Category Archives: Deer Hunts

A Different Sort of Still-Hunt

A fox squirrel chattered, up on the ridge and to the southwest. Yellow maple leaves spun and rocked and tumbled. Sunlight bathed the tree tops; shadows carpeted the forest floor. The night’s chill lingered. Melted frost pitter-patted from the old … Continue reading

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No Present Danger

A doe’s ear twitched. She shook her head, then dropped it to the trail. Her shiny black nose sniffed side to side. With a start, her head rose up. She looked to the south, then took two steps forward. Her … Continue reading

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“Msko-waagosh ndizhnikaas”

Snowflakes cling to the trade blanket’s crimson nap. The woolen shell is more white than red. The black stripe is a pale gray, a nothingness hue that matches the firmament. The Northwest gun’s lock nestles against my right elbow, tucked … Continue reading

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Trees Don’t Grow Bigger…

Darkness ebbed to an overcast calm. Wool-lined winter moccasins stepped and paused eastward—the object of that crisp November morning’s still-hunt was the nasty thicket in hopes of bringing fresh venison to the pot. Thanksgiving of 1795 was a week off. … Continue reading

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“A Blankets Warmth”

“Snapshot Saturday”

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“I Let the Deer Pick Them…”

Water gurgled in the gravelly cut. Two solid days of heavy, November rain filled the swamps. The thicker of the two, the south swamp, appeared higher than the sparser swale hole to the north. A thigh-deep cut crossed the mounded … Continue reading

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Making Common Choices

An owl hooted early. A wild turkey uttered several soft clucks below its roost tree, somewhere near the sinkhole, not far from the nasty thicket. A misplaced robin twittered as it perched on a dead cedar branch, a few trade … Continue reading

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Struggling a Bit…

“Snow pelts my face,” the brass lead holder scribbled on the folded journal page. “Now and again, icy flakes sneak behind my spectacles and sting my eyes. I pulled the wool blanket’s folds up around my cheeks. In front of … Continue reading

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