Sunday, 5:15 AM. 30 degrees, wind SW, calm on the porch but windy in the pines. The barometer is down and it feels like a storm brewing.
My plan is to walk the woods road at first light. It is a dark morning. Maybe the deer will move.
Later: I came in for lunch, then went to my alternate spot. Nothing. It’s all about the intersection of time and space lines on a Cartesian graph. In other words, being in the right place at the right time. Well, there's always tomorrow.
Deer season always brings back memories of a monumentally tragic time, the assassination of President John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963 in Dallas. A buddy and I were coming back to Milwaukee from checking out our deer stands in the Mapleton Marsh in Waukesha County, Wisconsin in the early afternoon of that day, and turning on the car radio we were surprised to hear nothing but classical music. Turning the dial, we eventually found that the President had been assassinated. Disbelief turned to shock; this was something that was out of the Nineteenth Century, not the Twentieth. People did not know how to respond to this event, emotionally or logically. I was never a Kennedy fan, but this was an attack on America, as certainly as though we had been bombed by the Russians. To make matters even worse and throw the entire event into the realm of conspiracy theory, the assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, was himself murdered by a low level mobster, Jack Ruby, two days later. Amazingly, my buddy and I were taking a lunch break from hunting at the Mapleton tavern and saw the latter event live on TV . In any case, 45 years ago seems like yesterday.
The photos are of a buck rub and a buck scrape, legacies of the rut.
No comments:
Post a Comment