And that means one major thing here at the Blog-Frey’s.
And hunting is really more of a lifestyle than a hobby. Because I did not grow up knowing anyone who hunted anything, it has been a steep learning curve.
**Despite all this growth, I still feel the need to mention that I believe G does hunt in the most sportsman-like way possible. He only uses a bow, and does not waste what we kills.**
I, however, do not touch the stuff. It is hard enough for me to eat chicken when it is called by the specific body part ( breast, thigh, wing, leg, etc…) It has taken me MANY years to come to terms with this, but I think I am doing a bit better.
As the Fall months approach, car ride conversations are strained and difficult ( you must be on the look-out). Edging on dangerous if one is spotted, and said hunter whips the car to see the animal. I have always felt like I should not share my spottings ( safety), but in doing so it would too gross an act of cruelty ( to G). And I am being serious, people!
That is just the beginning really, but I digress.
He is a hunter. He loves it. It surpasses hobby, and can almost be spiritual. He sits in heat, sleet, snow and ice. It amazes me how deeply this hobby runs in him, in his family and in his hometown. They speak their own language.
And while I do not speak this language, and would much prefer to take pictures of the pretty brown-eyed friends, I do appreciate his enthusiasm ( sometimes).
I took pictures while he was getting his stuff ready, and the kids were running around outside ( another thing I am trying to get on board with….)