We need a special doormat for the months of November - January, a warning of the complete and utter chaos of what lay inside. Mount Holland, the mound of unwashed laundry, covers the bathroom floor in drifts. A myriad of dirty dishes cascade out of our sink, while the dishwasher is full of clean dishes after running its cycle from a few days ago. Our two young boys' toys lay aimlessly around the house, and our one-year-old enjoys scattering our everyday objects in unordinary places. Is the cat dish under the bathtub again?
While this sounds miserable, every year is so worth it. Why? Because every November brings me close to the people I love, and I love being able to share these experiences with my students. Many of my favorite memories have happened during these late fall and winter months. Last week before opening weekend, I read my 4th and 5th grade students a hunting journal I wrote when I was in college for a project. It describes the stories of how I got my first few deer. I share it every year, and the kids are so excited to hear the stories. One of my favorite things about teaching 5th grade is that they're almost to the age to shoot their first deer. Hunting traditions run deep here in rural Nebraska, and I love that I get to share my experiences with them. I show them my permit, and we talk about conservation of resources and relate it to our science standards. We talk about how to tell the differences between a Whitetail and Mule deer - they're surprised to know there's so many. We talk about hunter ethics and being respectful to wildlife. Sure, if they're from hunting families, they'll learn this at home too, but all students can benefit from learning about Nebraska wildlife. In my first story of this hunting journal, I describe my first hunting season, now ten years ago. It describes the deafening sound of the alarm clock that first opening morning, and Tyler and Trenton giddy with excitement and anticipation at 5:00am. I thought they were absolutely nuts. What's better than sleep? Now, ten years later, I'm the one springing out of bed at 5:00am. When we get to the pasture, nothing beats watching the sun come up in complete serenity. I'm one with nature, and it's the closest to God that I'll ever be on this Earth. Just me, my rifle, and my thoughts sitting on the hillside, listening to the squirrels chase one another up and down the oak trees, hoping its really that monster buck everyone longs to see. It makes my heart happy to be sitting in Trenton's pickup, listening to the banter between brothers, and the inside jokes from years prior. Any mention of dirty coverall straps, stranded Suburbans, or an early morning surprise owl will make us break into laughter, because we lived those moments together. Tyler and I give Trenton grief, because the older he gets, the more he turns into his father. This year, we added a pretty significant memory for the future: Trenton and I got a tinge of buck fever opening day, and we wrecked his side-by-side. We're relatively ok, although I ended up with a broken wrist in the ordeal, and will go to a specialist tomorrow to see if surgery is in order. I'm sure by this time next year, it'll be on our list of things to banter about, although I still think it's only fair that I should get to shoot Trenton in the foot to level the score. When we return home in the dark each evening after the hunt, we're greeted with an amazing homemade supper on the table from Tricia, Tyler's mom. She's such an amazing cook, there's nothing better than her comfort food after a chilly day outside. Our boys run to us, Easton eager to know if there's a deer in the back of our pickup. I love this. I love our dinner conversations, and being so close to this family that has welcomed me into it. The laundry can wait. The dishes can wait. It's deer season, y'all.
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Kathryn HollandWife. Mother. Teacher. Lifelong student. Archives
March 2022
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