Monday, Monday...

It's Monday morning, my day off, and the deer are probably at the peak of rut, which means that huge bucks are running around the woods wild-eyed and careless (like another species we all know), but, it's pouring down rain. I know, if I was like the dedicated hunters who do the hunting shows on TV, I'd be out there hunting with my rain suit, boots, tree stand umbrella, and the other expensive gear I own. It's not that I'm a weather wimp. It's more a matter of coming to grips with my REAL level of love for chasing the ever elusive big bucks. I enjoy bow hunting for whitetail deer, but mostly I just enjoy quiet time in the woods. I love watching God's creation happening in front of my eyes. It's a hoot to see any animals doing their thing in the woods and know they don't know I'm there. Squirrels are so funny to watch. There is nothing like seeing the look on the face of a squirrel when they coming running down the branch of the tree you're in and they come to a screeching hault two feet away as they notice the huge camouflaged blob in their tree. You can almost here their little brains saying, "What in the world are you doing in my tree!"
My point is, yes - I love hunting, but I do have limits on what I am willing to put up with to do it. After thirty-plus years of doing it, I know when it's fun and when it's not. I've hunted plenty of times in the pouring rain - I did that once last month, and I've hunting in the snow, the hard winds, and the bitter cold. Actually, of all the bad weather scenarios that one could hunt in, you actually have a better chance of seeing some good deer when it's raining than in any other. They move around all day when it's raining because they feel safer in it and it's not so comfortable to sleep a long time in a wet bed. Still, my personal rule is, "Why do it if it stops being fun?" I'm not so driven to get a deer that I'm willing to pay the price of being miserable. Call me crazy, undedicated, or just too practical, or whatever you want. I'm old enough and secure enough in my thinking to not have to prove myself to anyone as "The Great White Hunter." It's something I do for me, because I like it, and because it's not a competitive sport or a symbol of manhood - at least for me.
You know what's nice? Looking out of the window at the back of our house and seeing our beautiful and dry porch, and watching the rain pelting the pond and - well - having no place in particular that I have to be. God is good!
And yet, it might be nice to be in my tree stand this afternoon...