The Time of the Great Hunt

It is the time of the great hunt that will feed farm families through cold winter months.

Deer season.

That means my wonderful hunter gatherer husband, is heading to his tree stands in search of the perfect buck or doe. Of course the thirty point buck would be the ultimate prize, but the freezer doesn't much care what the deer was before it met zip-lock bags.

This morning as I got ready for church, John was loading his hunting pack with shells and stuff that makes him smell like a rank animal in the forest. He was cammo from head to toe, layered, of course, with fluorescent orange. Rifle slung over his back, he slipped out the front door before I could hug him. My scent would apparently mess up the hunt completely, so there is no contact allowed once he is ready to hit the forest.

After church I made chili, a must on cold fall evenings, but we won't see him for supper until well into the night. Hunting is forbidden after sundown, but the good ol' boys will gather at some shanty or other to tell their tales of the buck that got away and to complain about the city folk that make it tough to hunt on our own land.

I keep saying I am going to join the hunt some day. I have even purchased my deer tag. It sounds like so much fun. Being out in the woods with nature, tracking the animal through its own habitat, bringing food home. I know it would bother some gals... the whole idea of shooting Bambi is too much for their sensitivities. And the idea of dressing out an animal sends them running for a bucket. I am actually okay with that. I have helped John field dress his deer.

So what stops me from donning my own cammo and orange?

• Cold rainy days



• Walking for miles for nothing



• The thought of chasing the deer once it's shot then dragging a 300 pound animal back to civilization



• Tics that haven't quite disappeared because we haven't had a hard freeze

The list could go on, but mostly it's because this is John's thing. I like it because I love him. I have tried to be the redneck chick that would be his perfect match. But honestly, that 's not who he married.

He fell in love with a city girl. He was happy that I didn't match is redneck world, but, for him, added light to his life with the things I offered. He loves the fact that I can prepare his deer with gormet flair even if I didn't shoot it.

I embrace the culture as much as I embrace the cultured.

I am a redneck's bride, but I am not so much a redneck.

Come on girls...let's go shopping.