Relative Something

During the nine days of the deer hunting season, the properties on either side of us become occupied by blaze-orange-clad individuals, and we adjust our travel patterns to avoid the edges of our woods. It becomes rare that we spot any deer wandering around.

When we first moved here, we quickly learned how important deer hunting is to the folks around us. The neighbor just to our south introduced himself to us by stating more than asking, “You’re not going to post your property ‘No Hunting’(.)?”

Our little subdivided plot was originally part of his family’s land, where he has hunted his entire life. We were okay with allowing him to continue his tradition and were interested in avoiding the awkward situation of dealing with the issue if we did object steadfastly.

I think he recognized right away that hunting was not something we were inclined toward, and he has always been respectful of that. One time, long ago, right before the season opened, he checked with us to confirm permission to cross into our woods if a deer that had been shot ran off. That was an easy request to grant.

He’s never checked again since, but long-term permission was implied, and only one time in 13 years have people from his collective of hunters needed to drive their 4-wheeler into our woods to retrieve a carcass. It’s been relatively quiet over the last five years, in terms of hunting activities around us.

Yesterday, while Cyndie was walking Asher down by the road, the neighbor stopped his pickup truck and asked her if he could hunt from within the edge of our woods. Cyndie said there was an awkward pause while she tried to figure out a response.

Our preference would be that we wouldn’t need to constrain our walks in the woods, but we do that anyway during the hunting season, so that doesn’t really make a difference. There is a small wish that our land could be a safe zone for deer to bed down to avoid hunters, but we own a dog that is always excited to make chase after wildlife, so it’s not ever really all that safe.

Cyndie said her response after the delay was a slow, uncertain vocalization of acceptance. It’s only nine days.

After the fact, I suggested she could have ditzily said yes right away, but add that she just didn’t want him to fire his rifle because the loud bang would upset the dog and horses from that close of a distance.

I almost got a deer yesterday evening while traveling over 60 mph on the way to a dinner party in the Cities. At that speed, I wasn’t going to be able to change the outcome, but the buck hesitated just enough at the last second so that our car raced past without impact. I could have reached out and touched him. It was nerve-rattling.

We are in his debt for granting us permission to pass before he continued his way across the road.

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