Opening salvos

Frosty Christmas fern

Pennsylvania’s rifle deer season opened this morning.  I heard four or five shots by the time I left the cabin.  The shots came from several directions, not from the same shooter. Most were across the mountain from me or at least down in the narrow valley between Roundtop and its next mountain neighbor.

One shot was close, not too far down the mountain.  I wouldn’t be surprised to learn the six-point buck that foraged for acorns in my side forest earlier this fall was shot. I haven’t seen that buck for a few weeks now.  Once that little group of deer depleted the acorns, they moved elsewhere.  I shall probably never know if a hunter took that deer or not.  Even if the doe and the summer fawns return later to the same spot to forage, a buck might well move on once mating season is on the wane.  So not seeing him with that group wouldn’t necessarily mean anything.  The buck will soon be dropping their antlers, too, making it difficult to pick one out at any distance.

I am particularly enjoying the weather right now.  The nights are below freezing, though the days still inch above that mark.  The air has been calm, and no rain or snow has fallen recently.  I can shrug into a mid-weight jacket or run outside with only gloves and a hat for outerwear and still feel comfortable. Even the evenings are comfortable enough to linger outdoors after dark.

Baby Dog and I stand at the end of the driveway and survey the mountain.  We look into the distances above and below us and look for anything that moves.  I always know when Baby Dog has spied something because she barks at it.  Baby Dog never learned the virtue of silence.  Mostly we don’t see anything. It’s just enjoyable to just stand and look.