14 // Grant County Hunting Journal 2020 // MyEagleNews.com
THE PROMISE
By A.K. Moss
For the Blue Mountain Eagle
F
or the record, I love horses, and my
husband loves hunting. This is how
our anniversary worked.
Archery season 1998: Our anni-
versary — 12 years — 12 success-
ful years of marriage and an anniversary in the
middle of archery season. What? You might
say: Married in the middle of archery season?
Well, don’t judge too hard, for my husband
was a rifle man before we were married. I was
the one who bought him a bow for Christmas
and well, here we are.
Years of diehard hunting, several seasons of
tag stew and hundreds of complete rerun stories
of that famous Elusive Almost Bull.
The eve of our anniversary:
5:05 p.m.: Tracy is home from work, get-
ting his camo on for the anticipated pickup at
5:15 p.m. So far this hunting season, it has not
been very successful — no sign, no bulls call-
ing, just dry hot days and lots of miles hiking.
Tracy is pulling his camo shirt over his head
when he hears my voice. “So, do we have plans
for our anniversary tomorrow?” I casually
mention. I notice Tracy freeze, his head still
in his shirt. I can tell his wheels are spinning
for I notice his hands clench in a fist of emo-
tion. He regroups quickly and finishes pulling
the shirt over his head, with a deer-in-the-head-
lights look.
I wait.
With one motion pulling on his shirt, he slips
his baseball cap on his head and scoops up his
hiking boots — um, I mean his hunting boots
— sitting down on the couch to pull them on.
“I’ve been thinking about that, babe.” Sec-
onds tick by. “Tomorrow I thought we could do
whatever you wanted to. Just you and me.”
“Really,” I get excited, “anything?”
He finishes tying his boots, stands up to grab
his bow and fanny pack, glances at his watch,
three minutes to spare. “Anything.”
I grin. I have a whole evening to plan our
‘A
PRECIOUS
TRADITION’
day. I am excited for this one promise on one
day, a promise that this anniversary would be
all about us. The romance of it, the forgiveness,
a month of me doing all the chores, all of the
rerun hunting videos, all of the lonely evenings
and long weekends of alone time. I would set
it all aside and relish in the accomplish-
ment of 12 years and sweet mem-
ories. The thought of him
looking me in the eyes,
taking my hand during
a candle-lit dinner,
the whisper of
sweet nothings
in my ear — oh,
the romance of
it!
5:14 p.m.:
I hear the
familiar sound
of his hunt-
ing partner’s
pickup pull up
in the driveway.
Without
a
glance or second
thought. my hus-
band reaches for the
Contributed photo
door. “Make it a day
A.K. Moss
you won’t forget.” he says
as he walks over the thresh-
old. He pauses turns around wraps his
bow-laidened arm around me for a half hug,
gives me a kiss on the cheek, “See you later,
love ya,” as he heads to the awaiting vehicle.
I just have to grin as I shake my head, turn
back into the now empty house and start to
come up with ideas for our special day, as I put
a load of camo clothes in the washer.
Amended promise
9:58 p.m.: Tracy comes strutting into the
house, playing with the excited dogs, who by
the way are happy to have him home. Certainly
not the normal quiet-as-a-mouse man he had
been for the last 25 days. Adrenalin still run-
ning, he proceeds to wake me from my sleep
on the couch and tells me his story of smell-
ing fresh elk, seeing tracks and hearing distant
mewing of cows. Then comes the request.
“Ummmm, babe, can I amend my promise?”
I look at him, with his eyes twinkling with
excitement, yet my heart is a little bro-
ken, knowing I could not turn him
down. “What do you propose
for an amendment?” I
answer back hoping he
would at least take
me to breakfast.
“Well, can I
go hunting in the
morning?” He
sounded like
a child asking
for a candy bar
that lay within
his grasp. “I
will be home
by 11, I prom-
ise. Then we
can do the anni-
versary thing. We
were so close, Kath,
so close,” he stated,
reinforcing the excite-
ment of the hunt.
I have to smile. I don’t get
to see this man excited very often and
know he has hunted hard — and to get that
close. “OK,” I say, “as long as we get to go out
and get lunch or something.”
“I will take you to lunch,” he stated con-
fidently. “Are you sure you’re not upset?” he
asked cautiously.
“No, I’m good” I stated, knowing he is usu-
ally back by 11 o’clock for a nap until midaft-
ernoon or early evening hunt.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I promise.” I smiled, knowing after
this many years, this was his time of the year to
enjoy and have fun.
He gives me a hug, “Thanks, babe.” He
grabs the fresh laundered camo I laid out and
prepares for his morning hunt. Apparently he
had already told his hunting partner he would
be ready at 4:30 a.m.
The anniversary
4:30 a.m.: Alarm goes off. I wait for Tracy
to shut if off. He doesn’t. I roll over, and he is
already dressed and ready to go. “Happy anni-
versary,” he whispers as he slips out of the
room. I hear the door close, and he is gone.
I roll back over and go back to sleep. It’s
Saturday. I have all morning.
11:30 a.m.: I have done the dishes, taken the
dogs for a walk, vacuumed and dusted.
12 p.m.: Laundry folded put away.
12:30 p.m.: Beds stripped and fresh linens
on bed made.
1 p.m.: I call my mom and visit about her
day.
1:30 p.m.: Packing a weekend bag to go see
my mom.
1:46 p.m.: Car loaded.
1:47 p.m.: Phone rings as I am walking out
the door to leave. I debate whether to answer or
just go ahead and go the movies with my mom.
I pick up the phone.
“Hey, Kath, I got an elk!” my husband states
excitedly. “Umm, do you want to help us pack
it out?” He was quiet a moment, then as if to
sweeten the pot he said, “We are going to be
using horses. We will come by and pick you
up.”
I was quiet, weighing my options: mov-
ies with my mom or an anniversary ride in the
mountains with my husband — 12 years on that
day I said “I do.” I have to smile. If only I had
known what kind of monster I was going to cre-
ate buying him that dang bow. “Alright, I will
catch my horse.”
2:30 p.m.: My husband drives up and hands
me a cold gas station burrito for lunch.
8:32 p.m.: Elk in cooler, unsaddling my
horse.
9:15 p.m.: Cold roast beef sandwich for din-
ner, a shower and clean sheets.
Trinyty Howard, the granddaughter of Neil and
Jan Bauer, shot this buck last year. Nissa Howard
wrote, ‘After what was seeming to be a dud buck
season, this boy ran across the highway in front
of us heading right into the field where it was
clear to shoot. Trinyty barrelled out of the truck
with her gun and her Daddy right behind her.
She put one in the chamber as she crossed the
road and a within a minute or so the shot was
heard. A happy and grateful girl. Proud parents
and grandpa. Hunting in Grant County is a
precious tradition.’
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