We are deep in the fog this morning. The only sound we hear is the sound of the corn dryers on near by farms- the giant forced air corn poppers that dry corn before storage in the giant sheet metal corn bins. No orange people yet, no gunshots yet. No deer fleeing across the fields or trying to hide in the secret garden.
And no preaching from me. The deer harvest is very necessary- too many of the beasts are diseased, and prone to starvation. My only complaint, the orange people who sit in trucks at the side of the road waiting for the deer to be driven to them, the lazy ones who can’t walk to their hunting blind and tear up the hillsides with their ATV’s, the ones who don’t pay attention to where they are in relation to houses and farms, and the ones who shoot at anything that moves, including cows, dogs, and people. And the orange people who seem to think deer hunting automatically means long intoxicating periods of drinking and carrying guns, and who see nothing wrong with leaving their beer cans and bottles along the road sides and in the woods. Oh, and the lowest of the low, the ones who are hunting for the perfect set of antlers and who leave the rest of the deer carcass to rot in the woods.
This next week (while the orange people are about) we are pretty much confined to the yard, and even a trip to the mailbox can be dangerous. I’ve a bright red coat I wear when I go out, and Dennis has his blaze orange sweatshirt, bought to keep him safe while out photographing.
It’s only a week.