Say it along with me now…
Going on a bear hunt. (Going on a bear hunt.)
Gonna catch a bear. (Gonna catch a bear.)
Got my gun.
Got my my monster truck.
Got my Amish friends.
The Country Boy got home from his five day trip to backwoods Kentucky Monday evening. He had spent considerable time prior to the trip looking at Google maps for White Tail Deer nirvana, plotting out strategy, getting gear ready. While he was gone, I got a few texts but overall minimal communication.
I’m trying to be cool with that. Clearly I can babble but I recognize not everyone is like that, especially country boys who are perfectly content to sit in a tree stand for 10 hours not making a peep.
He got home (sans deer. Darn you elusive deer nirvana…). We had a family dinner. He bonded with mules, threw some clothes in the washer, and crashed. He was off before 4:30 am for work so that left little time to talk.
Until last night when (just before he drifts off to sleep) I hear that the plan for this weekend is the bear hunt with the Amish guys.
Apparently in the mix of mom-facts like proper child rearing and family nutrition, and in the farm-facts like animal care and how much hay to feed Ike because he’s willing to share with Donny, along with general people-facts like making sure to check the weather forecast in the morning because even though it was 70 degrees the day before it is going to snow today, I now need to commit to memory the hunting schedules for four states. Otherwise I will continue to find myself in a pickle when I think a particular weekend is free when it is, in fact, booked with men in large pickup trucks driving into the woods.
Frankly, I had been proud of myself for remember that deer season in PA starts the Monday after Thanksgiving. Having the whole bear season skip my mind apparently is equal to forgetting to celebrate your child’s birthday – it just doesn’t happen in country boy world.
So, Country Boy is Hunter Man for another weekend. And I am animal babysitter girl, which is fine I guess.
Being home by myself will give me a chance to put the hunting seasons into my calendar for the next five years, right next to reminders for the girls’ birthdays.