Hunting Season arrived this morning with all of the annual “hoopla” especially a bit north of here where I grew up.
It really is a special time of year in this, the “North Country.” I include Clare County because this is really where it all begins and, if you haven’t noticed, there are a multitude of deer everywhere around here and many, many hunters of course.
That season has aways been special here in the “middle of the mitten,” and it’s even more true just a bit north of here.
Growing up in Crawford County, just northeast of Roscommon, our house always had plenty of company around the 15th of November.
We were a hunting camp!
Sometimes Mom, bless her, would be cooking for up to 25 sweaty, hairy guys (and a few gals).
Hunters would camp in the yard, sleep on the floor or in the garage, in fact just about anywhere they could find a little space. It was exciting for a kid! Hunting season up there was like a costume carnival with “hunter’s red or orange” the color of choice. Most outfits were wool too, because in those days, more often than not, there was plenty of snow on the ground.
Everyone I knew hunted in those days, and the trophies would hang on the front of the garage (our own personal “buck pole,” as friends (and my brothers) posed for photos.
Card games were the main entertainment, ongoing every evening, and sometimes a campfire would be built out in the driveway. For snacks between meals, there were always hot dogs and potato chips (my brothers’ favorite, along with a bottle of beer when they got to be old enough.
It was an exciting time for a kid and usually I was the only one around. My brothers were 11 and 14 years older than me.
I would get to stay up late to watch the fire and listen to the hunters tell their “fish” stories. I was also the only girl around and the youngest in the family too, so with two big brothers, we really were a hunting family.
Even Mom hunted occasionally, although I don’t ever remember her actually shooting anything. There was a story floating around back then about her telling a buck to “Shoo” one time. I think the time she spent in the woods was just a really special thing for her.
Dad, who was the best storyteller of the whole bunch, was also an avid hunter for many years. He taught me gun safety when I was pretty small with an old BB rifle passed down to me from my brothers. Of course, I didn’t actually get to go hunting until I was in my teens, but I knew all of the rules long before that, and thanks to him, I got to be a pretty good shot, and like Mom, the woods up home have always held a magical attraction for me.
I think that the chance to be completely alone with nature has a lot to do with the ritual of hunting season. It is a chance to be outdoors, in the woods, that draws many people to the sport..
The tradition has passed on now and some of my kids and a grandkid or two are the ones going hunting nowadays. Terry and Lisa just can’t wait for opening day!
And, of course, some of my nephews around Roscommon, who keep the hunting tradition going.
Fall has a special smell and feeling when you are out there and the leaves are falling.
You don’t need to carry a gun to enjoy the north country. Once that feeling is experienced, it stays with you a lifetime. Some of the best times I can remember are of “hunting” with my dad, and although I no longer carry a gun, I still cannot go too long without a trip up home and a walk in the woods.
These days those walks are pretty short, but just being out with trees all around, there is still something magical about that feeling.
