deer | Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

One of my favorite autumn rituals has become my now annual trip down the road to visit the North Unit of the Theodore Roosevelt National Park just outside the ever-expanding limits of my home town.

These days, more than ever, I believe this park to be a blessing and a gift, a reminder among the chaos of a bustling industry to slow down and remember the best things in life.

The sky…

The grass…

The quiet, wild things.

I like to visit those rugged buttes to be reminded that I am one of those quiet, wild things and last week I took my Little Sister along on a little hike so that she could remember that too.

See, Little Sister has just recently come into some major responsibilities after graduating from college last winter. And with her new teaching degree in health and physical education, she has found herself in a small school outside of our hometown writing lesson plans, leading jumping jack sessions, chasing around adorable kindergarteners and helping seniors prepare for college while working on getting a master’s degree in counseling and guidance.

I’m tired just thinking about it, but so proud of this woman who, in my mind, should still be 8 years old and following me up the creek to the forts we built behind the house.

I still find it a little disheartening that when we grow up that seems to be the first thing we give up…walks to nowhere.

And building forts.

But that’s what the ranch does for us, and places like this park. It provides us with a reason to walk to nowhere, to climb to the top of a hill and look down,

to notice how that jet leaves a white streak in the sky and to wonder where it’s going…

while we find we’re happy to be right where we are.

Happy to point out the small deer crossing the road or a chipmunk below our feet instead of worrying about deadlines and messy kitchens to clean.

Happy to notice how the sun shines through the changing autumn leaves on the river bottom instead of how the end tables need dusting and the windows need a wipe.

Happy to trip on a rock as we make our way down from the buttes, happy for a near-miss incident that we can laugh at together, thankful we made it in one piece.

Thankful that we’re not sweeping right now.

Or doing paperwork.

Or making dinner.

Thankful that someone set aside a place for us to go to get away from all of the things that seem to matter so little when it comes to a choice between watching the leaves change or watching a television screen.

Thankful that we can walk to the river and talk about the time Little Sister broke the tire swing as it flung her out over the coulee and dropped her in the creek. Thankful she survived the fall, though she was certain she was dying.

Thankful she has nearly forgiven my reaction of hysterical laughter.

Thankful that years later, though those jets could take us anywhere, we still chose to be out under this beautiful and familiar sky…

Together.

Ok ladies. Happy Monday. And if you’re reading this I would like to congratulate you. Because it seems you have, if only by the hair of your chinny, chin, survived the opening weekend of deer hunting season.

Now if you’re here and have in no way been affected by this phenomenal holiday that turns perfectly decent, shirts tucked in, clean shaven, soaped up Midwestern boys into growly, whiskey drinking, scratchy bearded, poker playing, primitive manly men, then revel in the fact that for the next two weeks you do not have to negotiate outings into civilization with your man based on whether or not he has indeed “filled his tag.”

And I am well aware that some of you womanly women get right in there and play like the boys do, taking no prisoners, leaving it all behind for the love of the sport. To you I tip my blaze orange Elmer Fudd hat and say, “Long live the sportswoman.” We’ll have to get together soon over wine and venison and hash out the hunt.

But for those lovely females who have uttered the words “hunting widow” in the last few days, or ever in your married or dating lives for that matter, I would like to offer you something here.

I would like to get up on my pedestal (or kitchen chair, or the railing of my deck, or my tiny desk) and tell you that “widow” does not have to be a word in your vocabulary. No, not yet. You too can enjoy the pure, animalistic, back to nature experience of the hunt with your man in all his glory. And you can love it. Or at least tolerate it. All you have to do is put on your sports bra and your wedgie free undies and gear up for a purely carnal experience and get back to the basics of man. If anything the experience may help you gain some clarity on the weird male behavior your love will be exhibiting for the next couple weeks.

So for the benefit of females everywhere who have a hankering to see what it’s all about, I have consulted with the manly men around me and have taken some hard learned lessons from my years of experience walking silently behind the most serious sportsmen in the county to come up with the following:

The Ten Commandments of Deer Hunting with your Man

Yup, that's me, that's my deer, that's my man, that's my denim jacket and that's my neckerchief.

1. Thou shalt not wear swishy pants

2. Thou shalt not call any animal “cute” or “adorable.” You are now the predator, the fluffy critters with the big, beautiful eyes, are the prey. You heard me. Predator. Prey.

3. Thou shalt not complain about having to pee, but will squat behind a proper bush if absolutely necessary (and be quiet about it). And while you’re at it, thou shalt wear enough warm clothes so you are not cold, and eat enough food so you are not hungry and do everything in your power to remain comfortable enough so you have nothing to complain about, because really, thou shalt not complain.

4. Thou shalt not be the first to comment on husband/boyfriends’ shortcomings with any weapon and will instead provide only positive reinforcement. I.G.: “Great shot hunny.” “Way to take your time! You’re so methodical, so patient!” “You butt looks great when you lean in like that.” And my favorite, a whispered, almost silent “wooo hooo…woo hooo” and high five accompanied by your greatest smile when he makes the kill.

5. Thou shalt not whine about how blaze orange and greenish/brownish camo are not your colors and wear the seven sizes too big clothing like Pamela Anderson would. Because if a sexy woman like you can’t pull off this color combo, no one can.

6. Thou shalt kick it in gear, power-walk style and show husband/boyfriend what it means to really get somewhere while increasing your heart rate, burning calories, and spending quality time with your man–because women invented multi-tasking for cyring out loud.

7. Thou shalt understand that while on the hunt it is perfectly acceptable to walk or sit for several hours in complete silence. And, sweet lover of the outdoorsman, this is not a time for discussion about what color to paint the kitchen walls or where you should send your unborn child to preschool or how much your dearly beloved spent on that gun slung across his back.

8.Thou shalt bring your own snacks and pay careful attention that the wrappers do not make crinkling noises and the food itself does not pack a crunch. If you must have a granola bar, bring it unwrapped for the love of venison. When man is on the trail of the big one, all he wants to eat is the big one. He is not thinking about and does not appreciate that Snickers bar or tortilla chip you are so loudly devouring.

9. Thou shalt accept the fact that while hunting there is no work on Monday, there is no house, there are no kids, there is no basement renovation or fence to build. Nothing. There is nothing but the following: Man. Woman. Beast. Hunt.

10. Thou shalt understand that if you cannot abide by the above nine commandments, thou will never again be invited along. Ever. Ever.

Which may or may not be a bad thing, you know, depending on how it all turns out.

And one more thing, before you grab that camo cap and pack the jerky, I invite you to read a previous piece of mine to get a clear description of what might happen even if you do everything wrong. Because he is your man after all, and you are his and he loves you and your over-active bladder, candy wrappers, poor circulation and everything in between–“Sneeek…Sneeeeeeek….” “Shhhhh…”

Now take off those swishy pants and go get ‘em girl. The view alone is worth it.