This is the time of the year that we hand the lands over to the deer hunters for a while. We are about one-third of the way through plowing and have finished up our corn, limed the fields, and planted winter rye to help stabilize and put nitrogen back in the soil.
In preparation for the start of the hunting season, instead of dusting off the rifles and ammo, my husband Dan and I were removing our tractors and other equipment from the fields. Not that our vehicles are any safer from vandalism or theft at any other time, it just seemed like the prudent thing to do.
Hunting is so big around here that after a someone shoots a deer, pulls it out of the woods, transports it across a field and gets it in a truck, it could still take hours to get to an official reporting station. Not because the distance to the scales at the quickie mart or gun shop is far away, but because of all the side trips made along the way. After all, what’s the point of getting buck if you can’t show it off to the neighbors – especially if it’s a good looking specimen - and from what I’ve seen, a lot of them are nicely sized this year.
Right now, there’s an 8-pointer’s head and fresh pelt hanging from the basketball hoop in front of the milking parlor, twisting in the breeze. It made a gruesome signpost for my cheeseplant; one that I’m sure raised an eyebrow or two over the weekend. Our farm is part of the Vermont Cheese Trail so tourists and travelers come right to the door, some with the recently published Vermont Cheese Book in hand for us to sign. I think it didn’t bother our visitors too much since they bought quite a bit of cheese. Perhaps that flapping skin is akin to a field of sunflowers, something interesting in the Vermont countryside to have your vacation picture taken next to. It can be a risky venture, thinning out the wildstock; every hunting season I’m reminded that this activity isn’t the safest thing a person could be doing with their time. A few years back, someone who was denied permission to hunt, shot my cousin’s husband while he was in his tree stand (he recovered). Rejean Lussier’s death while sitting in his tractor is never far from mind, and last November, David Jenkins was fatally shot; he was not wearing safety orange.
Hunting for sport or meat is not my thing, but it’s pretty nice to have venison, game birds, and if one is lucky enough, moose in the freezer.
I’m content with target shooting and taking a few pops at those pesky garden-digging woodchucks and egg-stealing ravens. Of course, hitting something that moves isn’t like shooting cans; I like to think of it as intimidation with extreme prejudice - I’ve never actually hit anything that vexed me enough to want to put it in the ground.
