I Married a True Outdoorsman

The poetry of the earth is never dead. ~John Keats

Tomorrow morning around five a.m., Husband will wake and get ready for his hunt. He'll gather his camo, burlap shades, his call, orange beanie, pocket knife and rifle and a steaming cup of coffee and jump into his Dodge to head for the mountains. He'll set out into the deep, lush wilderness, not far from our home, quietly listening and stalking the illusive.

It's adventures like these that have shaped the man. His loyalty to the wilderness is vast and his respect of the hunt runs deep. He feels proud to live off the land in even the slightest way. He is even prouder to feed his family.

As I have mentioned before, it's days like these that I would wish upon Husband regularly if I could. When he has the chance to escape into the woods or down to the river, something happens inside of him that penetrates. It's as if the very air is God's breath and the trees His long arms, welcoming Husband into the mystery and the beauty that He has created. Husband always returns from such days with a peace and a quiet that only an outdoorsman would know--and love.

The Hunt of 2006

Husband and the Sharratt Boys

(This is no small Elk! He made two record books that year! He was taken out in one shot with a Long Bow by Rickie--the man on the right.)