Growing Up With a Hunting Dad Was a Precious Gift

A red cotton T-shirt or flannel was my dad’s usual hunting shirt of choice. He’d pair it with wool pants and add a jacket and blaze orange to complete the woods-ready outfit. Back then, camo wasn’t really the trend and he seldom wore it.

 

 

My dad was a born hunter who didn’t get to actually do much hunting until he and my mom moved to Montana in their 30s. Before that move, he hunted in his dreams and studied maps to feed the fantasy. But by the time I reached toddlerhood, that fantasy was becoming reality. As our family settled into the log cabin we called home, my mom taught herself to garden and preserve food and my dad took up hunting and fishing.

 

Fall was my favorite part of the year, and still is today. While my mom, sister, and I harvested apples, my dad focused on harvesting meat. The smell of homemade applesauce still lingers in my mind, as does the sense of anticipation we always felt when my dad was out chasing game. Would he bring home an elk? What if he encountered a bear? Was he staying warm enough in the single-digit temperatures?