Awww Autumn

My sister recently blogged about her husband's and my dad's recent hunting trip, (see Carolyn's blog)and with all the changes that have happened with the coming of Autumn, the cooler weather, the leaves beginning to change colors, our visit to the State Fair, I have been thinking a lot about the feeling of Autumn at home.  Even though Christmas and the feeling that comes with it, starting in July, is my favorite half of the year, I love the Fall. Every year my sisters and I would go "hunting" with my dad. I think my dad actually got a deer with my oldest sister and brother when they were young, but that was before my time. I heard it scarred them both and Lynnette refuses to go hunting again. One by one, each of my sisters all dropped out and I was left to be my dad's faithful hunting partner. It was both Monica and I for a long time. We liked to take pictures of us holding our deer weapons and make like we were serious about looking for game. But usually our minds were only on shooting targets and eating apples and talking like the volume of your voice didn't make a difference to whether you were going to see a deer or not.        One time when Monica and I were both younger, as we were driving down the road in our large, and very sporty, red and white striped van, my dad spotted a buck (I actually wrote "boy deer" first and then thought it wise not to sound ignorant since I am a well-trained huntress). He stopped the van suddenly and called for the gun. Monica, getting excited, because that's what we were there for after all, handed him the gun as he dashed outside and into the thick brush after the buck.        

     As we sat there, adrenaline pumping, Monica suddenly flipped around and said, "Do you realize what's happening?" As our young, Bambi-filled minds started to process what "deer hunting" actually was, for it had never played much of a part in past trips, we started to cry. To add guilt to anguish Monica added, "and I handed him the gun!" So we did what any other helpless person might do, we prayed in the back living room-sized portion of our van that my dad wouldn't get the buck. I believe Monica even asked for forgiveness for handing him the gun. As we awaited the daddy deer's fate, we heard a gun shot. That was it, we were sure. We were murderers. (Although I do think Monica would have been a little bit more murderer than me for handing him the gun.) 

       But, needless to say, my dad wandered back, rather disheartened, and climbed into the van to report that he had taken a shot at it, but it had ran around a corner and he lost it. We both made token comments of disappointment and condolence, but secretly (for it was a deep secret we wouldn't share for many years that we had prayed away possibly his only hope of catching a deer) we were relieved that we had saved a buck from it's sure fate (my dad really is a good shot).

But definitely one of my favorite days of the year is the deer hunt with my dad. For about 7 years or something it was just my dad and I. My dad is an amazing guy. I don't know if there's anything I appreciate more than those times my dad spent with just me up in the mountains. It was always so beautiful and refreshing and the words of advice, motivation, consolement, and friendship that he gave me really made me know how much he cared about me. My dad is one of those people I can just talk to about anything, and he's always interested, he's always laughing and helping me see that most situations aren't as serious as they seem, and he's always telling me I'm a good person.  I love my dad for taking me up into the mountains every year to talk and hike and shoot targets and eat apples and be with just me.  

So it's the first year I missed out on the hunt.  But because I am so talented at hunting, (I am rather stealth-like if need be), I'm going to go hunting with my dad the next time I'm in Utah in October.   So dad, don't stop hunting, and don't stop not catching a deer, and I'm still your hunting partner.