What does opening day mean to you? Growing up in a household with a single mom that struggled to make ends meet; it was difficult for us to spend time in the outdoors. However when we would go out mom always made sure that I had a blast.
Whether we were fishing at a small pond belonging to my uncle, or cruising the backroads looking at the wildflowers and cattle that grazed in the pastures. Sometimes I would even find myself walking down old dirt roads picking up soda and beer cans because we could recycle it for money, but more importantly because she had grown up using that same dirt road to take her to town or a friends house and hated to see it trashed.
My mother loved the outdoors and everything that came with them. She taught me that their is a place for everything. The fish fed us as well as birds and other fish. The vegetables and fruits we enjoyed were also enjoyed by deer and rabbits. Even the snakes that got into the chicken coop had a place; dead on their backs to make the rain come. We enjoyed many outdoor activities together up until the day she passed but the one thing we never did get to thoroughly enjoy together was hunting.
Mom had grown up as a child in the mid to late 50’s. She was one of nine children altogether. Having been born into a family of poor farmers she had to learn at a young age how to live off the land. However the women would always do the basic things like cook, clean, feed chickens, water and weed the garden. Although the men would often help with the garden and other chores you could guarantee a paycheck that every opening day men would do less gardening and more hunting. It didn’t matter if it was dove, deer, duck or squirrel. The men hunted and the women would continue with their mundane tasks. So it’s easy to see that my mom didn’t know the first thing about hunting but she could catch fish with the best of them and grow some of the best looking squash I’ve ever seen.
Almost everything I know about the outdoors I learned from my mother but the one thing I didn’t learn a lick about was hunting. It wasn’t until the summer of 2014 while in the military that I had gotten the idea from a buddy to pick up hunting. I would ask mom the occasional question here and there but she didn’t know much which often led me to doing my own research. After a year of researching and practice with a cheap compound bow I took to the field for the 2015 season.
That year I would get a shot at a buck. A decent 3.5 year old 8 pt on public land. I remember calling mom right after the shot because I was so sure it was a heart shot and telling her the good news. She was probably more joyed than I was. Well I found out that day that 1.) deer are tougher than woodpecker lips and 2.) I needed more practice. After searching for countless hours I never did find the buck. The arrow didn’t tell me much either other than I had hit him. No bubbles, no guts, no dark red blood. The blood trail (what little there was) left me only scratching my head. I felt defeated but my mother encouraged me to not give up.
In 2016 with a new found appreciation for Gods 4 legged brown blessing I started my deer season in Tennessee, having been stationed at ft. Campbell. Long story short I ate tag soup that year. In 2017 I had gotten out of the military and moved back to Texas. I knew that year was the year I would accomplish my goal.
And in October I punched my tag on a doe. I called my mom again but only after retrieving the deer this time so as not to get her hopes up again. It was a beautiful 20 yard shot. She went down in less than 60. I only got one deer that year but the excitement and joy that I got to see on my mother’s face that day was worth a lifetime of tag soup seasons. It’s been almost three years since I’ve filled a tag and almost three years since I’ve even hunted. This will be the first year that I’ve hunted without her.
We lost mom September 21st 2019. A mixture of health issues and 7 years of kidney dialysis finally shut her body down. She fought like hell up until the end but the Lord wanted her to come home. This opening day if people pass by me going in or heading out they may only see me walking but there are two of us there because I know no matter what she is with me. She’ll continue to watch over me and be with me for many more hunting seasons (I pray). Opening day used to be like an unmarked holiday for me. It was a day I looked forward to all year. This year I still looked forwards to it but for different reasons.
I feel this year it’s a time where I can be close to mom again. Where I can share her love for the outdoors and adventure. A day where I can sit and truly enjoy all of God’s glory. So this is why I ask y’all; what does opening day mean to you?
Whether we were fishing at a small pond belonging to my uncle, or cruising the backroads looking at the wildflowers and cattle that grazed in the pastures. Sometimes I would even find myself walking down old dirt roads picking up soda and beer cans because we could recycle it for money, but more importantly because she had grown up using that same dirt road to take her to town or a friends house and hated to see it trashed.
My mother loved the outdoors and everything that came with them. She taught me that their is a place for everything. The fish fed us as well as birds and other fish. The vegetables and fruits we enjoyed were also enjoyed by deer and rabbits. Even the snakes that got into the chicken coop had a place; dead on their backs to make the rain come. We enjoyed many outdoor activities together up until the day she passed but the one thing we never did get to thoroughly enjoy together was hunting.
Mom had grown up as a child in the mid to late 50’s. She was one of nine children altogether. Having been born into a family of poor farmers she had to learn at a young age how to live off the land. However the women would always do the basic things like cook, clean, feed chickens, water and weed the garden. Although the men would often help with the garden and other chores you could guarantee a paycheck that every opening day men would do less gardening and more hunting. It didn’t matter if it was dove, deer, duck or squirrel. The men hunted and the women would continue with their mundane tasks. So it’s easy to see that my mom didn’t know the first thing about hunting but she could catch fish with the best of them and grow some of the best looking squash I’ve ever seen.
Almost everything I know about the outdoors I learned from my mother but the one thing I didn’t learn a lick about was hunting. It wasn’t until the summer of 2014 while in the military that I had gotten the idea from a buddy to pick up hunting. I would ask mom the occasional question here and there but she didn’t know much which often led me to doing my own research. After a year of researching and practice with a cheap compound bow I took to the field for the 2015 season.
That year I would get a shot at a buck. A decent 3.5 year old 8 pt on public land. I remember calling mom right after the shot because I was so sure it was a heart shot and telling her the good news. She was probably more joyed than I was. Well I found out that day that 1.) deer are tougher than woodpecker lips and 2.) I needed more practice. After searching for countless hours I never did find the buck. The arrow didn’t tell me much either other than I had hit him. No bubbles, no guts, no dark red blood. The blood trail (what little there was) left me only scratching my head. I felt defeated but my mother encouraged me to not give up.
In 2016 with a new found appreciation for Gods 4 legged brown blessing I started my deer season in Tennessee, having been stationed at ft. Campbell. Long story short I ate tag soup that year. In 2017 I had gotten out of the military and moved back to Texas. I knew that year was the year I would accomplish my goal.
And in October I punched my tag on a doe. I called my mom again but only after retrieving the deer this time so as not to get her hopes up again. It was a beautiful 20 yard shot. She went down in less than 60. I only got one deer that year but the excitement and joy that I got to see on my mother’s face that day was worth a lifetime of tag soup seasons. It’s been almost three years since I’ve filled a tag and almost three years since I’ve even hunted. This will be the first year that I’ve hunted without her.
We lost mom September 21st 2019. A mixture of health issues and 7 years of kidney dialysis finally shut her body down. She fought like hell up until the end but the Lord wanted her to come home. This opening day if people pass by me going in or heading out they may only see me walking but there are two of us there because I know no matter what she is with me. She’ll continue to watch over me and be with me for many more hunting seasons (I pray). Opening day used to be like an unmarked holiday for me. It was a day I looked forward to all year. This year I still looked forwards to it but for different reasons.
I feel this year it’s a time where I can be close to mom again. Where I can share her love for the outdoors and adventure. A day where I can sit and truly enjoy all of God’s glory. So this is why I ask y’all; what does opening day mean to you?
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