I went hunting over the weekend.
It was cold and miserable. It snowed the first night and opening day was a balmy 13 degrees out. We were all bundled up the in ATV. Still, my face was frozen. My lips wouldn’t move. My feet and hands tingled.
I was the only one with a deer tag. The rest of my family only got elk tags. So we saw a doe, and I missed her twice. I just didn’t have a clear shot.
We searched for two more days and still no shot at a doe. And no elk in sight.
Finally, my chance came on Monday afternoon. Five does were grazing on a cliff near the road. We pulled over, and I grabbed my rifle. However, because of the sun and me aiming uphill it was hard for me to get a beat on one. When I did, I pulled the trigger and she dropped instantly. However, at the same time, blood started streaming down my face. The scope had hit me above the eye due to the angle I was aiming and my left-eye dominance. It sucked.
But I got bandaged up, and we hiked clear up the mountain to her. She was a couple of years old. Cute. Spine shot. Died instantly. My kids and family were all excited. I was too. But my eye hurt and all I could think was “Great, I’ll have a scar there now.”
It’s been a couple of days and the cut is straight and not as bad as I thought. Only time will tell. My eye is still swollen. And the cut is screaming red…
I hesitate to write this because I just applied for a position as a RepFitness representative, and they may not pick me because I have battle scars. But scars tell stories. And mine put meat on the table. It’s part of who I am. And pictures convey the person beneath more than the outer surface.
It was a fun trip. A lot of work, hunting animals and braving the cold. But deer tastes delicious, and it’s been a couple of years since we’ve been blessed with one. All natural. All me.
Something to be proud of. And a scar to boot.