CONTENT WARNING: DEPICTS THE KILLING OF A DEER. 

As I was pulling out of the camp driveway Mark said “Go left.” We usually went right.

As I was pulling out of the camp driveway Mark said "Go left." We usually went right.

"Where are we going?"

"I know about a place over this way. It's an old abandoned farmstead. The house and barns are long gone but the fields are still there, in the middle of the woods, with nothing around them. There are apple trees there too, and deer love apples."

"Cool", I said. I followed his directions until we found an old grown in path going into the woods.

"Stop here", he said, so I did.

We got out of the truck, got our gear and rifles ready, and headed into this path. About 200 meters in there was an old green car off to the side, completely surrounded by trees. It looked like it had been there longer than I had even been alive. We were walking on the old driveway into the farm, so grown in that it was scarcely wider than a game trail.

About another 200 meters in and we came to a large clearing sloping away gently to the right. It was an old overgrown field, probably 25 acres or so in size, and at the far end there was a row of apple trees. On the other side of the apple trees was another field. The path we were on continued along the top of the fields, and there was a cluster of trees with a very huge pine tree towering over them. Mark started whispering.

"The old farm house was over by that tree, the foundation is still there. Off to the left is an old well. Stay away from it! You're going to go down to the tip of that row of apple trees and sit down. I'm going to continue along the top here until I get past the apple trees, then I'm going to go into the next field. Be quiet! And remember I'm going to be over there so no shooting in that direction!"

"Ok", I whispered back to him.

We separated, me carefully making my way down the slope toward the tip of those apple trees, and Mark sneaking along the top edge to get to the next field over. As I was going I was looking around. This was a truly beautiful place, full of wildflowers (now gone to seed), lilac bushes, and those apple trees still full of apples. I was trying to imagine what it must have been like so many years ago when it was a farm.

It must have been a long time ago because there weren't any power poles anywhere near here. I was thinking about how peaceful and beautiful it must have been back then. I finally made it to the tip of the apple grove and looked around. There was absolutely nothing to sit on, so I simply sat down cross-legged on the ground behind a large tuft of grass and waited with Dad's rifle laying across my lap.

I did not have to wait long.

I had only been sitting for a minute or two when I heard a soft grunt toward my left. I turned my head but could not see anything, but I could hear some twigs snapping. Something was moving on the other side of the apple trees, and it was coming closer. My heart started pounding. The movement was getting closer and it grunted a few more times. Suddenly I could see antlers moving along the top of the tall undergrowth. I couldn't see its body yet, but it was a deer! Not only that, but it was a buck, and it was coming my way!

Very quietly I brought the rifle up and got ready. The antlers were still moving toward me, but I could tell they weren't pointed in my direction. The buck was looking over his shoulder at something and was walking away from it, toward me. It was getting very close now, but I could still see nothing of its body.

I followed it with my rifle, waiting for a shot. It was getting so close that I was afraid it would see, smell, or hear me at any second, but it never did. It just kept coming. Finally, it stepped out into the open, no more than 25 feet from me, still looking over its shoulder in the other direction. Without even thinking about it I placed the crosshairs behind its front shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The rifle erupted, and the buck dropped in its tracks. A perfect, clean kill.

"Carmen!! Was that you?!?" I heard my brother calling from a distance off to my left.

"Yes! I Got him!" I yelled back. I got up and walked over to my prize. I looked at his horns. 6 points, a very nice deer for my first time.

My brother was coming closer now. "What is it? What did you shoot?"

"A nice 6-point buck!" I shouted back. I was euphoric. I had shot my first deer! Another rite of passage completed!

Mark emerged from the apple trees. He had come the direct route, straight through the woods. He looked at me, looked at the deer, then looked at me again, then ran over and hugged me. "Congratulations! It's a nice buck!"

I was beaming with joy. "I know!", I said.

After I excitedly told Mark everything that happened, he smiled.

"That buck was probably going away from me. He knew I was up there and was trying to avoid me. He wasn't counting on somebody else being down here."

That made sense to me. It certainly explained why it had been looking over its shoulder.

"Now the work begins", he said as he got out his knife and knelt down before the deer. He instructed me to hold the legs apart and he went to work field dressing it. After its entrails were removed he cut the heart and liver out of the gut pile and put them into a plastic bag that he had pulled from his pocket.

"Gross", I said. "What are you saving the guts for?"

He gave me a sly look but said "Oh, this is for one of the guys. He likes them."

We dragged the deer out to the truck and tied it onto the hood, then started the trip back to the camp. I was proud as a peacock. It was still daylight, and I wanted to drive it all over the place to show it off, but Mark made me go straight to the camp. When I pulled into the driveway I couldn't resist, I started honking the horn. Dad and a couple of his buddies came out of the camp, and I could see all of their faces brighten when they saw the buck strapped to the hood. We got out of the truck.

"Holy shit, that didn't take long! Who got it?" one of Dad's friends asked. Mark pointed at me. I was too excited to even talk.

Dad said "Really?!? Congratulations!" and he ran over and hugged me. I almost thought I caught a hint of a tear in his eye.

We hanged the deer from our 'hanging tree' so that it could cool down, then we went into the camp. I retold the story at least a dozen times while Mark and Dad were cooking supper. Finally supper was ready.

Mark and Dad placed a plate in front of each of the guys with a pork chop, potatoes, and vegetables piled up. Mine looked different. Instead of a pork chop there was a couple of big, round pieces of meat with holes in them. The meat looked dark.

"What is this?" I asked.

Mark gave me that sly grin again, and Dad was looking at me with the same grin.

"This is the heart out of your deer. It's a tradition. You have to eat the heart of your first deer."

"What? No! That's gross!" I protested.

"Sorry, but you have to" Mark said. I looked around and saw everybody looking at me expectantly. I didn't care.

"No! That looks gross! I'm not eating guts!"

Everybody laughed. Everybody, that is, except Mark and Dad.

"Come on. You have to. Don't worry about it, it's just a muscle like any other meat. We've all done it. It's actually delicious", Mark said.

I didn't believe him. I looked at the meat on my plate. It looked funny with those holes in it. Still, it sure did smell good.

Dad got serious. "Look, eating the heart is a ritual here, kind of a way of showing respect to the animal you just harvested. It's a way of showing that the animal did not die for nothing, that it will be eaten and not wasted. You might not ever eat the heart again, but with your first deer this is important."

I was still not convinced. I looked at Mark. "If it's as delicious as all that, you eat some first", I challenged.

"No problem", Mark said, and reached over to my plate, picked the smallest piece (which was still fairly large), and popped it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed.

"Tasty!", he said.

There was nothing else for it. I had to eat it now. I picked up a piece and bit a chunk off. As I chewed it I considered its consistency: Very tender, not 'grainy' like regular meat.

And it was absolutely fucking delicious.

I gave Mark a thumbs up, then devoured the rest of the meat on my plate. The guys in the camp started cheering. I made a mock bow to everyone and sat down.

I felt good: I had left the house as a kid, I would leave the camp as a man. Suddenly I remembered that we had left the guns in the truck, so I ran out to get them. When I came back inside Mark took his from me and put it on the rack.

I was about to put Dad's gun on the rack too when Dad said "Wait a minute, you need to clean your gun."

"What?"

"You heard me. Clean your gun. You know better than that. Every time you fire your gun you should clean it."

It slowly began to dawn on me, but I hardly dared to ask.

"M-my gun?"

"That's right. I told you, if you shoot a deer with it, it's yours. Now you're gonna take care of it."

I ran into my bedroom to grab my cleaning kit, and sat down on the mattress and got to work. I was grinning from ear to ear as I lovingly cleaned that Remington. I would treasure this gift forever.

I spent the rest of the week hanging around the camp. I had gotten my deer, the season was over for me, so Stanley and I wasted no opportunity to put heat on the other guys. Out of the blue one of us would yell "Deer count!", and we'd both hold our hands up, looking around at everyone else. It was hilarious, and I was full of pride and happiness.

I should have known better. It seemed like every time I had ever been happy something would come along and screw it up, and this time would be no exception.