“The 35-Acre Project”

Over the past several weeks I’ve been fortunate to work on a property that I had the privilege to hunt some years ago.  It’s where I killed my largest deer to date; a place where my imagination could always run wild; a refuge from everything outside of the woods.  As the tractor crawled around the firebreak, reflections of the past merged with glimmers of the future, the disc harrow turning the soil like thoughts turning over and over in my mind.  Dust rising from one place and falling in another made me think of how things change over time – how some people are here one minute, gone the next; how one minute there’s a toddler walking through a food plot of corn you planted on the hilltop above you, and the next she’s a 3^rd grader who doubles as a teacher in the evenings.  With her creativity and vision, she paints me as John, Kim is still Kim, both students in “Ms. Lilly’s” class when it’s in session.  The lack of rain we’ve had is disheartening, the seeds we’re sowing for wildlife and improved forest aesthetics needing it to germinate and thrive.  But, these welcome thoughts of my wife and little girl, bring a smile to my face and get my mind back on the right track.

With the next bend in the break, I see the perfect spot for a ground blind.  I ponder the pictures that might originate from it; the thought that maybe the new landowner can take a mature deer from this exact spot this Fall.  As the tractor creeps, southward up the hill and away from Little Governor’s Creek, I ruminate on the dying understory vegetation and the impending site-preparation fire that we’re planning.  I map, in my mind, potential trouble areas along the break and consider the conditions necessary to accomplish the desired objective – the manipulation of an ecosystem with fire to make it more suitable for the silviculture of loblolly pine.  My head rotates left and right as I look to the mounds of soil on the edge of the break.  I’m scanning for history, relics from past cultures, projectile-points left behind by hunters like me.  Later in the afternoon, on the adjacent property I’m also privileged to maintain, I see one from the tractor, it’s bright white hue and shape speaks to the eye in obvious fashion saying, “here I am, share me and my story, make it part of your own.”

5000 years of history in the palm of my hand.  It’s missing the tip, broken at a slight angle.  The color suggests that it’s not a recent break and with that I think of how it could have torn through the flesh of a white-tailed deer, striking bone and losing its acute sharpness in the process.  I can see it’s native owner as he heads back to camp, wild bounty in tow for his friends and family.  Hunting – It’s a rite of passage; a rite of survival.  For me, it’s also a means to hunting down the best version of myself.

As the day draws nearer to close, I think of how lucky I am to have the privilege of Stewardship on this property and others.  How fortunate I have been to hunt these lands; to grow as an individual and professional in the process; to improve as a photographer of wildlife.  There’s still a lot to learn, but I’m getting there.  I muse, almost giggling aloud and near about shaking my head, on the “35 Acre Project”.  That’s what I called this adventure when it started for me 7 years ago now, as I cleared and planted the first wildlife food plot with my Dad.  I had forgotten that title and, as I broke the invisible plane that divides two properties, heading west towards my truck, it was regurgitated in my mind.  As I caught a glimpse of my dog Rocket, lying in the shade of my truck, patiently awaiting my return, I realized that just as much as the “35 Acre Project” was a work of farming for wildlife and improving a property, it was also a project on me – the cultivation of a man that had come full circle.