This last weekend was the muzzle loader deer hunt.
What this means to our family is after a YEAR of preparation, talk, shopping, planning, all hour phone calls, map reviews, GPS-looking-ats and event coordination, the mighty hunters are off to stock the freezers for the upcoming winter and revel in all their manliness.
I'm not a hunt fan. Need I say more? I used to enjoy a tasty elk steak or venison roast but while pregnant with Jaden, I cooked myself up an elk steak for lunch one day. I ate about three or four bites when my stomach began rumbling. After a few moments, I began vomiting profusely and continued to do so for three days. Much to Mark's chagrin, I no longer enjoy elk or venison of any kind. I don't touch it, cook it or eat it. Nope nope nope. Ain't gonna happen again. Ever.
My boys are all big hunters. During one of the strategizing/planning meetings, the Deason men decide if they are going to muzzle loader hunt for the year or if they are feeling the urge to sneak around and hunt with a bow and arrow. I prefer the bow hunt. It is in August. MUCH warmer than the end of September muzzle loader hunt when it inevitably snows on us and I complain and freeze and complain WHILE I freeze.
Mark developed a love for the outdoors at a very young age. Grandpa Jack was a big hunter/fisher and did a swell job of making sure that his off-spring knew how to take care of themselves in the great outdoors.
I remember the family gathering for BIG family hunts in Montana. We lived in California. Would that stop Mark from answering LOUDLY to the call of nature? No way. We would load our family up with Dawn, Mike and their kids and off we went to Arasta Creek, Montana. Little kids. Tents. Lots of dirt. Warm clothes and plenty of excitement to spare.
The men hunted. The women cooked and kept camp and monitored the kids while they investigated and scouted and practiced for the "show" that they would be performing after dinner. Tyson would watch in disdain while the other kids would practice their song and dance. My niece was the ringleader for these performances. She would line the kids up and give them all their cues. They learned VERY young that they could charge an entrance fee for these shows and people would pay BIG money to see the kids in their mismatched clothes singing monotone (Goose), dancing on logs and bouncing to the beat of the song in their head.
This last weekend Dawn and I were talking about our family hunts. Remember how Uncle Paul would set up camp before we got there? He would build chairs for the kids out of logs. He built a potty, a shower and a kitchen. The wood was gathered and split and a firepit was made. He was the patriarch of our family and we didn't want for anything.
Mark is venturing into the patriarch role. He loves the hunt and the camping that goes along with it. He has worked hard to teach his kids to respect nature and experience all it has to give. He plans and gathers and prepares all for the benefit of the family he so loves.
The hunt this year was not as well attended as I would have hoped. Schedules are busy. I get that. BUT we as parents are passing a cherished memory on to our own legacy. I told Dawn that I FEAR that when we "big kids" leave the earth that the Deason hunt/family reunion will subside. It frightens me. It worries me.
Ray Bradbury said:
Everyone must leave something behind when he dies . . . Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die . . . It doesn't matter what you do, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away.
So we will leave our gift. My hope is that our kids, our grandkids and the generations to come will hold tightly to it; that the Deason legacy will continue.
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