BEEP BEEP BEEP! 3:30 A.M. but I’m already awake; every year the same anticipation over and over. I crawl out of bed and stumble to the bathroom. I turn the shower on and wait for it to get warm. Shivering, I crawl into the steam. For the last two weeks I have washed with my scent free soap. I get out of the shower and wipe away the water on the mirror. I put my long underwear on and walk down stairs and I’m usually the last down there. At my grandma’s, my uncle, my cousins, my grandpa, my dad, my brother, and myself sit down at the table and share our excitement. We talk about how we couldn’t sleep or how my dad kept everyone up late talking. He tends to do that a lot. Around 4:30 everyone starts to put there blaze orange on, piece-by-piece. After we get our eight layers on, we head out to our stands. Quietly, I work my way through the cornfield and onto the grass runway. Lights are bobbing all around me, as other hunters make their way to trees or ground spots. I climb into my stand and strap myself in. It’s still dark and I quietly wait for the sun to crack over the treetops. All around, I hear the breaking of twigs and crunching of leaves. Slowly, the sun peaks over the horizon and sends rays through the trees. The fresh snow sparkles like diamonds and looks untouched.

The sun works its way over the horizon. Suddenly, I hear crackling of leaves and crunching of snow. It gets closer and closer. My heart starts to beat faster and faster. It’s right behind me. My stomach is in my throat. Suddenly it appears; a tiny little squirrel is skipping through the fallen brush. I could be mad but I’m not. I watch the squirrel as it plays in the snow and then another squirrel joins him. They wrestle on the ground and climb the trees. I laugh to myself. They make their way further into the distance. Then I can’t see them anymore.

I start to doze off but I’m too excited to fall asleep. I sit and wait. Birds chirp throughout the calm trees and the echo of gunshots run through the air. I think to myself that if everything is quiet then they’ll come.

Soon enough I realize it’s about 11:30 and I can’t feel my toes anymore. I think it’s time to go eat some lunch. I work my way out of my stand and through the woods to the field, up the runway, down the driveway, and into grandma’s house. Soon my brother, my dad, my grandpa, uncle, and cousins should walk through the door. Grandma has a great big pot of chili on the stove. I try to wait for the others but you just can’t resist the smell of the chili we get only once a year. Everyone comes in at different times but with the same intent of eating that chili and warming up. Then once again we put on the blaze orange and make our way back to our stands.

I sit in the stand and wait for my dream buck to walk through those trees, but I would be just as satisfied if it was a doe or even a fawn. I just like to watch them play in front of my stand and see them in their natural state.

Suddenly, “snap” “snap” “snap”. I slowly look behind me. I see him. He’s slowly moving his way in toward me. I wait anxiously but am very cautious about every move I make. Soon he’s standing right below me. He’s sniffing. That little nubbing buck is letting his curiosity show. “BANG”, he hears a nearby gunshot and off he runs into the distance away from the startling noise. Before I know it, it’s time to start heading back to Grandma’s.

When I get back, everyone sits down for another bowl of chili and we all share our stories. And soon we’re all off to bed. Tonight we will all sleep a little better; mostly because the majority of the ambition is gone, but also because my dad is too tired to keep everyone up. As I lay in bed, I recall the day’s events. I’m not disappointed because I didn’t get my dream buck or because I didn’t see anything more than a few birds, squirrels, and a little nubber. I’m excited and thankful that I did see them. I sympathize for those “city folk” who don’t get to see what we see out here. I thank God for all the beauty he has put in front of us.

Every year it’s pretty much the same thing over and over, but I never get sick of it. Neither does the rest of my family. Hunting is our tradition and it’s the one tradition that will never die.