Reflections on the Eleventh Week of Fall

     The rumble of pickup trucks on West Creek Road woke me Monday–the first day of deer season. Mid morning, Spence walked me to the garage for my drive to the Meadville YMCA. A hunter's truck was parked in the old driveway. I looked down at my black coat, decided Spence's red baseball cap would protect us, and planned to start wearing red or orange outside.

     Spence waved me down the road. Later, while I ate lunch, he related his morning adventures. He had briefly chatted with the two men from the parked truck. They stood in orange vests, wore rifles in slings on their shoulders, and rubbed their cold hands. Spence pointed to where he'd be doing his version of hunting–gathering firewood with his bright red tractor and noisy blue chain saw. Spence chuckled as he finished the report. “A half hour after they gave up and left, two deer galloped down the hill.”

     I also chuckled-imagining the pair splashing across Deer Creek.

     But earlier at the YMCA, I had my own first day of deer season adventures. School age children, who weren't out hunting, wandered the halls while their parents exercised. Jim, the hefty guy from my Deep Water Fitness class, was the only man in the pool. “Are you going hunting?” I asked.

      “No, no. I only went twice to appease my father.” He grimaced then added, “But my mother hunted. At ninety-two she bagged a deer.” Though I was wet from a pre-swim shower and wanted to slip into the water quickly, I shivered on the deck and listened to Jim's story. His mother had hunted from what their family called “the winter palace,” a tree stand in the woods with windows in all four walls and a kerosene heater to keep her warm. She'd drive her mini jeep under the palace, climb the ladder to the enclosed platform, and snack on sandwiches.

     On my way home from lap swim, I passed six pickup trucks and a dozen orange clad men regrouping in Charlie Flickenger's yard. They wouldn't have time to start hunting before I walked back to the house. I pulled into the garage and guessed Spence had already considered that walk. On a board sticking out of the back of his truck, he had hung my red vest.