Snickering, “You should really look at yourself right now!” is not encouraging. Before I could throw a scowl at Amy, she snapped a picture of me. True, it’s not exactly fitting for a little brown Filipino like me to be wearing hunting gear, and I mean, completely decked out with the hunter’s cap, camouflage thermal, camo pants, boots, orange safety vest and rifle. But come on, I used to be in the military. Is it really that surprising that I wanted to go hunting with my brother and father-in-law? I can fire a rifle downrange…got a ribbon and qualified as an expert to prove it, once upon a time.
(left: Me and Jeremy’s son Will. He knows more about hunting than I do.)
I love doing outdoorsy things…MANLY stuff…even though I’m horrible at sports, camping or anything that deals with wielding a hammer. Alright, I admit, that as much as I’d like to, I will never fit the Bear Grillis profile. And in all actuality, there are things I’d like to be (master scuba diver, rock climber, MMA fighter, etc.) that would probably never come to fruition because, well, I’m just not that type of person. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try, especially when trying means that I get to hang out with some pretty awesome people. In this particular instance, I wanted to do something I know nothing about…something that intimidates me…something that I will never be good at, in order to understand my brother-in-law.
Mention the word “hunting” to most of my friends in California and they’d probably give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re talking about scavenging for Easter Eggs. As for me, I couldn’t even kill a chipmunk (I once tried to solve an infestation at Amy’s parents house with an air soft gun). Some of my friends believe that killing an animal for sport or for the taste of a certain type of meat is simply primeval and disgusting…selfish and sadistic. But I knew that none of those words could possibly describe the people that I’ve grown to love in Mississippi, especially my own brother-in-law.
(Right: I actually took this picture. It’s not photoshopped)
To tell you the truth, the first time the two of us ever hung out was when we went to an amateur cage match in downtown Natchez. It was the first time that he met the man who was dating his younger sister. A test? Trying to feel me out? Scare me even? All of the above I think. Jeremy is a high school football coach and teacher and darn good at it. He can butcher his own deer, drives a big truck, teaches his kids how to play sports and survive in the woods, and can probably build a house without the use of pesky tools. He’s a man’s man…a typical good ole southern boy. I look up to him, and not just because he’s a foot taller than I am.
So, if the opportunity arises I go hunting with him. And yes, it is pretty obvious that I’m a burden. No one says it, I don’t bring it up, but let’s face it, I stroll around the woods like a 5-year old at Disneyland, pointing at stuff, taking pictures and making a lot of noise. Jeremy has to worry about me getting shot, scaring off the deer or simply getting lost. Taking me along pretty much kills chances of doing any real hunting. Like I said, no one brings it up.
Hunting is a time of bonding…somehow. I can’t explain it. Serious hunters stay in camps overnight so they actually have a practical opportunity to get to know each other. But for people like me, who only go out for a few hours…how can bonding possibly occur? And it’s not like I’m physically next to anyone. Jeremy places me in a deer stand all by my lonesome while he low crawls into some ravine. We’re nowhere near each other. Most times I’ve been with him, we’ve been separated. And to top it all off, hunting requires silence and concentration. Except for the occasional text message to see if you’ve seen any deer or to crack a joke, there is no communication. So, if you’re separated from your friends and you’re not allowed to talk, then how can you bond?
Each time I leave the woods with Jeremy, I feel a little bit closer to him. I know more about the thing he is most passionate about besides his family and his high school football players. I understand what he experiences at 4:30 in the morning sitting in the cold, sleepily watching the sun rise above the trees and listening to the birds wake. There is a thrill and excitement waiting for that perfect 12-point buck to come upon you. (And there is a universal understanding between the predator and the prey. Sounds crazy, but the two respect each other. The hunter has great admiration for the beauty of its prey and is honored that it will provide food for his family for weeks. A hunter doesn’t kill for the heck of it. And if you don’t believe me, get to know a hunter during open season and find out for yourself.) I know how it feels when Jeremy watches the sun go down and the last rays poke through the branches. And the quiet stillness of God…it is a silence I’ve never been immersed in before. A silence so sweet I imagine heaven echoing with it. That is what Jeremy knows and it’s now what I understand in my heart. Oh, and let’s not forget what it feels like to come home and tell the family some cool stories from our hunting adventure, even if I spent the entire time in a stand 15-20 feet above the ground. There’s bonding in that, I’m sure.
I confess, I now love hunting. But maybe for slightly different reasons…
You know, Jeremy is the one who taught me how to skin a buck. He called his dad for some help to drag the animal out of the woods and I decided to help. But Del left with Will and I stayed behind with Jeremy. And by “taught” I mean that I just watched him do it while I held on to the carcass. Pretty disgusting and exhausting. And there is no way I could ever do it on my own even if my life depended on it. But still, a pretty important life lesson in there, I’m sure.
