Last weekend Fiance experienced an important rite of passage -- he went deer hunting with my dad. Hunting in my family (I know this is weird on a veg blog, so let's skip over that. K?) is not like normal hunting.
My great-grandpa started going to the La Sal mountains roughly sixty years ago, since then this tradition has continued to grow. My dad has been hunting in the same spot since he was eight. His friends from high school come and bring their kids. His sister and her family come. Sometimes, family from New Mexico comes in.
Last year, I went up hunting as a bystander, and it was more of a family event. However this year, my mom and I opted out and decided to go on our own trip -- leaving Fiance alone with my dad, his friends and my younger brother -- some of the craziest people I know.
OK. So I'm going to start by saying, he survived. But barely. First, he might have crashed my dad's four-wheeler. Apparently it looked pretty bad, but he was lucky enough to escape with a few scrapes on his hands and a sore neck.
Secondly, he gorged himself on so much fried pork, chicken wings, cheese burgers and bratwursts that (in one meal) that he woke up in the middle of the night to puke. Twice.
Finally! While Fiance survived, so did the deer that he saw! Huzzah!
I knew it was a success because a couple days after the hunt, my brother Nick called. When I asked how things went, he said, "Is Zach around?" And then said, he'd tell me later, when he wasn't around. I called him when I was walking over to the gym and said, "What did you want to talk about that you wouldn't say in front of Zach?" He replied, "Oh, just that we had a good time and it was a lot fun," followed by a lot of laughing (he's a weird kid). This is a glorious compliment, considering he hasn't liked anyone else I've been in a serious relationship with.
So, win for everyone! Hopefully, Fiance will go back next year and continue his survival streak, for both himself and the deer.
My great-grandpa started going to the La Sal mountains roughly sixty years ago, since then this tradition has continued to grow. My dad has been hunting in the same spot since he was eight. His friends from high school come and bring their kids. His sister and her family come. Sometimes, family from New Mexico comes in.
Last year, I went up hunting as a bystander, and it was more of a family event. However this year, my mom and I opted out and decided to go on our own trip -- leaving Fiance alone with my dad, his friends and my younger brother -- some of the craziest people I know.
OK. So I'm going to start by saying, he survived. But barely. First, he might have crashed my dad's four-wheeler. Apparently it looked pretty bad, but he was lucky enough to escape with a few scrapes on his hands and a sore neck.
Secondly, he gorged himself on so much fried pork, chicken wings, cheese burgers and bratwursts that (in one meal) that he woke up in the middle of the night to puke. Twice.
Finally! While Fiance survived, so did the deer that he saw! Huzzah!
I knew it was a success because a couple days after the hunt, my brother Nick called. When I asked how things went, he said, "Is Zach around?" And then said, he'd tell me later, when he wasn't around. I called him when I was walking over to the gym and said, "What did you want to talk about that you wouldn't say in front of Zach?" He replied, "Oh, just that we had a good time and it was a lot fun," followed by a lot of laughing (he's a weird kid). This is a glorious compliment, considering he hasn't liked anyone else I've been in a serious relationship with.
So, win for everyone! Hopefully, Fiance will go back next year and continue his survival streak, for both himself and the deer.
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| Last year's crowd! |
