A lot has transpired since my last update, some of it even related to hunting. Each summer I enter each fall dreaming of hunting day in and day out until shooting Mr. Big. At this point in the season, I’d settle for being able to sleep long enough to dream. The arrival of Oliver Jacob Biebel late last week has derailed my hunting and sleeping schedule, but I’m not complaining.
It should come as no surprise that I blew my first opportunity at a deer this year, but after nine months of waiting for the opportunity, I don’t have any regrets.
New Hampshire archery season opened last Friday the 15th, and with it enough anticipation to distract a fellow from his duties at work. I must say, I was slightly more productive than I thought I’d be during the day and the afternoon couldn’t come soon enough. There would be no afternoon hunt for me, but I was able to get out long enough to pick a tree for my climber and get it set for the following morning’s hunt.
If there was one way to describe Rayna the best, it would be that her presence was always felt. If I was clearing snow from the driveway, she was there catching it as it shot from the snow blower. If I was mowing the lawn, she would drop a rock right in my path and force me to stop the mower. If Steph and I tried to watch a movie, she would sit in front of the TV and block our view. If I forgot to latch the bathroom door while doing my business, she would push her way in and expect a good head scratching while I was unavoidably detained. If she’d been able to talk, she’d have been an introvert’s nightmare.
My increase in concern over how much time I’ll have to hunt this fall is inversely related to the decrease in time until Baby Biebel arrives. My concern hit an all-time high this past weekend when I made my first scouting trip of the season. It’s hard to adequately describe the feelings of anticipation that I feel when standing over a pile of deer poop in an acorn infested stand of oaks. Knowing Mr. Big roams through this area, even if at night, is enough to get my heart rate up. That, and the mile-long hike to get there.
When extended family comes to visit, I’m not one to spare the good stuff. “Hey, wanna grill a woodchuck?” I asked my brother-in-law as we were chipping golf balls around the yard one evening. Brock is not one to back down from a challenge and he claims to know how to grill, so I fished the poorly packaged woodchuck out of my chest freezer and plopped it on the table. Silence filled the air as intrigue descended upon the crowd of young children gathered around.