For three years running and for reasons you could care less about, I once again find myself suffering from a severe case of winter blues. It is not terminal however, and by the time you read this spring will be making me feel much better.

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It was the eve of the 2009 firearms season and as was their nature the hunters in our family deer camp were bantering around the campfire.  Their normally jovial mood was slightly tempered, however, and I knew why.  The lack of deer sign had subdued their usually high expectations. 

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The old hunter quietly sat in his makeshift ground blind; his trusty old recurve laid gingerly across his lap.  As he watched over the trail crossing the creek bed as it led from the big woods to the adjacent farmers’ field he hoped tonight would be his lucky night because the first of three long firearms seasons started tomorrow.  He could be off the ground if earlier this fall he had not procrastinated and fixed the wooden platform in the tree behind him.  Instead, he had planned to buy a metal ladder stand before the two-week bow season had begun.  Unfortunately the firearm hunters had snatched up the few stands the stores in his area carried.  The longer his vigil went, the more his thoughts wandered.

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