Hunting and shooting is just a part of my life, always has been. Some of my earliest memories as a child were watching my family all excited, gettin' ready for opening day, or lookin out the kitchen window of the farmhouse, waiting for them to come in from the woods, so we could enjoy Thanksgiving dinner..... spoilin' my appetite for turkey and dressin' by nibblin' on pickled deer heart. In my family, being included on these hunts was a passage into adulthood, and the first time I was asked for advice on what we should do next during a hunt was like a medal of honor. First year I deer hunted was my grandpa's last. He was in his seventies and I was 12. I walked over to his stand to check on him, only to catch him warming himself by a small fire with his Stevens across his lap. I told him he was gonna scare all the deer away with his fire. He told me deer get cold too, and that he was waitin' for a deer to come and warm up. Knowing I was correct, I set the .32 against a tree and sat down beside the fire to warm my hands. I was still drinking the last of the lukewarm coffee he had left in his thermos when he jumped up and emptied both barrels of the 16 ga. SXS into the chest of a forkhorn that had walked up from behind. Every now and then when I alone in the woods, when the cold has my fingers going numb and I ain't seen a deer yet, I'll start a fire and wait......I've yet to have a deer show up, but sometimes I believe I feel grandpa sittin' there beside me.