10 Months Old And A Deer With Grandpa

It’s been a year since he passed. Every time I walk in the garage I think of him. An old buck that hangs on the wall there sparks a flood of memories.

I don’t remember the hunt, but I was there. Born in February, I was in the field with the rest of the family the next fall. It happened to be the year my grandfather killed his largest deer. We shared the experience together. A single photo codified the tale.

Through the years grandpa often recounted the story of the deer that hung in his garage. The photo lived on a shelf in my parents living room with the other prized family photos. I can’t recall the experience, only the retellings. But I was there. It was my first deer. Our deer.

A few years ago I mentioned to my grandpa that I’d like to have the buck if he ever wanted to get rid of it. Covered in dust, held together with duct tape and showing the signs of three decades on the wall, I didn’t figure anyone else would want it. I was right. Then and there grandpa said I could have it.

The buck, an honest thirty incher, now hangs in my garage whose doors were replaced to commerical garage doors. But, Grandpa is gone. That is my explanation of the story.  So now I tell the story to my kids… when they’re not out building their own memories with their grandpa.