November Writing Challenge, Day 12

It evaded me.

Being a bit of a flake, thoughts evade me constantly. Sometimes I’ll be smack dab in the middle of telling a story, get distracted by whatever it may be, and couldn’t tell you for love or money what I had been talking about twenty two seconds prior. I also keep the dictionary app open on my laptop when doing any writing because I can almost think of what I want to say….almost. So if I can put in the word I can think of, I can usually come up with the one I can’t.

I’ve never been a hunter, other than that one time, so I don’t have any thrilling stories of how my prey evaded me. What? You wanna hear about the one time? Well sure, I have nothing else to do, besides read a 291 page book by Wednesday for book club.

I was in 5th grade and had just completed the Hunter’s Safety Education Course with the rest of my classmates. We’d went out to the dam and shot clay targets with a .410, which was not a big deal, since I’d grown up around a bunch of men that were outdoorsy. Uncle Dale had had me shooting BB guns since I was about 5. (But I still don’t bait my own hook). Anyway, he’d had this idea (dream?) of taking me on the juvenile hunt once I passed the hunter’s safety course. I wasn’t opposed. Until it came to getting up at 4:00 am and setting out for parts unknown in Middle Tennessee. I started the day off deaf, according to him, when he told me to shut the gate and I was probably already nodding off in the dark warmth of the old Ford.

We arrived at our destination and began walking. I had my own personal twenty eight pound backpack to heft, along with my gun, in borrowed boots. Of course it was fall, and there was about ten inches of leaf litter on the ground, disguising lethal rocks and holes. Leaves are slippery, themselves, and I went down once, jamming the end of the gun in the ground. After we got that cleaned out, I think we walked about sixteen miles, but it was still dark when we stopped for the sunrise overlooking a valley. I was relieved to stop, if only because I was tired of being told to make less noise tromping through leaves. Hello? Impossible. I’m more Irish than Indian.

The good thing about walking was I stayed warm. The bad thing about stopping was I got cold fast. Sitting there on that slab of limestone, I had three thoughts: #1) I was cold. I shivered, trying to keep my teeth from chattering required concerted effort. #2) I was hungry, but the thought of pulling my backpack off and rooting around for the peanut butter and crackers was exhausting. I was tired already. And Uncle Dale had told me to be still. And quiet. It was hard for me to be either. #3) I had to pee. And I didn’t want to tell him, because he had asked me when we got to our destination and I had said no…but now I had to.

My eyes were tired, and there wasn’t anything to look at besides the field, devoid of anything besides knee high grass, so I shut my eyes. I guess I drifted off, because next thing I knew he was poking at me, telling me to open my eyes and watch for deer. *Yawn* Why did I have to watch, if he was watching too? Couldn’t he just watch for both of us?

When that particular location didn’t work, we were on the move again and I had to GO. I was dreading this, too, being layered in all these borrowed clothes that I wasn’t entirely sure how I got bundled into in the first place. I finally managed, and got everything pulled back up with minimal bunching. Off we go.

I remember crossing a creek. I remember being drained, with a headache on top of that. We had eaten, I think it was just the stress of the day. The only reason I even wanted to shoot a deer was to impress my uncle, but I wasn’t looking forward to all the additional work it would require…and all the guts. Ew. The guts.

So I began to pray we wouldn’t even see a deer. No deer, no deer, nodeernodeernodeer, I chanted with every step. And it worked for awhile. We’d crossed the strip mine field and were following a creek bed when we spooked up a spike. I hadn’t been paying the slightest bit of attention, other than watching the sun get lower in the sky and trying to decide what time it was. Uncle Dale got really excited, though, and was telling me to shoot. I was fumbling around and couldn’t remember where the safety was when he took it from me, flipped the button, and handed it back.

By this time, the spike with his white flag tail had bounded to safety. Although, truth be told, it was never in any danger from me. Uncle Dale was disappointed, I think he cussed a little, but I was secretly relieved. Now we could go home. The little deer lived to tell all his buddies and I could take off this ridiculous itchy blaze orange toboggan. And take a little nap on the way home.

So we went by the farmhouse and met the property owner, Mansel, told him of my almost-adventure, and set back off to East Tennessee.

I can’t remember if Grandmother bought me The Yearling before of after this escapade, but I remember cherishing the book much more dearly than the trip. Get yours HERE.

I haven’t set foot in the woods since with an intent to kill. Uncle Dale still goes right regular, he just got back from Catoosa, as a matter of fact. The closest I’ve come to going with him again is when we rode over to the Hicks property and hung a tree stand a few years ago. We don’t share this particular hobby, although I do appreciate the fact he tried.

I love deer meat, but I really couldn’t have less of a desire to go kill one. If I was hungry, on the other hand…well, hopefully I wouldn’t be telling any evasiveness stories.

Something else that has evaded me is fame and fortune. But that’s probably for the best. I’m insufferable enough as it is.