The Hunt

As the new hunting season has emerged, I am thrilled for many reasons.   Exploring the nook and crannies of the woods never gets old.  Autumn brought many new adventures.  See what I mean as I travel back to memories in northern lower Michigan:  (NOTE:  This time frame reflects fall of 2015...when I was still hunting (and trapping).  I'm now a "watcher" instead of a "warrior".)  

...As I opened the door of the cramped cabin to leave, I looked around.  I was leaving it in good stead.  Venison chili simmered hot on the working wood stove, our aging cattle dog, Zip, sighed and gave a look of resignation as I hoisted the crossbow, closed the door and headed out onto the carpet of leaves that would be my path.  Autumn had arrived.  And with it began my quest for our winter meat.

I curved around the back of the cabin, skirting the silhouetting trees that lined the dog yard.  No sled dogs murmured or whined, as they have become accustomed to my daily solo trek. 

I stopped at the same spot where the previous week I had surprised a coyote.  The other morning, as I headed out to do the morning check of our trap line, I walked through a dense area and came out into a clearing overlooking a vista.  I always stop in this particular spot to peruse the land, looking for anything out of place, or perhaps to catch a glimpse of a critter traveling through.  As I was looking, a massive coyote climbed up out of a hollow in front of me.  He also stood, looking about, scanning the perimeter.  As his head was on swivel to the left, he spotted me out of the corner of his eye and jolted with the knowledge.  Upon confirming me standing there, he shot off and sped across the land, making a wide arch, actually returning to our property, in particular the area of our sled dog kennel.  I only had my side arm on me that day.  But this opportunity also gave me time to admire his thick coat, and compare it to several of our thick coated Siberians, which reside in the dog yard.  Coy-dog perhaps?  He was no typical coyote.  Today, however, no coyote in sight.

Although the Barnett crossbow was a heavy tote, I opted to take the long route back to my “blind”.  Rain was spitting, but the threat didn’t appear to be long-suffering.  I had my “hot seat” looped on my belt, so I knew I’d have a dry seat upon arrival.  No worries.

Hearing geese overhead brought a smile.  I stopped to watch.  Today it was two gaggles, flying side by side.  Soon, a couple geese broke off from their original flight and joined a gaggle that split off and headed southwest.  Who knows why.  Perhaps they knew of a good landing zone the others who continued south didn’t appreciate. 

I put the crossbow on my shoulder and trudged on. 

The woods always change…from morning to night, and every hour in between.  The lighting makes the woods a new adventure each time I enter.  Using the sled dog trails from years past, I have a well-traveled path.  Deer and coyote tracks dominate.  As I carefully monitor each step, I feel so blessed.  I am thankful for Russ, who appreciates my love of being in the woods.  Night after night of me coming home in the dark makes for an abnormal dinner hour, but we both embrace this time of year and the opportunities it offers. 

As I walk on, a ruffed grouse whistles, alerting me to the fact that wings will soon explode in flight, creating a startled noise in the quiet of the woods.  Many times, my heart would beat madly when these birds caught me unaware. 

I think back to earlier this August, when checking the trap line was always met with a spider web forming upon my face when going through brush.  So many spider webs I’ve sported this year.  I would always smile when I saw “widow leaves” – those leaves that appear to be dancing on air – spooky – until you realize they are being held by a spider web. 

I finally arrive at my “chair”.  It’s a chair in the woods.  A wooden, hand carved swivel chair, made by Russ.  I had him pull it out of one of our cabins, making a perfect site for me, sitting under a huge beech tree, at the massive base.  We built up the perimeter a bit, and the deer have no problem appearing in the clearing as I sit in the chair. 

As I snuggled in for the long haul, I took inventory of my surroundings.  Many pro hunters don’t factor in wind.  I do. 

Many do factor in scent.  As for me, I have a theory about scent control.  I control it by putting my scent out year ‘round.  Every kernel of the non-GMO corn I feed has run through my hands, putting my scent on feed.  They know me.  They associate me with feed.  I recall hearing about Iditarod Champion, Susan Butcher, feeding her Alaskan pups this way, smooshing her hands into the meaty mixture to get her scent mixed in.  Whatever you do with regard to scent – be consistent. 

I also hunt without any fuss.  I know folks who bring coffee and eats to a blind.  Coffee leads to elimination.  Another issue.  All bring unwanted scent. 

As for cell phones and such.  No.  Never.  If I were to bring anything, it would be a book.  But I can’t even imagine doing that.  I go to the woods to hear and see the sounds that are ever changing.  I delight in the change of noise…the woods are never silent.  Especially if you sit under a beech tree in the fall.  The woods has so much to teach us. 

One last thing.  Look up.  Cougars are here.  You just never know when one might be in your neck of the woods. 

This year, there were less skeeters. 

This fall, in September during the “early Anterless hunt”, I was unsuccessful.  However, I did enjoy an encounter with a young porky as I was heading in for the night.  He was in the lane, nibbling on a dried out clover, unaffected by my moving toward him.  Only when I spoke to him and neared did he turn his back to me and puff up.  He seemed to resent the intrusion and finally toddled off into the woods.  Although I had two firearms at my ready, I let him go, hoping I wouldn’t regret the decision come dog training on the trails. 

Enjoy the woods, and the one who made it.  Mother Nature?  No, Father God.  Another good reason to look up…for Jesus said:

“Surely I am coming quickly”.

Side bar:  Yes, many changes in the last 3 years.  Life never stays dormant.  One big one is submitting to the teachings of Jesus.  More to come on what that looks like.  For both myself and Russ.  

Until tomorrow, Lord willing.  Hope to see you here.

Sherry

Night Thief

It’s nearly 3 a.m.  I’m sitting on a low stool, crouched next to the woodstove, hugged by the creosote steel doors that threaten to wrap around me.  I work the fire, attempting to bring it to life.  Coals are not willing to give heed to the wood that is placed on them.  I wait…tired and wanting to be back in my warm sleeping bag.  I’m wanting to be warm.  Wanting to forget what happened just a half-hour earlier.

An hour earlier, I rose to a quiet, cold, still night.  Stars filled the sky as I stumbled out the cabin door, heading to the outhouse with Zip, our Blue Heeler, in tow.  Our cabin kitty, now living outdoors, was nowhere in sight.  She usually greets us on these middle of the night treks. 

Upon entering the cabin, I set to work on getting the stove going.  Within minutes, one of our female sled dogs, who is known for her “tattle tale-ing” set off with a frenetic warning bark.  She continued on for several minutes, not liking the fact that whatever was out there, wasn’t taking her seriously.  Realizing my best (and only) headlamp was defunct, I shined a weak light out the side window to let her know I heard her warning, and to stop barking.  She paused, but then continued with a renewed fervor.  I then told her “o.k.”…and she let out a heavy, grunting sigh, as if to say “…o.k.,  I tried to warn you.  Whatever happens, it’s on you…”

Sitting back down on the handcrafted cherry-wood stool, I fiddled with the fire some more.  Then I heard it.  I squawk…not really a squawk, but a bleat – a cry for help.  Grabbing my defunct headlamp, I slammed the batteries in, making it temporarily work, and headed outside.  I could hear the cry/squawk/bleat as it retreated from the cabin area.  Every thirty or so yards it let out a sound.  It was traveling by foot.  But not on its own accord - it was being carried.  I realized by now it was one of our chickens.  It was one of the worst sounds and situations I’ve heard.  I couldn’t image the terror of being roosted for the night only to be snatched by a coyote’s toothy grip.  Carried away, to certain death.  Every thirty or so yards, I heard it, until they disappeared into the south woods. 

I shined my light into the fenced dog yard and verbally thanked Skunk, the sled dog, for her warning, and headed back inside.  Upon sitting down once again, I hung my head in sadness.  It had to be one of the young batch, hatched earlier this summer that roosted on their own, not willing to enter the safety of the latched chicken coop door that held the flock. 

As I finally got the fire going, I also had come to a another realization.  Although taught by the Mamma hen, that young bird had made a choice to not pick the safety of the flock, and also our oversight each morning and night as we open the door of the coop to let them out, and tuck them in at night.  It had mistakenly believed it was safe out on its own.  And now it was gone, dying a frightful, confusing death.  The analogy was clear.  We, as intelligent humans, are given God’s word, in the form of the Bible – God breathed and God inspired.  Jesus tells us we are safe in His arms.  As His sheep, we are safe in the arms of the Good Shepherd.

In the book of John, Jesus tells us:  Most assuredly, I say to you, I am the door of the sheep.  If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture.  I am the good shepherd.  The good shepherd gives His life for the sheep.  And I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; neither shall anyone snatch them out of My hand. 

We, too, have a choice.  It is free for the taking.  All you need to do is come to the Father…the Good Shepherd.  Do you hear Him calling for you?  He leaves the 99 to gather up the one – the lost sheep.  If you are lost…seek Him.  Peace will flood your soul. 

May peace be to everyone. 

Until next time…Lord willing,

Sherry

My Field of Dreams

Dear Friends –

Greetings to you, in His precious name! 

The weeks are flying by, but few things have changed. 

We are still sans water.  It was nearly five weeks ago when I commented to hubby Russ that the constant pencil-thin drip/drip/drip was certainly along the lines of water torture.  However, that next morning at 3:30 a.m., when our temps hit lower than –30, the dripping stopped.  No more water torture.  No more…water.  But spring is on the horizon.  We have had some warmer days, although our wood stove is firing hot on this sunny-but-freezing day.  As I type this, hubby Russ is traveling to get our daily water.  I have our noon dinner in the Crock Pot – BBQ infused pulled pork (homegrown) with garlic/parmesan celery noodles.  A yummy combo!

Earlier in the week, we experienced a “teaser” of what is to come.  It hit the 50 degree mark.  I actually took advantage of the beautiful day we had, and left the county.  It was about the 3^rd time since early December that I traveled over our county line for any reason.  I headed to my treasured Amish friend’s for an afternoon of friendship, much-needed talk, and warm fellowship with her family, including her adorable grandchildren.  Her husband teased me about our “running water”, saying we have to RUN to get it.  So true~!  We have to travel about 7 miles, and back, thanks to our dear friends who share their well water.  At any rate, it was good to see my Plain friend, and make plans for spring.  I will be returning to their home for Easter – attending church and sharing in their dinner – Lord willing.  I can’t imagine such an Easter.  I will be humbled, to be certain.  Russ, although encouraged to attend, will remain at home, tending to the critters. 

There are changes on the horizon for us.  These plans are based on Scripture.  His Word.  These plans have been talked about, prayed about, wept over and are now being put into place.  I am moving forward to enter my “field of dreams”.  A move closer to a Plain life.  I feel like James Earl Jones in the movie, Field of Dreams, beaming that huge smile of his, as he tentatively sticks his arm in the cornfield.  After doing it several times, he shrugs, lifts his eyebrows and walks in, a smile planted on his face.  I, too, am “sticking my arm in”, beaming as I do so.  I’ve been waiting for the last year for the Lord to lead me.  I believe all the changes up to now have been set in place for such an event.  (The changes actually began nearly 30 years ago.)  Hubby Russ is my biggest encourager.  He feels I need to act.  To see.  To experience.  After much debate and prayer, I decided I will just move forward, and see if the Lord throws up barriers, or opens doors.  So far, so good.  I’ll explain more later…as I/we move forward. 

Yesterday morning, in an attempt to feed my husband, and to get him inside to hear my plans for the day, I made raspberry pancakes.  (Russ rarely enters the cabin, once he leaves in the morning for chores.  Many times, usually in a snowstorm, I must venture out and find him on the property to deliver a message, or request assistance.)  So the pancakes were a draw.  We smothered them with the fresh Maple syrup he had put up just the day before, while I was visiting my Amish friends.  Tasty indeed.  The raspberries were from my Amish stomping grounds, and brought good memories of retrieving them last summer.  Sap run is slow this year, so every drop is precious.  Trees are still tapped, waiting for a second “go round”. 

Speaking of getting hubby into the cabin – we have laughed about his uncanny ability to KNOW when the first batch of my cookies are coming out of our little oven.  I make oatmeal/chocolate chip cookies whenever the cookie tin is low, so it is a usual event for us, every few days.  Russ instinctively knows when to come in, even if I delay or speed up!  I then lose my entire first batch, or most of it!  I always make sure there is fresh coffee sitting on the woodstove, to go with the cookies.  That makes the day!

We still have our big hound of a sled dog inside the cabin, in a large crate, along with the other three.  His travel to his new home in Kentucky is delayed another month, so he remains for now.  As I type this, he is enjoying the heat of the woodstove.  He doesn’t mind the delay, as long as he remains toasty through our winter/spring conversion. 

Outside the cabin, I see thick-furred baby bunnies sunning themselves along the side of the feed shed – their favorite spot to be.  Older rabbits are enjoying the crusty, albeit rotten, snow as it melts to expose new sources of tasty treats such as sticks and wood.  We still have several feet of snow to melt before grass comes into play.

One day last week, mid morning mind you, hubby Russ walked out back (armed as usual) to stare face-to-face with a huge coyote.  This big boy (as big as any of our sled dogs) was hootin’ and hollerin’ and yippin’ up a storm.  After staring at each other, the coyote skirted the ridge along the dog yard area and along the back of our property.  No wonder our resident wild turkey stayed treed until almost noon!  Later in the day, while tapping trees, Russ saw where the coyote doubled back and remained behind our cabin.  I was glad when my new Cree 1600 headlamp arrived in the mail, as we have a nightly visitor to the dogs, and I wanted the lumens to see properly from the cabin.  Sneaky boy as he is, I can never get a view of him, although we know he is out there.

Although we loved our horses, I am so glad we are now “horse free”.  It is a freeing feeling, knowing you don’t have to buckle down and spend the summer finding hay to store for the next year.  Not only costly, but time consuming.  But a good horse is Godsend at times.  Like the other day while I was in my Amish friend’s home…let me explain.  Upon saying goodbye to an Amish family who had been visiting, I looked out my friend’s living room window to watch them leave.  I gasped and put my hand to my mouth as two-year old “A” climbed up onto the wagon, and grabbed the reins.  The rest of the family was busy loading items on the wagon, and other children were bustling around.  Little “A” raised his little arms with vigor and swatted the horse with the reins.  I was aghast!  However, the horse merely turned his head in a s..l..o..w.. manner and I could almost read his mind…oh, it’s only the boy.  GOOD HORSE!  This continued on for a minute or two, reins hitting rump, before 4-year old “R” took the reins from her little brother and wrapped them around the wagon.  Whew! 

I have so much to write, dear friend.  I’ll check in soon, and update about our life on our 40 acres.  So much excitement now that it is spring! 

Until next time, Lord willing,

Sherry

P.S.  Out of the 24 chicks that our hen, Israel, hatched last year, 9 ended up being roosters.  I wish you were closer, as they are too beautiful to “put in jars”.  Anyone need a rooster?  $5 a bird! 

P.S.S.  Speaking of birds...wait until I tell you about my new crow call (Primos) and what excitement it brought!!  First, I scared our chickens half to death when I "crowed" outside our cabin door, not to mention it made the crows scatter.  But later in the afternoon, when I went to the woods...oh what an adventure!  Next time, I'll share!