Huntress

Frozen branches creaked all around me. I sat stock still in my blind out in the windy woods. My eyes only saw in black and white, and were playing tricks on me as the morning started to add light to the sky. Every movement I saw made me feel like I was hallucinating.

Was that...? No, nothing.

This was my first year hunting. My whole body was electrified, but I was scared to death. I wanted to connect to the primitiveness inside me, to learn the ancient art of hunting. To provide for myself. In the peripheral of my mind though, I wondered, if I did see a deer, would I actually be able to take the shot?

And what if I actually killed the deer? Then what? Even though I'd watched Youtube videos on how to skin and gut a whitetail, would I be able to field dress a deer on my own? Dad's gently persistent voice echoed in my head, You never do anything without starting. There really was nothing like just putting myself into this situation, starting, to find out.

***

The week before, in this large tract of forested County land, I had set up my hunting blind. There were heavily used deer trails all around the area. I nestled my blind into the branches of a fallen tree on level ground, across from a maple sapling covered hill. The blind was a bottomless camouflage-patterned tent with large porthole windows on every side, to aim out of. I'd read that putting up the blind ahead of hunting day reduced the chance of spooking the deer away with something new.

The men at the small-town hardware store where I'd bought my gear had tried to put me in my place when they found out it was me who was going out hunting. Three of them surrounded me in the aisle as I picked out my arrows. One was clearly the patriarch of the crew. His greased white hair was combed into a 70's era pompadour. He stepped forward and I smelled Old Spice wafting towards me as he tried to lighten his misogyny with a patronizing schpiel.

You're not bringing your husband out with you to hunt little lady? And you've never done this before? Listen, honey, you need to have a hunter show you how to hunt. We don't want you getting hurt.

Give me a break. Everyone starts somewhere. You never do anything without starting. And, husband?

***

Now the light was starting to brighten the snow dusted hill to one side of my blind. My butt was getting cold as the earth pulled my body heat down into it. Inside my blind it was dry and the leaves crinkled as I shifted my legs. They were beginning to fall asleep, the tingling starting in my toes. I had to keep silent, but needed my legs to work, just in case. I kept the crossbow on my lap, and tucked one leg under me. I felt something hard and sharp pressing into my leg, so I scootched over to the left and kept my eyes scanning the views all around me. Then I heard it.

Snap.

The crack of a branch breaking. I didn't see any movement, but I held still, held my breath as I fingered the crossbow in my lap, getting ready. Had the wind just knocked down a dead limb?

Another crack sounded, a few discreet snaps.

It was a deer walking through, nearby. I was sure of it. My head started to spin with anticipation as I scanned the perimeter without moving my body. My arms began trembling and I couldn't lift the crossbow, it felt leaden, magnetized to the earth. As I watched for movement, I made myself slow down. I felt my fingers from the inside, one by one, then expanded my visualization into my hands, then into my arms. I went into the present moment as hard as I could. I was a predator, waiting to see my prey, waiting to summon all my strength and longing into making the kill.

The radius rotates over the ulna as I reach to lift the crossbow, with ease now. I feel the blood coursing through the veins in my hand, down into the capillaries, down into in my fingertips.

Snap.

I turn to my right and see an enormous doe emerge from behind a thick cluster of Hazelnut bushes not far from my blind. She's fat, healthy, a beautiful creature. I shift my body slightly, holding my breath. But there's that hard, sharp point sticking out of the ground again. Ouch. Back in the present. I shift off the point, one knee up, steadying my crossbow. I take off the safety.

The doe starts pawing at the snow, eating the hidden green bits she exposes. Her head is down, now's the time, I think. Her flank is wide open. Aim just a titch right of the mid shoulder, right in the heart. You can do this. I sight the crossbow on her heart. I feel my blood coursing through miles of my veins. She raises her head and looks over, right at me.

Fuck. Could the doe read my mind, feel my nervous energy transmitted through the air?

My arms are shaking. The immense pressure of what I am about to do is making me doubt my intent, and does this mean I shouldn't take this life? Do I have any doubts? Be here, right now. I breathe in. My finger squeezes the trigger as my eyes close. Inside my whole body it is dark and chaotic, like the universe.

When I open my eyes one second later and do not see the deer laying there in the snow I feel empty, and joyous. She's racing away, the long white underside of her tail waving back and forth cheerily as she leaps. My arrow is close by, stuck in the clump of Hazelnut bushes.

Damn. Damn! That was intense. I feel blood sugary and set the safety on the crossbow.

That's just how it is. It's called hunting for a reason. Stay in place, another deer might come along in just a few minutes. Sustain yourself.

I reached into the large front pocket of my jacket and pulled out my snack pouch, a silent beeswax-infused cloth I had folded around a few handfuls of dried apricots and dark chocolate squares. As I opened it, a couple pieces tumbled down into the leaf litter. My hands were still trembling. The experience had been so intense. Life, death, sustenance, survival. All at once.

Leaning over to pick up the precious morsels, I pushed the leaves aside. My fingers felt the sharp point that had been poking me in the leg. I absentmindedly picked at it as I chewed an apricot, the ear-like texture quite a pleasing contrast to the dense chocolate as they mixed and melted in my mouth. Out of curiosity I kept scraping the soil away from the sharp point, and suddenly the corner of an old metal box materialized. Excavating around it with my hands, I felt a different kind of anticipation building. An orangey oxidized patina covered the exterior of the box. It looked handmade and solid, made to last.

I gripped the sides of the box and pulled to remove it from it's resting place. It slid right out into my lap. It was the size of 2 bricks, and felt as heavy. What if I had just found a treasure? Ha! I thought, probably just some forgotten toolbox. As I used my finger tips to scrape out the dirt encrusted in the seams between the body and the lid, I thought, but, people wouldn't just lose things back then. Everything was so precious, so necessary. Especially a box of tools. This box must have been hidden here, on purpose. A long time ago.

What was inside? I felt heat rise in my armpits. I loosened the dirt embedded around the rusty latch. My fingers wiggled around it, trying to find a loose spot to get the latch to come free. What am I about to find? I was still high on adrenaline and now I felt it re-upping. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen, be here, in the moment. I felt curious, hopeful, yet suspicious. The latch came free, and I lifted the lid.

***

These days I sit in the woods to hunt on my own land, thanks to that old metal box. I didn't get a deer that day after all, instead, I experienced an entirely different kind of luck.

The box was someone's hidden cache from the early 1900's. Inside it I had found a worn-looking little black book filled with writing and, unbelievably, a wad of 1928 Two Dollar bills. They were wrapped up in a cotton cloth, staying in pristine condition even after a century in their metal tomb. After a little research I found out that the A at the beginning of the serial numbers meant they were quite valuable. I found a private collector who paid me $20,000 for the lot without hesitation. A rather nice little down-payment on my own place in the country.

The little black book from this unknowingly generous stranger sits on my bedside table to this day. In a voyeuristic way I love to read their thoughts and see their planning. Such an intense dive into the mind of a stranger from so long ago. They were in love, saving up money to propose to their beloved Adeline, planning to leave together and start fresh out West. There are lists with dollar amounts, lists of supplies and gear needed, love poems, a page extolling the pros and examining the cons for several cities. They seemed to want to capture the essence of these northern woods before they left. In the back pages I stare at the stunningly detailed pencil sketches of maple leaves, buds swelling from twigs, shadowy depictions of deer silhouettes and the sloping landscape of the hill right across from where I first hunted, where I found the box. Had they not gone out West if they never reclaimed their cache? Where did they go, or what happened to them? So many questions that I'll never have answered. The author had not written their name down in the journal anywhere.

When I open the last page in the book, my eyes always well with tears. Dad's voice reverberates through the stranger's final entry:

Not sure I'm ready, but I know one cannot do anything without simply starting.