Hunting...

...my way.

I grew up in a family of hunters who are all at various degrees of hardcore.

The men in my life absolutely love hunting season, and they are not impressed if someone decides to get married or if someone chooses to die on one of those four Saturdays in the fall that they could be out in the woods.

So, because of where I was raised and the family that I was raised into, I have taken Hunter's Safety, I'm a pretty good aim with a gun, I have helped cut up and package several deer, and nothing much makes me squeamish.

Even Mom has taken Hunter's Safety. I think it's a rule to be married to one of the Quint men...I'll have to check the rule book on that one. But, I'm not really sure how much she retained from her classes. We took them together, and the entire time, she was busy trying to feed everyone around her fistfuls of peanut M&Ms...

Anyway...

Although I love the meat, and although shooting a deer is one of the items on my bucket list of what I want to accomplish before I die, I've just never really gotten into the spirit of hunting because of one tiny little detail.

I really, really, really, really, really hate being cold.
That's like the world's worst torture for me.

But, a balmy October weekend, during the "almost peak of fall foliage," on a bunch of borrowed four-wheelers with my family? Now, that's my definition of the perfect hunting scenario.

We ride a little, we walk a little, we check our trail cams, we ride a little more, we snack a lot, and we ride and we ride and we ride.

Yep. I could really get into this.