By: Bob Smith, a HomeWorks Tri-County Cooperative member
Do you have one particular day each year you look forward to more than any other? New Year’s, your birthday, Christmas? The one day I look forward to the most is Nov. 15, an unofficial Michigan holiday and an official Smith Holiday—the opening day of the Michigan firearm deer season.
For the past 50 years, I have spent the opening day of deer season in the woods with Smith family members. This great family tradition dates back to the late 1930s, when the Smith Deer Camp was established in northern Michigan. My dad and I counted over 75 people who had attended our deer camp at least once. Many have long since passed and are now only memories, but on Nov. 15, their spirit comes alive.
Nov. 15, 2003, is a day I will never forget. Even though my dad and I had hunted together for about 35 years, we had never shared a hunting shed. With my dad’s age and health going in opposite directions, we decided to share a shed for what I thought might be his one last hunt.
We arrived in the shed well before daylight and sat quietly, just taking it all in. Waiting for daylight was a great time to think about our traditions, memories of prior hunts, and the lessons Dad had taught me over the years. On a sadder note, I thought about what the future might bring as I contemplated how I would forge ahead without him if this were his one last hunt.
We saw several deer before 9 a.m., but none we felt we wanted to take. Then suddenly, the largest buck we had ever seen popped out of the woods close to our shed. I was the only one in a position to take the shot and quickly ran through the lessons I had learned from Dad: Take one look at the antlers and decide if you are going to shoot, then try your best to ignore them, be sure you have a clear and safe shot, slow your breathing, rest the gun on a solid surface if possible, and then finally squeeze the trigger.
As if a greater spirit were with us, all his lessons came into play perfectly, and we had that monster buck. He really did not say anything, but I could tell he was proud and happy. He understood the Smith hunting tradition would go on, and his memory and legacy would continue as long as I could breathe the cool, clear November air.
Another tradition was to stop at the local cemetery on the way home and show my mom the year’s harvest. She had passed away almost 20 years earlier. Now, I have two reasons to stop at the cemetery. I continue to hunt with his spirit, helping inspire and guide me thoroughly, knowing any hunt could be my one last hunt.
The purpose of my story is not to turn you into a hunter, but rather to encourage you to create some family traditions and memories.
