The Hunter’s Widow

I am a Hunter’s Widow. Since that first fall of dating my husband 30 years ago, I recognized that I would forever be a Hunter’s Widow.

In those first five years as a Hunter’s Widow, I would miss him so much, and the reunions on Sunday evening were always very sweet. I would count the hours until he got home. When we had young boys, I was resentful of his weekends and weeks away hunting. I felt stuck to the house, needing to entertain two busy little boys. But after the boys were old enough, they were able to attend the hunting trips as well, and for the first time, I felt liberated during the hunting season. I learned to make time for myself and make time for my friends.

These days, as my husband has gotten older, he hunts less often. He does more hunting in our own woods and fields, so that doesn’t take him away for a full weekend. I miss those Hunter’s Widow weekends.

This weekend marks the opener for deer hunting with a rifle. Jeff and Robbie will hunt over on his brother’s farm property. Clint long since gave up deer hunting, admitting he just can’t sit in a deer stand for hours on end. He prefers bird hunting, which allows him to move around and talk between flights of birds. I like having the meat in the freezer. Almost all of our meat, venison, goose, and duck, gets made into some sort of sausage. I much prefer that to the gamey taste of the meat.

I am a Hunter’s Widow, but the hunter gets too cold in the woods for very long, so he hunts around the house and then comes home and warms up in the bed sheets. It’s all different right now, but it’s all good.

Good luck to all the hunter’s out there. May you use every part of the meat, and may you say a prayer for the Soul of the animal who died in order to provide you nourishment. Be thankful.

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