Crunchin’ Acorns! I love the way my feet crunch the acorns on morning walks. They carpet the ground in brittle lumps, and smashing them is therapy akin to the popular bubble wrap-popping pastime. Hearing the small, brown nuts pop and crackle as their orange guts squish out onto the pavement or ground is almost as satisfying as eating an entire bag of crispy, forbidden potato chips. My mind always associates the season of fall with acorn smashing and huge hickory nuts falling from colorful branches far above my house to roll down my roof. Both types of nuts are aggravations. The hickory nut banging disturbs my rare naps, plinking loudly on my bedroom A/C window unit, or the eaves of the house. The littering of acorns on the ground makes my solitary prayer walks loud and obnoxious. My annoyance at these nuts is also more deeply rooted. These pods help to feed the enemy; squirrels, deer, wild boars, and all those other critters that make up the sought after game of Louisiana’s main season – hunting season. I used to have a ratty camouflage colored t-shirt that I wore often which said, “We Temporarily Interrupt this Marriage to Bring You Hunting Season!” That slogan pretty much stated how I felt about the sport. With many of the men I know, hunting is more than a mere sport or hobby, it is a way of life; the be-all goal of existence; the raison d’etre; a birthright; a pursuit much like seeking the holy grail; the event around which all other events rotate. More than a few men folk choose their jobs and work schedules around the time frames of hunting season, often “dragging up” from their jobs when that golden opening day of the hunt rolls around. Normal, rational, productive men seem to lose all prospective each year on these multiple opening dates, and it’s not uncommon to hear of marriages breaking up because husbands have chosen the thrill of the woods to the comforts of home and hearth. A popular joke around the hunting theme reads like a classified ad: “Single man seeks wife who cooks, loves dogs, has hunting lease and bass boat. Send photo of lease and boat.” An often-seen door sign and bumper sticker says, “A bad day in the woods is better than a good day at home!” The existence of an abundance of fodder for jokes, slogans, and sayings speaks to the common problems that this “sport” often breeds. I’m sure that the acorn and hickory nut annoyances, these innocent pods of God’s bounty, get unfair associations from me. But when I add up the hours, days, weekends, and holidays that the hunting season they represent take from my family life, I can’t help but be a bit provoked. Believe me, valiant attempts to impart guilt upon the head of the hunter will not deter him from his wooded sanctuary. Lord knows I’ve tried for years! It’s not the premise of the activity I object to. My husband and relatives are excellent gamesmen and women. They obey the laws and rules, take care with safety responsibilities, and make sure all the hunters-to-be (young sons and daughters) get proper training and courses through the Wildlife and Fisheries agency. They do not hunt for sport alone. They clean and butcher what they kill, proudly filling freezers with their booty. I’m not jealous of the male bonding for days on end, or annoyed that Thanksgiving holiday meals are interrupted or have to be served cold or piecemeal. The part I find hard to justify is all the time I spend alone with the kids while Dad is at the hunting camp. And that was particularly hard when they were 2, 3, and 4-years-old and he also traveled with his work extensively. It took years of behavior modification training and prayer power to squelch the urge to scream like a banshee whenever I heard the first rumblings of hunters gearing up for their seasonal hiatus. The three wheelers, four wheelers, target practice, banging and sawing on hunting stands and blinds, and other assaults on the ear were all just gigantic acorns under my skin! Before I make myself sound terribly uncharitable, let me explain that hunting season does not just cover a few random weekends each fall. There are the pre-season mandatory work weekends wherein the hunters must get the camp and deer stands ready, the meetings pertaining to rules and membership, and the occasional gatherings that really have no purpose other than talking about the coming excitements. One year I put red X’s on the calendar for nights spent at the deer camp or on a hunting trip of any kind, and there were 56 in one “season.” No, I don’t begrudge the extensive time my husband spends in the wooded wonderland. I’m just envious and in need of a little respite and R&R time myself. I also am saddened to be without him when the kids and I attend church alone. There are some things that help me make it through nut stomping season without losing my marbles altogether. Daily prayer helps tremendously. Trying to understand that my mate needs time away from a stressful job also gets me through about the first 3 weekends fairly intact. Distracting myself with activities with our kids, or doing fulfilling ministry work also eases the stress of being a “hunting widow.” I also remind myself that like all seasons, this one too will eventually end at some point and life will return to a somewhat more normal pattern. I know, too, that as the kids get older, they will soon be accompanying Dad on these forays. It helps to see the bigger picture if you can dislodge yourself from in-the-moment hissy fit tendencies. I know that’s easier said than done, but is possible with a LOT of practice. One of my favorite remedies for the symptoms of H.S.O.D. (Hunting Season Over Dose) is to plan and execute, if possible, quarterly getaways, retreats, a few days at a nearby B&B’s where I’ve become friends with the owners, or inspirational conventions. Hanging onto my humor is also helpful. In fact, giving myself one of those try-to-see-the-bright-side-and-at-least-he’s-not-out-in-the-bars-carousing pep talks, I relaxed the hold on my clenched jaws long enough to make a profound discovery. An epiphany, if you will. How many people know that the venison obtained during a single deer hunting season ends up costing only $978.50 per pound? I bet you didn’t! Add in license fees, equipment, food, club dues, building supplies, gas, ammo, clothing, special doolollies, and all the trappings (no pun intended) that go along with the sport, and that’s a pretty fair figure on a 100-pound doe. Nothing helps erase the aggravation build-up, though, as much as a change of scenery. Come to think of it, when I am enjoying one of these rare escapes, I don’t even mind squashing the indigenous nuts into smithereens if it happens to be fall. And when I’m feeling kindly, I ask the Lord to smash any lingering anger in my heart that I may be holding onto concerning my hunting husband with each of those ground nuts I encounter. I picture the “hunter orange” acorn innards blowing away peacefully in the wind as I walk on down the path. Scripture for Hunters Genesis 27:3 – Jeremiah 16:16 – Genesis
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