and to recount our morning hunt.

The day finally came when I was old enough to take hunter safety class. Something I was thrilled about but immensely bored with! Thanks to my Dad, I already knew everything! I had grown up around guns. I knew they were to be respected and ALWAYS treated as if they were loaded. I knew better than to walk in front of a gun, unless I wanted a new rear end or my head blown off! I knew when and where to shoot and not to. I remember thinking as I sat there, "I could help teach this class!" I begged my Dad to get the instructor, whom he knew, to just let me take the test and skip the classes but I had to sit through them just like I had to sit quietly in the blind. I passed my test, though I seem to remember Dad thinking that for a girl who knew it all, I should have aced the test.

 I shot my first deer at 16. I was hunting with Dad but in my own spot. I had been waiting since before dawn for my buck. I heard him coming behind me, the leaves crunching with every step. I was in a perfect spot and he was going to walk right past me. It would of been an easy shot with my 44 Mag. Until the dog barked on the neighboring farm that is! The buck bolted past me and I wasn’t fast enough to get a shot off. The last I saw of that buck was his arse bounding across the field! Needless to say, this redhead was one irate lass who had a few choice things to say about that dog! I vowed that the next deer I saw was going down and I didn’t care if it was a buck or not! A little while later a group of deer came across the field and I took my shot. I dropped a doe with one shot at a good distance. I signaled Dad that I had a deer with three rapid shots into the ground. We loaded her up and took her to Grandma’s. Everyone was proud of me but teased me ‘cause it was so small compared to the others. Grandma told them, “Quit picking on the girl and come into the house for coffee and cookies.” Grandpa had died a few weeks before and as I stood there looking at my deer, I was sad that he wasn’t here to see it. Just as a tear ran down my cheek I heard him say, “That’s my little redheaded Granddaughter!” It was his voice and it was as if he were standing there with me! In that moment I knew he could see my deer and was proud of me.

The last time I went hunting was several years ago. I was cross fired on by some city slickers! (City slickers is what we country folk call those who live in the city and only venture into the woods one day a year…opening day!) Between that incident and the babies I was either carrying or nursing my hunting days have long since passed.

But the tradition of opening morning continues in my household, though in a different fashion than I grew up with.
 
More next time....