Something has been pulling on my heart strings this week. 

This could be the first opening weekend of deer season I won’t be going out to my stand for. Life with a two month old, and I being his main food source, is proving a little difficult to make the choice to hang up my blaze orange on the close line to air out. 

Am I letting the family tradition die? What will Ryker think if I don’t hunt this year?

Okay, let’s let reality talk, he won’t know or care if I had to take this year off.

Whether my grandparents and parents knew it, they’ve instilled that love of the outdoors and hunting deep into my heart and soul. It’s not just about the hunt, it’s about the memories made with family and friends.

So many people find it surprising that I hunt, and not just whitetail deer either, but that I can also shoot a rifle. But that’s what you do in Sheldon. It’s tradition.

My grandpa was my hunter’s safety teacher. He’s the one who first taught me how to handle guns safely and properly. He’s also taught me that every gun can have a story. There’s a notebook that serves as a journal of his guns and the stories they tell. If you’ve ever seen his safe of guns you’d know there are quite a list of tales in there. 

When my dad gave me my first rifle I remember sighting it in. He taught me that you should always try to make a good, clean shot. He’s got an eagle eye that I wish I had, instead my brother got it. 

As a kid we’d go out as a family deer shining. Sitting in the front of my dad’s single cab Ford, belting out 80s rock like Def Leppard and Whitesnake, and sometimes Rob Zombie (when mom didn’t go with), was a blast. 

The Friday night of opening weekend, mom and dad took me to the local bar to buy our licenses and sign up for the big buck board. I remember being so anxious for opening morning while I sat there eating my cheese burger and sipping my kiddie cocktail. 

The traditions are not just about family, it’s also about friends. We’d all have to go back to the same local bar to register our deer. The prized bucks would be in the backs of the trucks for all to see. Of course we’d have to casually walk by each tailgate to see who got what. If we didn’t see our friends at the bar we’d drive to their cabin to see how they fared the first day. Some beverages were had and some BS was told. 

Trying to sleep on the old couch in our cabin that has no running water and no electricity sucks, but getting up knowing we were making memories has always been worth it. Even when your mom would stay at the house, in her nice comfortable bed and still get a bigger buck than the rest of the crew. Why couldn’t we all take just a short walk from the house and get a big buck? I guess the stories might not be quite as entertaining then.

Unlike my grandpa’s tales in his journal, mine are not only about guns, but about hunting with family. This deer season the tales might be a little different from year’s past. In this season of life I know I can continue making memories for my ‘journal’ next year. As a family we will start our own new traditions but also add them to the ones we already have.