January 15, 2018

A day late again, but for good reason. I was having trouble loading my photos from my phone to my computer, and today’s post really needs this visual.

When I was a little girl growing up on a farm in the prairies, I lived with a family of hunters. My grandfather, uncles, mother, father, sister and most of our friends were all  hunters. Not trophy hunters, we ate what they hunted. Mostly ducks and geese, but on occasion pheasants and even rarer, a deer.

I however seemed to have been born without their same hunting gene. Instead, I tried in vain to save mice, gophers, and even the trout my father used to catch. I just didn’t have it in me to end something’s life on purpose. But, they loved me anyway, despite not quite understanding me. lol

My grandfather’s family were quite artistic, and he and my grandmother had one of his mother’s paintings on the wall in their living room. I used to gaze at this picture and imagine the story behind it. My story was likely quite different that the one actually portrayed, but I like my version much better.

In my version, the hunter spotted the deer, took aim, then let the beautiful beasts run away because he couldn’t bear to kill them. As I told my grandmother repeatedly, “See, the deer are running away!”

I’ll let you judge for yourself.

Technically it’s not the best painting,  but to me it’s a priceless piece of my history.

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