The Christmas Buck

ARTICLE BY DAN CHASON

He was born in the fall of 1958 in a non-descript town in rural Tennessee.  His parents were devout and he was raised as the son of a evangelical minister and a teacher wife.  His childhood was memorable with his whole life being spent in and around the church.  When he was 2 years old, he welcomed a little brother.  Both of them were “two peas in a pod” with days spent roaming the fields and woods that surrounded their home. He was a good kid.  Mischievous and boisterous, the two boys discovered the secret of the woods and water where any outdoor activity was a daily competition. As he grew into a young man, he avoided things of the “world” as he never tasted alcohol or tobacco and lived the life that his parents laid out for him.  He left home at 18 and traveled to a “biblical college” where he hoped to find the right kind of girl to make his parents happy. He married and was blessed with a son.  And that is where our story begins.

He worked in a textile plant where he soon found his calling as a safety engineer. He worked long hours but still took the time to spend quality time with his family. He taught the ways of the church and the outdoors where the son became a noted angler and hunter.  Many memories were made in those trips but none came close to when the man bought a small farm that held a 50 acre track of woods where he and his son constructed a deer stand.  It just wasn’t any deer stand.  He chose Cypress to construct it and the sturdy oaks that anchored it sat on a hill where a food plot was carved out.  It was their place where hours were spent taking in the sounds and sights of nature.

Not long after the son graduated high school, they decided to place another stand nearby as the son wanted his own deer stand.  This stand was identical but there was a distinction between the two.  You see every time the father harvested a deer, he would take a knife and carve the day and what was harvested into the wood on the interior of the stand.  The inside of the stand showed great success as there were dates back to the origin of the stand and farm.  It was Dad’s spot and he proudly looked at that wall with memories of the past.  In the spring of 2018 the father began to have what he called “sick headaches.” The headaches became too much to bear and he finally broke down and went for a checkup from the local doctor he had used for years and a man he considered to be a good friend. The checkup was complete and the news was blunt and life altering.  The doctor came in and told his friend that there was a tumor, golf ball size, and it didn’t look good.  The father took it in stride and plans were made for a biopsy.  It was confirmed a week later… glioblastoma. Brain cancer.  His doctor referred him to a specialist who confirmed that it was the most dreaded and deadliest cancer and surgery was scheduled.  After the surgery, he was told to get his affairs in order and that he had roughly a year to live. The summer was long, chemotherapy, radiation and pills that made him so sick he could barely get out of bed.  But as summer became autumn, he felt good enough to venture into the woods in early October.  His wife secretly had the son follow his dad to assure he was okay. The son watched the old man who now was a shadow of his former self. He watched as the old man struggled to mount the Farmall tractor and sow seeds of hope for his last hunting season.  Day after day, the old man would go to the deer stand and nurture the seeds he had sown.  He fertilized and worked the area in a manner unlike any year.  And by early November, the hard work showed.  The old man would take his four wheeler and sit at the edge of the field, reliving all of the memories that were etched into that deer stand.  

The night before opening day, the father and son met at the aging farm house and talked about the possibilities that tomorrow would bring.  They set up a time to meet and both trudged off into the darkness well before daylight the next morning. They took with them their snack bag that the mother had prepared and the faithful thermos of coffee for the cold solitude that awaited them.  The morning started as expected.  A good frost hung over the meadow he had planted as the old man watched the woods come alive. He was for once in a long time, completely content.  He watched a bear slip through his food plot and shortly after the first deer moved into the field.  When the doe suddenly alerted, he saw another larger deer slip in from the woods.  It was a good buck and he slowly gripped his rifle and looked into the familiar scope.

The son heard the shot and the familiar hit of the bullet.  He smiled as he knew the father was hunting horns.  He looked at his watch… 7:15. Deciding to sit until the agreed time of 9:30 the son sat and thought in thanks to the heavens that his father had been awarded the chance to take another deer.  He remembered his first buck and thought that this could very well be the last deer his dad would take.  He eased out of his stand and slipped over to the food plot and the old familiar deer stand.  There was no greeting or movement in the stand, so the son climbed up.  He found his dad sitting in his chair, coffee cup on his knee with the steam still rising.  No movement, no response.  Just a last cup of coffee still there where it was just poured.  As he looked around the stand, he looked at the carvings of hunts of old.  The one that caught his eye as he wiped away tears of grief was the newest one, freshly carved with today’s date.  His dad made that last hunt and the tears turned to laughter amid his grief.  His dad had died happy and would suffer no more.

*Although this story is partly fictional, and most is true from all these men, it is a tribute to the men I’ve known who no longer are with us.  Dedicated to my brother, Steve Chason and friends Allen Butler, Dana J. Walker, Doyle Machearn and Gary Yelverton. Love your friends and family while you have them.  Happy Holidays