The approaching spring always puts me over the moon with excitement. Recently, however, my excitement has been focused on a single source, spring thunder.
I was full of optimism for the approaching turkey season. It would take me across three states on a miniature turkey tour. The start of which was in Virginia, and after a brief stop in Maryland, would finish strong in New Jersey.
In my many hours staring at a computer screen looking for spots to hunt I had set what at the time seemed like a very achievable goal. I was going to harvest one turkey in each state. My confidence in checking this box was so high I grew genuinely concerned at my lack of freezer space weeks before the season opened.
My roommate who lives a more “spiritualistic” lifestyle would say I was manifesting my success. It is a phrase I often hear thrown around in college lecture halls by my peers in birkenstocks.
The thought is that by picturing success repeatedly with clear vision my dreams would become reality. Simple enough.
Well, turns out manifesting is bullshit.
As the season flew by and so did the mile markers. Before I knew it, I was in the middle of the New Jersey season with an empty freezer.
Good thing I didn’t buy that chest freezer.
Needless to say, spirits were low. Every hunt felt a little more monotonous and as one does in those situations, I grew careless and distracted.
That is when I started absentmindedly leaving personal belongings in the woods. Pretty critical ones at that.
As noon rolled around on a hot mid May day I loaded the truck and headed for home. Only to find that in addition to not coming home with a Tom, I also failed to come home with my hunting license, two shotgun shells, and my black diamond headlamp.
I licked my wounds, paid the steep $10 license reprint fee, and dug out my spare headlamp from storage.
By the time the next Saturday rolled around, I was even beginning to question whether I should bother spending another morning shredding the latex off my mouth calls. All the work that goes into a turkey hunt was a tougher sell when I was just going to be given the silent treatment by what all my non hunting friends are certain is “The dumbest bird put on this earth”.
My Friday afternoon pity party was interrupted by an unexpected parcel in my mailbox.
Inside was my license still in its blaze orange holder with a simple note from someone named Eric explaining, they had found my license on the piece of public I was hunting. For whatever reason I took special note of the “Bee Kind” notepad it was written on. Quite the fitting touch given the circumstances.
I did my best to return the favor and wrote him back a follow up letter accompanied by a few bucks for a beer and the postage.
The truth is, the mental boost that act of kindness gave me was worth much more than I could afford to repay.
It gave me a new motivation to finish out the season strong and hunt my ass off. I still finished 0 for 3 on my preseason goal, but I did take home a new appreciation for the hunting community.
Thank you again Eric, and if you find that black diamond headlamp, same address as last time.