He’s back, he’s back, the boy yelled out, letting the screen door on the old farm house slam behind him.  Momma, daddy, he’s got one, cause he’s grinning. Is it in the truck?? I know you have something in the back of that truck, ‘cause you’re back and it’s not even dark yet, Marty proclaimed.  Daddy, he’s got an arrow missing too….!!! Raise me up so I can see in your truck, Mr. Wilborn, raise me up. Marty’s dad Eugene walked up and peered over in to the bed of my old pick-up truck; You did kill that big six-point, well I’ll be………. That’s a good deer… Congratulations. That buck and his girlfriends have been tearing up my beans all year, no wonder he is so fat. Let me see Dad…….!!! Squeaked little Marty. Whoa, look at its horns. Where did you hit it? How much does it weigh?? Where were you hunting at??? Hang on a little-bit Marty, Eugene scolded. Let him just tell the story.

 

  I was hunting in the woodlot behind your equipment barn; I went back there after I passed you while you were bailing hay this afternoon. I hung my stand about 10 yards inside the tree line, I could still see down into that kudzu gully over to the left. I was in a small oak tree and was able to go up about 17’. The oaks didn’t have any acorns, but there were two persimmon trees around me that were loaded down with fruit. I was there around an hour when my wind indicator string, tied to my stabilizer started to flicker, and I could tell the evening thermals were dropping.

 

  I looked toward the kudzu patch and could see this buck marching toward me. The deer was headed for the persimmon grove on a faint, little path that I had failed to notice earlier. When the buck came closer, I could see the dried ribbons of velvet hanging from his blood-stained antlers. The buck turned facing away from me as he mouthed his first morsel of this fragrant soft mast. The deer had downed 3 or 4 of the quarter-sized, orange colored globes when he changed positions, giving me a decent stance to attempt to an effective shot. The buck bolted at the sound of the shot, put the arrow hit home in a picture-perfect fashion. Running away at full speed the deer’s legs began to buckle under its weight, sending the deer crashing sideways into several saplings. There was a moment of chaotic thrashing then total silence. The next few minutes seemed to exist in a vacuum. It was as thought the earth was devoid of noise. I couldn’t hear the traffic up on the highway. The birds and squirrel seemed to fall silent. Even the wind lay still for a few moments in time as I stepped up to the fallen trophy and basked in all the brilliance of the woods and God’s glory.

 

 Marty said he wished he could go hunting some day, and something makes me think he will.

 

 

 

 

Written By:    Jason Wilborn    Monroe, Tennessee