It's That Time Again

Those who've known me a while know about my yearly fall ritual.
Living, and growing up, in southern California doesnt offer much opportunity for outdoor pursuits, unless one wants to surf, or hike forset trails devoid of much wildlife. Camping in the desert ugliness is appealing to some, but not to me.

Fishing is popular, but all the lakes have cement bottoms, charge steeply for access, are stocked regularly like aquariums, and for me, just not much fun.

About 15 years ago, I gained, through Dad's marriage, access to much acreage of prime Georgia deer habitat. What's even better is that I was granted exclusive access to these beautiful acres, and all deer within.
I promptly took up hunting, and suffered the often humiliating learning curve that goes with it.

Earlier this past year, a developer made an offer on the land Dad couldn't refuse, and along with the contract came a hunting/firearms restriction til the close of escrow. My fun times were dashed away with the stroke of a pen. I knew this day would come, but I wasnt ready to give it up just yet. Needless to say, the begining of fall didnt bring the same level of excitement and anticipation this year as in years past. Nope. Instead it brought on a small dose of depression. Just when I was starting to get good at this thing, and able to carry myself through the woods with the air and confidence of a seasoned predator, I was being relegated back to foam-tray-meat-eater status. The empty game freezer was to be my destiny this year.

Last night, the phone rang. It was Dad. The developer pulled out just weeks from closing, citing the current housing market.
So what does this mean? I asked.
"It means grabba your gun and get your ass out here",Dad says.
Dad says the deer are thick this year. Thicker than he's seen it in 5-6 years. And the developer was so kind as to clear a few extra trails through the thickest woods while performing his geological studies.

Happy Days are here again.
Til next season, anyway.