For the Love of Hunting

I just bid the guys adieu. They're off to their yearly hunting weekend, and maybe this will be the year they get a deer.

I have no problem with hunting. I grew up in these rural Hilltowns, therefore I grew up with hunting. And guns. It is a culture here, and when Steve first told me he was into hunting I wasn't surprised in the least. I needed to look no further than our attic to see a picture of my great grandfather, Paul, standing proudly with his gun and a deer circa 1925. Hunting, while no longer a means of survival, is still practiced here.

I'm lucky, though. One of the guys that hunts with Steve? His wife happens to be one of my very best friends. She's coming up to our house with their kids, and they'll spend the weekend like they did last year. Our four kids are ridiculously close in age- her oldest is a mere 2 years and 1.5 months older than my youngest, and our two girls' ages are in between! They'll run around, tear the house apart, and I can see us sitting back (maybe adult beverages in hand), and marveling at what a change a year brings.

And I'm hoping for that deer. The frugal part of me could really see a benefit to the meat a deer would provide. I've had venison plenty of times, and if cooked correctly, it's pretty tasty.

As I waved goodbye to the guys tonight, I remembered one of the things Steve said to me when we first started dating. He said he loved that I was a Goshen Girl- someone not afraid to walk in the woods (ahem, not during hunting season), go to Vermont, use an outhouse, etc. He was glad that I was okay with his interest in hunting.

Almost 12 years later, I'm still proud to be his Goshen Girl.

(ETA: I wrote this last Thursday. The guys, sadly, did not get a deer, but my friend and I had a fun time and the kids played together well).