My kid spotted this Hydnum species yesterday. Little shit found her first one before I found my first one.
Every Thanksgiving, we take a bit to hunt. It's not about the hunt. It's about the brotherhood. We have a beer then, walk around the woods bullshitting and reminiscing. It's been a tradition for almost 20 years. In years past, it was different. Get a good buzz and run around with the guys and be stupid. These past few years, it hits a little different. We all have wives and kids and careers so, we don't get to goof around like we used to. These are the years that it truly means something. In the coming years, we'll be bringing our children along. The beers will fade but the tradition will remain strong. Keep your traditions strong. Keep them alive. Pass them down so they live on.
Half inch high at 100 yards! (12.7mm high at 91.4 meters for you non-Americans). Tomorrow is the first day of rifle season here in Pennsylvania. Here, and many Appalachian states are deeply rooted in the hunting tradition. Some of my first memories are of my father and uncles finishing up the Thanksgiving meal and getting out the rifles and gear to go put a few rounds downrange and make some adjustments to ensure a good shot. Grandpa giving them advice they didn't want or need but they listened and nodded in agreement. (He stopped hunting years prior) The air filled with laughter, stories from childhood hunts, good natured teasing about falling asleep in the woods and missed shots and, Marlboro smoke. For every deer shot, a dollar was signed and hung on the cabin walls. These are memories shared by us as a people. Not just me. These are memories that stretch from Maine to Georgia. From the 1700s to the now. These are our ancestral memories and we must preserve and protect them at any and all costs.