***Edit: This was originally posted on my classroom website in Bertrand. After leaving Bertrand to teach at Elm Creek, I feared this bit of writing was lost forever. Thank goodness I was able to come across it and access the website once again. Posting here so it will never be lost again. And hey…deer season is right around the corner!
Rifle season 2019 hit different than years in the past, literally. Rifle season started out just like every other season, but ended in a very different way. You never know when a life lesson is going to be thrown your way, but the best bit of advice I have is to own up to it, and learn from it. It’d been what seemed like millions of years since I’d shot a buck deer. We had shot two large Muley bucks that had tree shrubs for antlers a few years prior. It was time! Mule deer are my absolute favorite species of deer; their darker fur, larger bodies, big ol’ ears, and their cute hippity-hop make me smile each time I encounter them. I also love their nonchalant attitude. You can have an endless staring contest with a herd of Muleys until the cows come home. On opening weekend, Tyler, Trenton, and I were scouring the pastures for a deer that would knock the socks off the two deer in our living room. We always start off our hunting in the largest pasture, but unfortunately, so many people trespass that it can be as busy as Grand Central Station. Since that pasture had no deer and was emptier than an abandoned hotel, we decided to take the road less traveled and head to a pasture that we don’t have as good of luck in. When we arrived, I felt a surge of excitement rush through my body. Mule deer aren’t as common as they once were where I go hunting. The herds of a dozen or more deer have since been eradicated because of disease and over hunting in the area. However, this was one of the pastures where those coveted Muleys call home. Trenton had just bought a used side-by-side to go hunting this year. Where we go hunting there’s lots of rough terrain and steep draws. Walking to all of the draws is unimaginable, so the “go-getter” really helped us out. Tyler, Trenton and I all piled in. When we got to the very first draw, my heart was pounding out of my chest! THIS is where they have to be. I analyzed every branch and leaf of that draw until the herd of four-legged critters stood out. There they are! A large mule deer buck and two does were hiding at the top of the draw right above the tree line. We clamored out of the go-getter and prepared ourselves for the shot. Trenton being the gentleman that he is, waited until I took the first shot at the buck. BANG!...Miss. BANG!...Miss. Trenton and I both missed?! Oh man…buck fever. The Muleys stood still for the first shot, but with the second shot they turned up their tails and started hopping like pogo sticks across the hill. Trenton and I got in the go-getter to meet them in another draw, since Muleys usually circle around. In the go-getter, Trenton was in a hurry. It was the Indianapolis 500 with venison as the prize. He had the pedal to the metal and we were traveling as fast as lightning! Adrenaline took over our bodies; we were going to win the race! &*%$*&%@&$&%*#!!!!!!!!!! “You ok?” Trenton said. “Yep. Yep….Yep. I’m fine. You?” “Yep. Are you sure you’re ok?” Trenton replied as I slowly crawl out of the crashed go-getter and go to sit down next to it on the deep cow path. I was in shock. Yes, I was hurt, but I knew it wasn’t life or death. “Ooh…my head. My knees. My wrist!” Where a freshly installed plexiglass windshield was once fastened, a big open hole remain in its place. “I think our foreheads took out the windshield.” I said. “I think you’re right.” Trenton replied. “You sure you’re alright?” I could hear the shaking and nervousness in his voice. “Yep.” I quickly replied. “Ooh…my head. My knees. My wrist!” When I had seen the incoming cow path that was deeper than the Grand Canyon, I braced myself as best I could to prepare for the incoming blow. With loaded rifles, I didn’t want to jump out of a moving vehicle. At impact, my body slammed forward where my head hit the windshield, my knees hit the dash, and my wrist jolted into the handle I was holding onto. I could hear Tyler laughing behind us as he stayed back in the draw in case the herd circled back. He had witnessed the whole thing. It wasn’t until he realized both Trent and I were injured that he stopped laughing. Trenton apologized to me profusely, as we both know that pasture well, but thought we were on a different hillside than we really were. The Muleys were long gone; their bouncing tails a thumb to their nose. And…I could no longer hold my rifle up in the air to shoot. Lovely… We go to leave the pasture, and my wrist is a boomerang. I don’t want to straighten it. “It can’t be broken though; it doesn’t hurt thatbad.” I take off my stocking cap. “Look at that knot on my head!” Yikes. Thinking it’s just a bad sprain, we go back to Grand Central Station to finish out for the night; my wrist a limp noodle. Two days later I head to the doctor to get my wrist checked out just as a precaution. Sure enough, my Radius bone had a hairline fracture on the very end. The x-ray told the tale. I was fitted for a cast, and at 29 years of age, I experienced my first broken bone. I like to think of every experience as a life lesson. Was this dumb? Oh yes, incredibly so. Have we learned from it? You betcha. I’ve taken quite a few rides in the go-getter since. Ever hear the phrase, you gotta get back on the horse? Well, I did. Trenton drives slow now; he’s never driven that fast since. But every time Trenton hits the breaks a little hard, or going down a steep hill, that moment comes rushing back to me and I’m transported to that cold November day. I know he’s taken back there too.
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Kathryn HollandWife. Mother. Teacher. Lifelong student. Archives
March 2022
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