“The Old Deer Stand,” an original acrylic painting copyright Susan A. Walton, S. A. Walton Studio, Hudson, Florida.

This was a little make-do deer stand my father and brothers built when they had high hopes of bagging a deer. In those days deer were not as common as today, nor as accustomed to people. Back then, it really helped to have a mentor teach you the basics of deer hunting, but Dad had never had such a mentor, and having a fairly big family and a hard job meant there wasn’t much time for hunting. So he winged it, as best as his budget and exhaustion would allow, and while this sometimes resulted in some amusing hunting stories which we treasure still, it never resulted in an actual venison dinner.

Anyway, we had this three-trunked sycamore tree next to the creek, and some lumber left over from a disassembled foot bridge, and a can of old rusty pre-used nails, and before long this thing was cobbled together. To my disappointment, it was not the treehouse I had envisioned hopefully when they started. I thought it was rather lame, considering it had the attention of not one, not two, but three male brains during the design process.

Summer came and went and the ugly thing didn’t get improved one bit. No roof, no wind block, no walls, no windows, not even a cup holder. The side rail was the one luxury detail, and I think it only had that because it was a concession to Mom’s observation that someone might fall out of the thing if they forgot and leaned back expecting to lean on one of the tree trunks, and misjudged instead.

The week they planned to go hunting was selected and they waited eagerly for deer season. When at last it came, the old blue truck was loaded with provisions, guns and ammunition; licenses were checked; and off they went, confident they would return victorious with a couple deer and successful stories to share.

That week a winter storm hit and the temperature plummeted. The boys’ enthusiasm, and my Dad’s, was lost quickly after spending their first day up in that tree being blasted by chilly winter winds, sleet and snow.

Now, normally, deer like to move around in winter weather. It makes them quite frisky, as it does horses.

But they claimed they didn’t see any deer that weekend.

The boys were too loud and couldn’t sit still in the cold, according to Dad. According to the boys, no deer would come within a hundred miles of Dad puffing on his Camel cigarettes. Both explanations were likely true. But I have a feeling that they quickly called it a day just an hour or two after trying to stay warm up in that silly deer stand, and probably spent the rest of the weekend sitting very comfortably around the pot-bellied stove telling stories.

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