It is amazing how just a few words can crush someone. How they can hit harder than a Muhammed Ali uppercut, totally unexpected yet so devastating.
I was a teenager at the time. My father, younger brother and I had hunted deer religiously every season for years at the Montour Preserve public hunting lands in central Pennsylvania. We were lucky to even see a deer those days, not to mention seeing a deer in the right season and in a safe shooting position.
We grew up on a small farm near McEwensville, Pennsylvania, milking cows, raising chickens and turkeys, pigs and a pen full of pheasant for a small game hunting preserve that was more hobby than business.
For me, deer season paled in comparison by a long shot to small game hunting. The endless standing/sitting in sub-freezing temperatures, the lack of deer to keep the adrenaline pumping and the super early mornings—getting farm chores done before changing into hunting gear and beating the sunrise to our usual hunting spot.
So, one year during an argument over something so silly I can't even remember what it was about,...
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