If I gave up hunting.

I’ve started to notice that some men my age are giving up on hunting seasons. They just aren’t getting out in the woods like they use to. They, like me, have gotten married and most of them have a child or are expecting one in the coming months. Their careers have kicked into high gear and they are all hustling after the next promotion or pay raise. They’ve always got something to do on Saturdays and, even, Sundays when I call them up. It’s gotten so severe that I have started to ponder what it would be like if I would give up on it myself.

If I gave up on hunting there would be no more early morning, weekend alarm clocks going off when the bed was warm and the room is still so dark. If I gave up on hunting that spare room in our house might finally become the office it was intended to be rather than a camouflage gear explosion that is always in some state of being picked up or strowed apart. If I gave up hunting my garage would immediately grow in size, able to fit every yard and house decoration my wife could possibly purchase for the various holiday seasons. If I gave up hunting, there would be no cold-numb fingers, no ticks to pull off, and no poison ivy to avoid scratching. If I gave up on hunting there would be no more cold boat rides and wet dog smells in the truck. If I gave up on hunting, I could sell off the whole lot of my guns, which I won’t discuss their worth with you, but let’s just say we could be looking at a pretty nice vacation to Paris, France. If I gave up on hunting I might actually see that Saturday football game that everybody talks about the following week.  If I gave up on hunting there would be no planting of food plots in May and hanging of deer stands in June, July, and August heat. There would be no club dues or license expenses. If I gave up hunting, I wouldn’t have to explain to my wife the necessity of that new pair of boots or why it is paramount that I have those new duck decoys I just ordered. If I gave up hunting, I wouldn’t miss so many family functions around the holidays. If I gave up hunting I could even be the cheerful guy at the ugly Christmas sweater party who is genuinely happy to be there, couldn’t I?  Yes, if I gave up hunting things would sure be different.

However, if I gave up hunting, I wouldn’t be there to see a sunrise in the cold marshes of a January morning. If I gave up hunting, that buck who plays hide and seek in the oak brush swamp every fall afternoon would probably go unnoticed. If I gave up hunting, there would be no more anticipation of opening day, the excitement so intense that you are unable to sleep. If I gave up on hunting, there would be no duck dog to train all year long. If I gave up on hunting, I wouldn’t count the doves on the power line as I drove by or take an interest in the acorn mast of the oak tree in our backyard. If I gave up hunting, fall would be just another season of the year, winter and spring, too. If I gave up hunting, I’d never again smell the mix of swamp and gun powder hanging in the dawn, morning air. If I gave up hunting there would be no more backstraps grilled medium rare or duck gumbo simmered all day long. If I gave up hunting I wouldn’t be a part of the out of state hunting trips, the hot breakfast after a cold morning hunt, the stories told around a fire each evening. If I gave up on hunting, I’d probably never hear another wood duck squeal pierce the pre-dawn sky or feel the gobble of a turkey rattle my chest as he slips up behind me. If I gave up hunting, I’d never again experience the shivers of excitement after shooting a deer or see a flock of bluebills crash land into my decoys in a 20 mile per hour wind. More importantly, if I gave up on hunting, I’m afraid the memory left behind by my grandfather would slowly die and, maybe, even a part of me would die as well. If I gave up on hunting, I’d run the real risk of each year just passing me by, unmarked by the possibilities of things missed.

So it doesn’t look like I will get much sleep again this hunting season, after all. I guess this means that the office probably isn’t going to get cleaned anytime soon and you should probably cancel my invitation to your Christmas party. I’m sorry I can’t make it. It would seem that all I have to look forward to the rest of this year is cold hands, tired eyes, wet dogs, and maybe even a deer to drag. Oh, the burden I bear.