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Writing for Women Hunters

One of the benefits of membership in the WH club is that WH will publish your best hunting stories and tips. 

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Poetry

Woodland Awakening

~Woodland Awakening~ LesaEllanson-Headshot-175

I stalk along watching above as trees barren of foliage sway in a wind that I cannot hear... 

Read more: Woodland Awakening

Turkey Time

~Turkey Time~

By Janice Baer, Minnesota

 

Fall Turkey hunting inspired a poem...

Read more: Turkey Time

WHEN CAMO WASN’T COOL

I was wearing camo, when camo wasn’t cool.

I remember wearing Woodland Camo
Long before the birth of Mossy Oak
Real Tree was just something we
saw in the woods
And Advantage was what we’d take
if we could.

There was no Wetlands camo
Not even Nat Gear
But simply hunting camo
Like the Army would wear.

And I was wearing camo, when camo wasn’t cool.

I remember walking in for groceries
Camo pants and all
I’d get lots of stares
And I’m sure not all in awe
But I always held my head high
Proud what I stood for
Because camo was more for me
Than just something that I wore.

I was carrying on a tradition
which I had grown to love
I want to be able to take care of my family
If the world comes to push and shove.

I’m thankful for our freedom
And our right to bear arms
And I’ll stand toe to toe
With those who wish us harm.

So when I wear camo clothing
It’s not just when I hunt
I wear camo clothing
To make a statement.

 

~Woman Hunter~

~Woman Hunter~

I am woman, see me stand
With bow and arrow in my hand.
Camo-covered head to toe
Ready for a buck or doe.
Doesn’t matter much to me
Both serve up deliciously.

When outside and on the ground,
I listen close and hear a sound.
Spotted by an old oak tree
A whitetail feeds in front of me.

Range the yardage, pick my pin
This is where the fun begins.
String to nose and eye to peep,
Drew back far so string won’t creep.
Steady my breath and follow through
Praying that my arrow flies true.

It hits its mark and just as fast
It runs away but life won’t last
Cause just a little down the way
It’s piled up and there to stay
Until I stop with grateful heart
And thank the Lord to be a part
Of such a wonder, such a thrill
For this woman to hunt and be fulfilled.

~Janice Baer

 

How Will you Spend Your Valentines Day?

Girls who hunt love to be pampered too

But not just the normal candy and flowers will do

Sweet cards and jewelry won’t make me fall,

You’ll impress me more with custom arrows and a grunt call

Compared to dinner prepared over a fire in the crisp night air

A gourmet meal at a crowded restaurant simply fails to compare

We don’t spend holidays and anniversaries in the usual way

We are likely to be in a deer stand on Thanksgiving day

A lavish birthday party on the town is not where I belong

I’d rather be on the lake catching catfish till dawn

Last year my “What I did for Valentines day” blog

Contained mostly details about catchin’ a hog

So what will I be doing this Valentines day?

We’ll be in the woods waiting to hear the dogs bay.

 

A Tree With Eyes

I’m off the ground 
And up so high
Where squirrels climb,
And birdies fly

A tree with eyes,
I sit so still,
All camo-ed up,
A deer to kill.

I scarcely move.
No sound I make,
‘Cept for the leaves
Of Aspen Quake

This tree with eyes,
She sees a deer,
So slyly moves
For window clear

Then makes the shot
With stick and string.
A dead deer down
A glorious thing.

And all because,
On this fine day,
A tree with eyes
Had found the way.

 

 

"The Waiting Game"

 
As I reflect back on my first several years of deer hunting, it becomes ever clear to me that hunting is indeed a "Waiting Game". I play by the rules. I set a date as to when I will go out clad in full camo, then before sunrise, I find my perch in a tree or my spot in a ground blind and I wait. For an evening hunt, I'm already there "waiting" by afternoon. I wait some more.

I've discovered that deer do not play by the rules, at least not the deer in my neck of the woods. It seems that somebody forgot to tell them of the date I had with them. They have little regard for the words, "Hunting today", that I had written on my calendar, so I sit and wait and wait. Patiently most times, but sometimes after hours of waiting, my mind begins to wander. Not that it's a bad thing, mind you, it gives me time to reflect. I reflect on how cold my feet are, or how I forgot my release, or I wonder if I brought enough toilet paper this time. I did bring some along this time... didn't I?

Sometimes I think about the maturation process of playing The Waiting Game. I believed so strongly my first year of hunting that a nice big buck would just walk right by my stand and stop broadside for me so I could make that perfect text book shot. That's the way it has happened for countless others and I was told it would happen for me. Or should happen. Well, that it maybe could happen. It didn't though. I was so frustrated at the end of my first deer season, that I wrote a poem. Actually, it's a parody of a country song by Bryan White, "Someone Else's Star", that I changed to reflect the gray mood I was in.


~Deer Hunters Lament~

Out here again tonight

Without a deer to tag

Stars are shinin' bright

Just want a buck to bag

Oh I wish I may

And I wish with all my might

For the deer I'm dreaming of

And missing in my life.

You'd think that I could shoot

A big buck of my own

It happens all the time

To hunters that I know

Their arrows all fly true

So I've got to believe

There's a big buck out there

Who's meant for only me.

I sit here in the tree

And stare down from the sky

But I can't give my bow

One good reason why

Everywhere I look

It's hunters that I see

Seems like everyone has deer,

Everyone but me.

* I guess I must be wishin' on someone else's star

Seems like someone else keeps gettin'

The deer I'm wishin' for

Why can't I be as lucky

As those other hunters are?

Oh I guess my deer is ridin'

On top of someone else's car!!

This is what I do when I play The Waiting Game, but as the years went by the frustration level began to wane. That's not to say I was unhappy never filling my tag for 6 years, but I began to have more fun out there just playing The Waiting Game.

I became more in-tuned to the trees around me... what type they were from the shape of their leaves and the texture of their bark. I became more aware of what bird just made that sound, or what critter was it that was burrowing under the leaves by my stand and which owl made that hoot. I discovered a whole new world of flora and fauna that I had not experienced before. I took it all in: the varying lengths of shade that the trees cast as the sun began to rise or fall, the way the sun felt on my face when I turned a certain direction and the degrees of chilliness that a breeze could have on my body. I was a sponge. I soaked it all up.

These are the things that my mind wanders to when I play The Waiting Game. Sure it would be nice if that doe that's just out of bow range would come closer, but I'm able to learn of her habits from far away too.

Playing the Waiting Game is also the time when words of rhyme flood over me. While sitting on my stand one November afternoon, tiny little snowflakes began to fall, thus began the first two verses of a new poem. When the snowflakes stopped falling, the words no longer came to me. It wasn't until the next morning while out on my stand again, that it began to snow once more and the words came flooding back. I was able to finish my poem while playing The Waiting Game that day. In fact, I wrote them on the old board walls of the permanent tree stand I was in for the landowner to discover some day.

Tiny Little Snowflakes


Tiny little snowflakes

Falling from the sky

Their mamas pushed them off the clouds

So they could learn to fly.

Descending from the heavens,

They shimmer oh so bright

They cover up the darkest ground

And try to make it white.

Some land in treetops way up high

While some dissolve, I wonder why?

The ones that fall, I watch them come

I open my mouth and stick out my tongue.

I taste their coldness, Oh so wet!

I swallow them down

With no regret.

But just as quickly as they come,

The snowflakes stop, their time is done.

The Waiting Game. Every hunter plays it. Sometimes the wait pays off for those who are patient enough to abide by a deer's time schedule. Sometimes we're better people for just playing the game, regardless of any deer in our sights.

I can't wait for this fall to come, just to play The Waiting Game once again
.

~Turkey Time~

 

Scent "Free" for Archery

Sniff, sniff...
Catch a whiff?
Shampoo, laundry soap,
Perfume, hairspray, body wash -
Omigosh!
It's almost here.
No more! That's for sure!
Get rid of all these scents.
Scent free for archery...
Wash the clothes -
Not with THOSE!
Acorns, rotting leaves,
Apple trees -

All that work at the range;
I hope the winds don't change.
Very quiet, up above,
In a tree sits smelly me,
All for my love of archery!

Spring Is Back





 © April 2005

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Books By Members

Books By WomenHunters
 
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By Christine Cunningham

Regional Directors

 
Regional Directors organize
and participate in
get-togethers,
shoots and shows

Julia Heinz
Alaska and the Yukon
juliah@womenhunters.com

Kathy Russell
Missouri
kathyr@womenhunters.com

Tammy Hartline
North Alabama, Mississippi p
and North Georgia
tammyh@womenhunters.com

Synthia Wilson
Kansas
synthia@womenhunters.com

Kim Hose
Maryland
 
Rachel Baker
    Colorado    
 
Beth Milligan
Arkansas
 
Jo Rice
Washington
 
Angelina Coopersmith
Michigan
 
Jenny Paul
Texas
 
 
 Mara Osborne
North Carolina
 

 

Tracy Rowe
Illinois

 

 

 

 To become a regional director
for your area, contact:
kathleen@womenhunters.com