I’m very fortunate to know that a lot of the doors that have been closed in my life have been for my own good. The Good Lord has gracefully saved me from myself more times than I know.

That’s not to say that other opportunities haven’t arisen from those times. All last month, archery season has been ticking away on me, and I’ve only been able to carve out a single afternoon to try to go hunting. 

I enjoy archery season because of the nicer weather, following herd patterns and watching the deer ramp up as the rut gets closer and closer. Not having that time in the woods to piece it all together has made me hungry for the things I grew up on. Hunting, hiking and harvesting good food from the plants and animals I share these woods with.

As I rolled up to my property this past week to check on the progress of our house, I glanced at the under-utilized compound bow in my passenger seat. I came to a stop at the edge of the clearing and happened to notice a small movement out of the corner of my eye.

I looked over into the treetops—now lying on the ground by some firewood I had yet to cut—and noticed a ringneck pheasant popping through the branches, eyeing my proximity. 

Glancing back at my bow, I had the same idea that many a redneck have had before me. I opened the door of the truck, watching the pheasant duck down onto the ground, trying to hide. I walked around the truck casually, not wanting to disturb the bird, and took out my bow and a single practice arrow that wouldn’t be a huge loss if I happened to lose or break it. 

Nocking my arrow, I walked back to the front of my truck and re-located the pheasant, which was now peeking up at me from the branches and brush without being overly conspicuous. 

I had a long day of work ahead of me, and archery season for deer was all but over. With this in mind, I decided that I was in the mood for a nice homemade pheasant dinner.

Stepping slightly to the side as I drew my bow, I looked down the arrow for the best opening through the woody cage my prey now used as a shield. Finding my window, I aligned my peepsight and released. Without so much as a jump or a flap, the pheasant stood and took a step. Fearing I missed the mark at nearly 20 yards or so, I looked harder trying to see where my arrow might have gone. 

Just as I lowered my bow and squinted my eyes, the bird turned to the side revealing my arrow shaft extruding perfectly through his body before he fell in a slump, perfectly calm, having passed without knowing what had happened. 

I went over and retrieved the bird and my arrow, and took them back to the farm to clean for dinner.

I may not have been able to enjoy the archery season I wanted to, but nobody can say I didn’t get a deer because I couldn’t shoot.

As it turns out, I’ve had so much work at the butcher shop I’m not sure I would have had the time or the room for a deer just yet anyway. 

Still, rifle season is another opportunity altogether, and perhaps things will come together to harvest some meat then. 

In the meantime, I look forward to the chicken alternative from these great Pennsylvania woods.

The way out here, The Lord provides, be it one meal, one opportunity or one happy moment in an otherwise arduous day.