By Paul Miller
Thirty years ago when I was 8, my father started taking me deer hunting. It was the opening day of the shotgun deer season in New Jersey. Four of us went, my father, uncle and cousin and I.
I remember the first group of does we saw. Dad told me to take a deep breath and not to move. I was nervous. Although I didn’t have a gun, in my mind, I was hunting.
My father took me again the next Saturday. I remember sitting on the ground and looking at the moon boots I got at Jamesway. Dad had me take a marker and color in the white stripes on the boots to try to camouflage them.
I don’t recall seeing any deer that day.
Many things have changed since then. I no longer wear moon boots. I have the newest camo clothing from top to bottom. There is no more wondering what my hunting partners are seeing. We all have radios, text messaging, picture and video clips in the palm of our hand. Seconds after you walk up to your deer, you can send your friends a picture of it.
The one thing that hasn’t changed over the years is our love for the woods.
My father did everything for me to get a deer. Now I do everything I can to get him one.
I laugh when I recall wearing the red, white and blue moon boots. No matter how much better the hunting equipment gets, it will never be as good as the people who taught us to hunt. Thanks, Bud (dad).