Hunting camp. It's synonymous with frosted air, fallen leaves, and straw-colored grass. It's bugling elk and laughing coyotes. It's the men in my life gathering up, packing up, and heading up the mountain. It's the wood stove, dutch ovens, bunk cots, evening poker games, and mama's cookies. It's hiking boots, survival packs, long johns, and gloves. It's blaze orange.
It's learning with Mother Nature; it's keeping with Father Time. It's the heritage of knives, of hatchets, of axes, and guns - and this is what they're for. It's stewardship and the responsible harvest of natural food for the larder. For pot roasts and burger, for jerky and sausage. For self-provision.
It's memories and lessons that run deep and clear. It's scaling steepest slopes, navigating heavy timber, walking across meadows. It's exhaustion and excitement and now I know. It's challenges on one hand, and triumphs on the other. It's some of the deepest, bone-soaking sleep you've ever known.
Have a lovely week's beginning, friends!
.
