It's that time of year. When the men of my home and heart- leave each weekend (though this week for most of the week) and become one with the woods. It's weird.
It starts in October. With "archery season". For which- our yard is graced with a 3-d deer target. The neighbors probably think it is some strange very early Christmas decoration. Until- the arrows fly. My guys then stand on the patio- and proceed to shoot Rudolph. Which- is probably payback for the whole "santa" thing. (ummm will refrain from explanation- but suffice to say- they finally figured it out;)
Arrows often also land in the pond/swamp behind our yard. Once convinced they are "on target"- they drive an hour and a half before dawn to sit in the dark in a tree and wait to see if a deer comes out. They sometimes fall asleep, but don't admit to it. (One can only wonder how one falls asleep in a TREE... but will I not ask.) After dark again- they drive home- eat the chili that has been cooking all day- a fall into a stinky deer riddled sleep.
They have survived Archery season. And- at least in regards my hunting men- so have the deer.
However- archery is not the end of the "season." November 15 started "gun season."
This is counter intuitive to everything that is within a mother. A mother is wired to protect her babies- never mind the fact they they may be the size of a full grown grizzly bear. (Have I mentioned that my oldest is a rather big boy?) A mother is wired to teach her children to stay clean, not to touch hot stoves, or play with dangerous things. We teach them to be kind to animals- not to pull the dogs tail chase the cat or burn ants with your glasses or magnifying lens.
Then-in November out come the guns. Not toy guns. REAL guns. (No target practice in the yard for this one- the neighborhood association would frown on that idea;) They sit in the kitchen, cleaning them. Every "ch ch" of the empty guns being cocked, makes me cringe. "Don't point it towards ANYTHING!" I yell. They shrug. They are well trained in gun safety. I am not. They know it.
They look at me as if I am - both crazy and lame. (Including the Daddy) I keep the youngest in the livingroom. I knit. FAST. A LOT. The youngest proceeds to turn the dog into a deer and make every toy he owns into a gun. He stalks her. He shoots her. She licks him. I finish hunt hats.
They prepare to leave for the "hunt trip." Packing who knows what. For hours. I put their hats on their heads. I tell them the hats are my protective, warm (trying not to be smothering) love- following (stalking) them into the woods. They acknowledge my craziness. They leave.
I knit. I clean. Two of my favorite coping skills. Along with prayer and cin'ocolate. During deer season- I combine them all. I knit more hat's from The Yarn Harlot's Unoriginal Hat pattern. I knit LOTS of hats. 8 so far.
I remind myself that God is sovereign- even in the woods. I remind myself that this time together with their Dad is good for them. I remind myself that knitting is just as crazy to them. I remind myself that they will mess up the house when they get home. I remind myself of the hunt camp stinkin laundry about to arrive in my laundry room.
I savor a few days of eating off of "zoopals" with the little guy. We watch Shrek the Third - 497 times. We eat popcorn, drink cocoa and use FIRELOGS. (the men around here think wood is much better.) We stay in our jammies. ALL DAY. WE play with the tangrams for homeschool. We try not to miss the big guys. We pray they get a deer- and we pray the deer escape;)
Conveniently coinciding with deer season-The Christmas knit season of 07 has begun. Aside from the ocassional accidental falling asleep with a cable needle in my cleavage.... (ummm... it happens to be a rather convenient place to stow it between cables.....) it is considerably safer than deer season. At least in theory.
To answer the question- "Does Harlot's Unoriginal hat fit in the woods?" The answer is yes. In orange. The oldest called me to say his hat was "Perfect" And toasty. And awesome.
Labels: deer season, free knitting pattern, hunting, Yarn Harlot