Hunting is more than just the pursuit of a game animal or fowl. Though by pure definition, this accurately describes the connotation of the word. If, however, we were satisfied with just this, “the pursuit,” we would have tragically missed what the real meaning brings to those of us who, put simply, live for.
What comes to mind when you notice leaves filtering to the ground covering our streets and sidewalks with a hue of orange, yellow, and purple? If you add pristine blue skies overhead with perhaps a faint calling of migrating geese does the picture become apparent? Ok, I’ll help you out a bit more.
Maybe they possess some sixth sense or something innate told them it’s time to check it out. I suppose it’s entirely possible they watched my activities this past Saturday and from past experiences knew they could expect what was to come. Sure, it could have been pure coincidence, but I really don’t think so.
I have no idea what the weather is like when this print arrives at your doorstep. At the time of this writing, however, the first real push from the north has arrived and moved on through the gulf towards the Caribbean. I don’t think any mallards arrived with this welcomed front, but I’m sure they will be close behind.
The serpentine backroads that I travel so frequently are almost like the gateway to freedom. My whole demeanor changes when I exit the fast pace of planes, trains, and automobiles in and around Madison. Life seems to move at a snail’s pace when the last orange barrel that lines so many of our highways and streets is in the rearview mirror.
Fall has arrived! Can you feel it in the air? Are your cheeks just a bit rosy from the sting of arctic air? Is your favorite jacket or sweater enough to protect you from this early wrath from the north? Are you checking the date of this issue to make sure you’re not reading last year’s paper?
I sat alone in my study carefully sifting through an assortment of stone artifacts I have accumulated over decades of walking fields and inspecting crops. Each specimen holds within, a history of Native American which is bound by the walls of knapped flint and chert.
I must preface this article by emphatically stating I have no idea what I am writing about today. With this said, I have in fact pondered, read, and made mental notes regarding observations and statements made by countless individuals whom I regard much more informed than I am.
“There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. Like winds and sunset, wild things were taken for granted until progress began to do away with them.”-Aldo Leopold.
The subtle change that caught my attention was barely notable, but it was just enough to let me know it was time to return. It wasn’t the inner restlessness that triggers migration, however the analogy is somewhat fitting.
