The golden orange ÒhunterÕs moonÓ rises slowly in the eastern sky, peering through the early evening coolness and fog that now covers the northern landscape. The songbirds of summer have departed for warmer climes and the sounds of loons on the lake are now replaced by the haunting cries of Canada geese, made uneasy by the cooling water and northerly breeze coming off the high Arctic.
Whitetail deer have shed their reddish coats and are now donning new grey coats with white accents. Some still have this year's fawns in tow, which by now have lost most of their spots. The does seem impatient with the young deer now and seem to be urging the youngsters to start living on their own. But, the fawns are hard to take to the individual lifestyle and continue to tag along as the herd dines on newly fallen acorns under our red oak trees.
Nuthatches and chickadees now visit our feeder instead of rose breasted grosbeaks and gold finches. The birds of winter are stowing sunflower seeds under bark and into crevices in tree bark, hoping to find them again when the thermometer hovers below zero and snow covers the earth. The birds of the "hunter's moon" plan on staying through the winter and they're getting ready.
Our garden now sits devoid of potatoes and sweetcorn. The harvested garden looks like my remaining hair after a restless night of sleep, all tossed and askew and not making the sense it did when it grew in straight rows. The pumpkins have been harvested and sit in the rusted old trailer, glowing and reflecting the color of the "hunter's moon."
Local cafes start to show their camouflage colors as hunter's begin to gather in their sporting garb. Blaze orange hats with deer embroidered on the front seem to be in vogue during the "hunter's moon." Young hunters tag along after older men who have been in the woods for many years. There is excitement in the air as the older men tell stories, some of them actually true, of hunts and of big game. The youngsters suck it up like water on a dry sponge.
The "hunter's moon" means the crops in the fields are rapidly ripening and soon will be ready for the combine. Farmers are greasing, sharpening and cleaning the machines that will soon run endlessly through a cloud of dust and noise.
In those fields, rooster pheasants are dining on corn and soybeans that hang from golden and dead stalks. Soon a large, black Labrador will dislodge them from their dinner table and they'll take flight in front of a young boy with a 20-gauge shotgun and the pheasant's fate will be determined in a heartbeat. He may live to dine again or he may be dined upon.
The "hunter's moon" is coming soon and we frail humans will respond to it by gazing up and remembering its magic. We'll remember raccoon hunts along a damp and musty smelling river, we'll remember forking corn into an elevator and watching it rise and dump into the roof of an old corn crib, we'll remember picking those last rows of corn of the year and sitting on the tractor seat and gazing over a year's work and taking a deep breath of fall sweetened air.
The "hunter's moon" is coming soon. Take a little time to just look at it and enjoy the moment. It won't last for long.
See you next time. Okay?
