When I began this blog a few years ago, I was regularly freelancing for our local newspaper. After five years of being uber aware of my surroundings, I gave up my bimonthly "Fresh Persepective' column. Now, after a 6 month hiatus from anything creative, I find myself missing that whimsical, mental exercise.
Actually, I can't say that I haven't 'written' anything in 6 months. I certainly have....but most of the things I've 'written' have been in my head. No, I don't mean that I've been talking to myself, but I do frequently find myself noticing something unique or awe inspiring and I start writing about it in my mind. Maybe the intention is to someday put it on paper, but with schedules as they are, that never seems to happen.
Anyway, writing, whether on paper or in my head, seems to be a passion of mine that needs to be exercised, so this is where I intend to start. My blog. As out of date as it is....I WILL CATCH UP AND MOVE FORWARD
(even if it kills me.) How, though, does one catch up on 6 months of happenings, vacations, and special moments without overloading the Internet and numbing one's behind? I guess the answer will have to be one step at a time (from the present backwards in this case)!
Here goes:
Hunting Season is the 5th season of the year in these parts. As an archer, Jason begins his season in early September, usually a week after school starts. If the weather is cool enough, he spends many mornings--5am or earlier--driving about 10 miles west of our house, sneaking into the bushes often shared by Grizzly Bears, and scouting for animals. If the stars align, then he can get close enough to an animal to take a shot. Often, he calls in an animal using a mysteriously small device he sticks in his mouth like a stick of gum. This year the stars did not align during archery season.
So, the backup plan is going out during rifle season, which begins the end of October. Because of his many early mornings in the field during archery season, he often has a good idea where the elk and deer are hanging out and insights into their movement patterns. So there is a bit of an advantage in that respect and on opening morning of rifle season, he shot his cow elk. Whaa-hoo! That means meat in our freezer for the next year. Thankfully, since Jason has been successful the past few years, we haven't had to buy any beef to supplement our diet. Red meat is strictly game.
After hanging his elk for about 10 days, the meat was pink and tender and ready to be cut up, processed and wrapped. This process takes about 3-4 hours and requires all hands on deck. (warning: Dead animal picture ahead)
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| Jason's Dad, Brad |
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| The pit crew |
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| Meat Carving 101 |
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| Creating bags with the Foodsaver |
Lest you think that hunting means saying goodbye to my spouse for 2 months, these pictures are proof that hunting can be a family affair. In this photo, we are on our way out at dusk to call in a nice bull elk. Unfortunately, they were about a mile west of us!
Taylor and her Daddy:
Jason had an extra treat this year when his childhood friend, Rod, came out for an extended visit. Once Rod arrived, his Uncle Kieth, also had to drive out from Idaho in case he missed the action. On one particularly nice day between bow and rifle season, the guys went out pheasant hunting.
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| Jason, Brad, Rod, Keith |
A few days later, Jason was successful on his buck hunt. This deer, though not overly big, will provide us with sausage for about 2 years.
As always, hunting season is a busy time of year. It takes Jason away from us quite a few mornings and evenings, but we can truly say that we know where our food comes from and know that it was treated humanely and lovingly.
To end this post, I will share an article I wrote for the Choteau Acantha regarding one of my first elk hunting experiences.
It seems like eons ago that I wrote about the onset of
hunting season. I vaguely remember
sharing about the odd animal noises emanating from the garage and my husband’s
animated anticipation of this highly revered fifth season. At that time I
didn’t have even the vaguest idea of what was to come.
When I put in my paperwork early this year for an elk tag,
it was for one reason alone: I like to
eat. As a practical person, I reasoned
that the chances of filling our freezer would increase if I pulled a “back up“
tag just in case my husband did not get drawn.
Never did I even fathom that I would get drawn for a three day hunt on
some of the choicest ground in the area.
Once the news sunk in I envisioned a freezer full of elk steaks and
venison jerky.
So it was that last week I pulled myself out of bed before
dawn, donned my husband’s long johns and jeans, strapped on the bear spray and
struck out with three passionate, single-minded men. Eight miles later with not a glimpse of
animal life, the herd was spotted on the side of a hill. Like a bunch of wild banshees, the guys
picked up the pace crashing through the thicket and balancing on minute tufts
of grass in order to avoid the murky swamp beneath.
Before I knew what was happening, my sixth sense kicked in
and I realized that I would have to follow them or be left to wander the
prairie alone. And so I ran. Literally, I ran through the swamp recalling
my wedding vows, unable to find the clause about following my spouse through
the muck and mire chasing after four legged creatures.
One fall, then two, left me covered in rank mud, cold enough
to snatch the air from my lungs. I found
myself remembering the stories of Native American hunters who returned to their
tribes with new names such as “Big Hunter” or “Runs Like an Elk.” As I followed these crazed men though the
bog, I imagined the tribal chief assessing my wet clothes, heaving lungs and
pronounced scowl and giving me names such as “Runs like An Elephant” or “Angry
Woman Without Meat.”
As we emerged though the thicket, I caught sight of the last
elk running over the hill and out of sight.
The men huddled together forming a plan as I took a moment to asses my
condition. Wet, muddy and tired I stood
there and remembered the meal that I had prepared for the men that
morning. I remembered the loving way I shepherded
the kids out the door to school and the cloth napkins I had sewn for the
Thanksgiving Table. I remembered the
recent knitting lesson I had attended and the general warmth of the
indoors.
In that instant I looked my husband in the eye and declared
in all seriousness, “From now on call me, “Armed Woman of Many Talents.” C'est
la vie Hunting Season!
