Whose Woods Are These

Actually, I do know whose woods these are and his house isn't in the village, it's on the property. This is where I've gone deer hunting every year for the past fourteen seasons. It's comprised of a couple hundred or so acres with a large pasture, lots of woods, pond, creeks, springs and plenty of deer habitat. Not that I see deer every year or even fill my tag every year. That's not the point. I really enjoy venison, but getting a deer is just a bonus. The real pleasure is derived from witnessing the woods' reawakening after a night's slumber.

I arrive well before first light so I can wrestle my climbing tree stand into position and set it up for the morning - haul up my backpack filled with binoculars, snacks, lunch, a thermos of coffee, extra hat and gloves should the weather turn nasty, and my camera.

Then I wait. Silence. And watch. A hoot owl in the distance momentarily breaks the silence. Quiet again. The gentle crunch of a deer hoof on snow. Silence. A snort. Just checking, testing. I answer. Silence. Then a reply as she snorts back. The gentle crunch continues. The deer I spoke to but could not see ambles off, content. Slowly, cautiously, dawn steps on stage and the flutter of bird wings in flight hushes through the departing silence. The juncos and chickadees begin to sound and take flight. Soon the grey squirrels ramble about, looking for breakfast. They find a nut, sit back and admire it in their hands like some precious gem before taking a bite or burying the prize where they'll never find it again. More birds arrive - bluebirds, cardinals, downy woodpeckers. The air fills with activity. Everyone's hungry and in search of an easy meal. I pour a cup of coffee and munch on some fig bars. Finally, the fox squirrels arise - late as usual - almost yawning as they they scurry up and down trees.

Every year it's the same, yet every year brings something different, too. Sometimes it may be a flock of geese or ducks, or a red fox upset because he detected my scent but did not consider looking up to find me in my stand, or dozens of raccoons perched in trees until wandering off at the crack of dawn.

This year, it was a couple inches of wet snow covering the ground during the second rifle season. That made tracks easy to spot and there were lots of them. All sizes, too, from fawns to buck prints four inches long. Sign was easy to spot and so were deer, at least the few that arrived.

I got my bonus this year, but I am most thankful for being there several mornings this fall as the woods woke up to a rhythm set in motion long before my arrival and destined to repeat itself well after my departure.