October

         This month always brings back so man memories of a past life. Growing up I anticipated October each year patiently waiting for hunting season to open. My yard would be full of my dad's hunting party. Campers and tents lined the yard along with the smell of coffee that was always being made on the fire. The hunters would stay the whole first week of bear season. It became a tradition and we even had a huge trout fish fry the night before opening day. This is all a thing of the past now. All the older men that my dad hunted with have mostly perished from various illnesses and the younger ones have moved on with their lives. 

       My mom would prep for days. She would clean and have bunks made everywhere to accommodate the crew. There would be nightly fires down at the fire pit with shared beverages. I can almost compare it to a family reunion. These men watched me grow up and helped mold me into the person I am today. I knew them better than my own uncles. I traveled with them and even learned many life lessons. They were men of their word and always watched out for me. Other hunters never agreed with my dad about letting me participate and would often verbally lash out. I held my head high and spoke my opinion. I never backed down from a fight, even when I knew I was outnumbered. I was the only girl here other than my mom. I was treated as part of the crew and went along side them. Each year I would miss at least a week of school (even when I was in college) and religiously followed every step my dad made while hunting. He never did have a son to pass down these hunting skills to, so he instilled them in me. He always told me a "woman's place is beside her husband not behind him, and if you want to hunt then he needs to be man enough to know you can out shoot him." I like to think he would be happy with the man I married and the choices I have made.  It hurts each year now that he is gone...

     Grandpa always encouraged me to be a "tomboy" and to give the boys "hell." I was the one who helped with the hounds, skinning, and loading of boats. I have whole scrap books of past bear and hogs killed. It just seems that these traditions are lost on me. Hunters in the past few years have destroyed my idea of good hunting practices. I have posted my land. Both my dad and grandpa would be ashamed of my decision. I just couldn't bear the thought of having "bear dogs" run my goats again resulting in their deaths.