The snowflakes fell, so big, so wet and so quickly they seemed to cover us and the entire world in moments. We walked through a world enveloped in silence. My sons followed my footsteps on their first hunt through a grass covered field to the woods where we hoped to accomplish the goal of killing a deer to feed us all.  No squirrel scurried and no bird called out in defense. Even our boots, normally so prone to crunching over the dry leaves and broken sticks of the forest, fell silently. Eventually, we found our spot. Side by side we sat atop a boulder at the edge of the woods overlooking a freshly cut cornfield. We sat side by side atop that boulder, formed perhaps millions of years ago, hoping to accomplish our goal. Hunting was almost as new to me as it was to my sons. With no experience or bragging rights to claim, I brought them into a world that would bring us memories and friendships that will last our entire lives. 

That night, darkness came but no deer did. Together, we walked home, our goal unaccomplished, but with our hearts fulfilled. In the years that followed, after so many snow covered and wind blown sits, after all the days of walking fields and woods looking for the perfect spot, she finally came. Not the monster buck that we hoped for, but a beautiful doe whose eyes I’ll never forget. She came along a hedgerow on one of the coldest days I’ve ever experienced, long after we had passed the point of “too cold ”to hunt but unwilling to quit, she came. Along a hedgerow, not afraid, not in a rush, but aware of the danger around her, she came. Her death, like every deer since, brought a victory celebration of high fives, hugs, and a sense of mourning. For every hunter, victory is not complete without the sacrifice of a life. In that moment, every color of the woods fills our eyes. The sound of leaves breaking free of a branch fills our ears. The wind, so cold but somehow refreshing, brings life. When our task is accomplished, we celebrate and we mourn the life taken. For over thirty years, I’ve walked those snow covered fields with family and friends. Together, we walked the earth. We planned the best place to sit. We ate potluck dinners and shared drinks the night before. Biscuits, gravy, and bacon at five in the morning were a part of it all.  

Thirty some years into it, I have learned that killing a deer never was the most important thing. The rustle of the leaf as it breaks free from a tree, the sounds of a squirrel preparing for winter, the snow covering our shoulders, and the company of the people we love…That is why we hunt.