Hunting

Photo: Richard Johnson

When I hear Richard say he is going hunting in northern Alberta for a week, I can’t help think about being young and knowing when it was hunting season.

My dad was cleaning his gun and getting his red jacket ready – as well as his stash of aged cheese in a brown ceramic pot and Ritz Crackers. 

Religiously, mother celebrated Thanksgiving with a big turkey, fresh rolls, Yorkshire pudding.

Photo: Richard Johnson

We ate in the dining room, putting leaves in the table to make room for the guests. “Where is Doral?”, someone would inevitably ask. 

“It is the first day of hunting season,” she would reply. “I would never ask him to miss that.” 

Photo: Richard Johnson

 Richard and his friend had gone looking for a deer, taking a week off work to drive north. 

He says it is part hunting and part being on the land, away from phones and internet – enjoying the animals, the sunrises, the smell of the harvest.

“We got a deer, early in the week,” he told me this morning. “I would love to see some pictures.” 

Photo: Richard Johnson

“Here, taking anything off the disk you wish,” he said, pulling the card out of his camera and putting it in my hand. 

 “Just telling you, the deer is hanging in your garage, so you won’t be surprised when you go out there and see it.”

So when I went out to the garage, I wasn't surprised.

Arta