It is not "me" season

You really don’t realize how much your normal wardrobe resembles the general appearance of a common whitetail deer until you move to a rural section of northern Minnesota and the annual rifle deer hunting season arrives. For instance, my shoes are brown (BLAM!), my parka is brown (BLAM!) and my flapped winter hat is also brown (BLAM!). I probably won’t be shot, but my chances of getting shot while waiting with my son for the bus are somewhat elevated this time of year, something that troubles the mind of a budding fatalist like yours truly.

This is the last weekend of the Minnesota rifle hunt, a time made notable by the increased sense of desperation by hunters who have told their wives or employers that they were hunting these past few weeks but were really just drinking, walking around or riding four-wheelers. Now they must justify the time with an actual carcass, preferably the body of a deer but the body of a public radio commentator? For many, that would do. I intend to curl up in a very small ball under some grass and wait for sundown.


  1. I was a little upset with my loved one when he wasn’t dressed in as much orange as possible this past weekend when he was out getting trees off the trail. He doesn’t have hunting clothes, but he used to wear one of his jackets inside out, so he looked pretty orange. He seemed oblivious to the situation. Yet one time, during bird season, he heard a bullet fly past him. OTOH, back in the 60’s, a bullet went through a bus window in front of me in a city bus in Milwaukee. The bus didn’t even stop.

  2. I have been shot at twice. Once walking my Labrador near my family home, another time whilst roller skiing ( basically skiing on pavement using wheeled skis. Used by xc skiers and biathletes to train when there is no snow) I was covered in blaze orange both times. Just shows how careful one has to be.

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