(Mis)Adventures in Deer Hunting (Part I)

It’s deer season and I hadn’t been hunting yet.  Opening day had come and gone, and I hadn’t been to the deer blind once.  Not even during archery season.
My elbow has been bothering me for over a year now, and my doctor just chalks it up to getting older.  #timetofindanewdoc?
It has been tough to pull my bowstring back, not to mention climbing up into the stand.
Plus, it hasn’t been cool enough to keep the mosquitos away, so I haven’t been interested.
But November 4 heralded the beginning of rifle season in my neck of the woods.  I had to work that day, so I didn’t get to go.
But soon the temperatures finally dropped and I got some time off.  The stars all lined up the other morning, so I donned my duds, gathered my gear, and traipsed into the woods after my hubby an hour before dawn.
The Hubster locking up the blind after a hunt one day.
We were getting settled into our huntin’ chairs and trying to be quiet when suddenly Hubby said, “Oh, s***.”  I followed his gaze to the place illuminated by his cap light, behind and over our heads where a cluster of red wasps sat humming, their black wings folded flat against their fire red bodies, unable to move because of the cold.
To quote Roseanne Rosannadanna: “I thought I was gonna die.” 
They were indeed humming, quivering as if intent on attacking but frozen and unable to carry through.  I was out of that little wooden modified shed blind faster than we could say, “You fumigated this place, didn’t you?”  and answer, “Yes, with three bug bombs!”  WTH?
Then I remembered my backpack was on the floor wide open!  I imagined angry wasps dropping into it and getting acquainted quite painfully the next time I reached inside for my binoculars or a snack.  

“Get my backpack!” I hissed/whispered/shouted at Hubby.  I cared not if the biggest buck in ten counties was in earshot.  “And my gun!  And my coffee!”
Don’t forget the coffee.  I was barely awake.  Well, I had been barely awake until I saw wasps.
Now I was wide awake.
My husband, hero that he is, just happened to have a can of wasp spray in the blind, which he put to good use, dropping those suckers like flies, which he then proceeded to stomp and sweep out the door.  It was safe to re-enter in just a few minutes, which I did, ruffled feathers, spine chills, and all.
He saved the day before the sun came up.
We were back in our places in no time, confident that Big Billy Buck would wander into view soon after daylight.
Well. . .

In the blind chillin’ (literally) with my coffee a couple of seasons ago.
Stay tuned for the rest.

By aencoker

Author, teacher, mom, grandmother, but most of all, Christian.

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