It was perhaps with its own note of poetic license that the ground pulled tight with the astringence of winter’s first frosty kiss the very morning that thousands of hunters braved the cold in hopes of a morning harvest. 

Opening day felt different this year, perhaps not in itself, but in the scheme of new gates being opened for those involved. 

This is the first year that Sunday hunting has been legalized in Pennsylvania for most of the Sundays of the main deer season. After many years of deliberation and debate from both sides of the issue, the state finally opened these days to hunters, for better or for worse. I myself will not be partaking of the Sundays available to me, mainly due to personal beliefs and out of respect for the Lord’s day. But even for other Christians, this may not be the consensus of conviction. To hunt on Sunday or not to hunt on Sunday will be a decision for all hunters to make for themselves, given this new freedom. 

What I will say for the state’s decision is that at a very basic point of view, it creates more freedom, and while we may be at liberty to do something, we are not necessarily required to. This is the nature of this new reality, and as any good American should feel, more liberty is a positive thing.

Getting back to opening day: The morning started brisk, and it remained a mostly sunny day with the wind dying down as the afternoon crept in. By dusk, the air had almost warmed, but that was mainly due to it not moving as much as it had been doing in the morning. 

My wife took a few hours to test her worth and about five layers against the cold at the crack of dawn. I myself worked most of the day and found an hour before sunset to sit out for a bit. It was a quiet evening with a gorgeous sunset descending on an otherwise peaceful day. There were the sounds of a few distant gunshots as the minutes ticked by, but there was peace and stillness that remained in the echoes. This was not the shoot-em-up chaos of a rowdy deer camp. No pushers walked the property to kick up the game, no sounds of passing four-wheelers and UTVs to stir up the landscape. This was the hunting that I enjoy the most: serene, quiet, reflective. 

I’ve often thought that I do my best thinking while on stand. Being alone with God’s creation, not doing, just looking, listening and soaking it all in. The sounds speak more sharply, the colors stand more starkly, and time begins to slow, despite never really stopping, as we might desire it to. 

Neither my wife nor I saw any deer that first day, at least not on stand. We’ll be back out again as we can, but in the meantime, life marches on, and our priorities keep us in church on Sundays and work on Mondays. Perhaps we’ll find an afternoon or a day off to log some time in the field again. But fortunately, our deer stand is only a short trot through the woods from our house. 

The way out here, we are among many thousands of others who enjoy this sacred season. We cling to the same aesthetics of nature, harvest, food and hunting skill. Each of us clings to a handful of tales from past hunts and crazy coincidences that made for the most fantastic of stories. In the growing speed of life, however, I take note of the stillness. For me and my hunting, I find comfort in the snow-brushed fields of green, sparkling with the tinted light of sunset, as I rest my tired back against this tree, rooted firmly in the cold, hardening earth below. Content to wait my turn amidst the ranks of thousands of others, I am but one woodsman, bound to the joy of tranquil pursuit.