Facing Fresh Air and Frostbite

Monday was day two for my quest for venison. My luck for the early morning hunt was twice as successful as Saturday. I saw two squirrels. The wind wasn’t quite as strong and the cold didn’t seem so piercing, but then again I wore my thick, warm Icelandic sweater of natural colors made from the wool of the sheep that live in Iceland. I don’t know if it was knitted by machine or by some little old lady, but it was very warm. Later I went with my brother Ken for an evening hunt and saw seven deer/ Two were does that rocketed past us before we had a chance to move. The others were on a hill far away. They looked abut ¾ of an inch long in the distance. Dusk fell and we drove home.

Tuesday I was sore and was questioning whether or not to go hunting. I thought it might be nice to rest and allow my aching knees and wrist to heal. My strained wrist was aggravated by my fall from the deer stand Saturday. It really ached in the cold air. But it wasn’t to be. My telephone rang at 7 AM. It was my brother. He asked me to come, because he’d seen a small herd of deer and was sure that they would still be there. I hadn’t had breakfast or taken my morning meds, but I didn’t hesitate. I wanted some venison to can and to freeze. I couldn’t do that sitting on my butt at home. I dutifully dressed and headed to his house.

The place he wanted to hunt was about 3 miles away. Climbing out of his truck, we headed through a small patch of woods that overlooked an open field. Ken was right. There were about ten deer and they started to walk toward the hilltop. Bang, Ken’s gun roared. Usually deer will run at the shot, but these seemed startled and froze. Actually they took a few steps closer. That’s how I got my deer.

We gutted them and dragged them to his truck. At home we began to peel the hides from the carcasses in the garage that my dad, Carl Beck built. It’s a cinder block building that stays cold as a refrigerator and allows us to hang the deer inside where they can cool down, age, and not spoil until we’re ready to cut the deer up. We butcher them ourselves. That way we know it’s the deer we shot, it’s the entire carcass, and we blame only ourselves for any hair that we find. Also, I don’t like the bone dust from the butcher’s band saw.