Winter Solstice

            It was the shortest day of the year yesterday; Monday, December 21st.  We’re a land of seasons, here in the Midwest of North America; a temperate climate.  We don’t get the extreme cold like they do at the “poles” of our planet.  Nor do we get the extreme heat like they do around the equator.  Instead we are the recipients of both worlds, both the cold and the warm temperatures; although moderately so, compared to the ends (or middle) of the Earth.  In addition, we also have more of the “in between” spring and autumn weather; the time when the Earth’s tilt, in relation to its revolution, is halfway between its lean toward or away from the sun.  Some explain our seasons by saying our tilt changes, but in reality it’s all about the revolution.  The actual tilt remains the same.  If our tilt changed as we revolved, we’d be stuck in the same season; probably irritatingly so, like an old vinyl record that skips.  I suppose it’s like “two rights make a wrong,” or two factors in an experiment that skews the outcome.  Basically, when all of the scientific jargon is stripped away, it’s the seasons that make life interesting.  It’s the change of seasons that we look forward to.

            And so on this day, the shortest day of the year known as the winter solstice, the sun was scheduled to rise at 7:22 am and set at 4:26 pm.  This was when the sun was expected to rise and set, if you could see it through the steady rain and thick cloud cover.  For two years now we’ve had a cold, snowy winter like those of my youth in Northern Michigan, but not this year; El Niño.  I can’t complain, we’re at least getting the moisture, albeit in the form of rain, but when we go for weeks at a time without seeing the sun, and we couple that with shorter and shorter days, I need to get outside to the woods.  It’s typically hard to get outside this time of the year when it’s dark as I leave for school and dark when I return home.

            I grew up going to the cedar swamps or pines with my Dad and our beagle dogs to hunt snowshoe hares.  At the time, my gun was a little wooden one he had made for me.  When my kids were younger I took them to a friend’s hardwood forest to hunt squirrels and familiarize them to guns, life, death and sitting still in the woods.  They sat with a little wooden gun I had made them.  Not everything that moved was shot.  Most times I observed and let it pass.  I saw deer and red tailed hawks within only a few feet, foxes, coyotes, and of course the squirrels.  What squirrels I did decide to shoot, we ate.  Growing up, it was Mom’s great cooking that filled our palate with mouth watering goodness.  With my own family, we fixed the squirrels in a slow cooker with cream of mushroom soup, potatoes, and carrots.  The words and actions of my then toddler kids became legendary within the ranks of the extended family.  Todd’s response was him holding out his plate and saying point blank, “More squirrel please.”  Jodi simply gave him a sideways look and spit shot out of her mouth, and onto her plate, before taking another bite.  Both were classic responses.  Quite a few years have slipped by since the last time I hunted though, and it was time to head back out.

            Yesterday I got together with a teaching colleague of mine.  We decided to go hunting.  To most it wouldn’t seem like a very big deal, but for Chuck and me, it is something we’ve been talking about for a while.  State land to hunt on in the “Land of Lincoln” is in short supply.  Most land in Illinois is private and often planted in corn or soybean.  Chuck and I headed toward a small portion of land we found that was actually open to the public, to hunt squirrels and cotton-tailed rabbits.  By the time we arrived, the rain had quit, and although there were patches of fog, the temperatures were in the mid 40’s with only a touch of wind.

The Ridge Overlooking the Hollow & River Valley

            We hiked into two different, steep-sided hollows, under a canopy of oaks, walnuts and red cedar, and sat as still as possible looking up into the branches or down into the ravine.  We saw two big bucks, turkeys and bald eagles; but no squirrels.  There were the sounds of drips off the trees but no scurrying squirrels.  Actually that’s not entirely true.  In the second hollow I didn’t sit as still as I could.  I sat for over an hour picking small, sticky burr-seeds off my pants, coat and gloves.  They were everywhere.  I think they were the seeds from the plant known as “tick trefoil.”  Even so, I hunted with my ears while busy with the annoying burrs I had evidently walked into while in route to a log to sit on.  I didn’t hear any sounds of squirrels, but I did hear the crows chasing the eagle with the fish that Chuck did see off to the left of the ridge we were on.

            After sitting for about forty-five minutes in the first ravine and then over an hour in the second ravine, we made our way down into a valley with a winding river.  The scene was beautiful.  The skies were still gray and dark; but with areas of green grass next to grayish-brown bushes and trees, set in front of sapphire-blue water tipped white from rapids and a wall of rock, it was impressive.

            As we walked along the bank, a big gray squirrel finally showed itself and tried running up a walnut tree.  Chuck was able to drop it, and we skinned it out right there.  I like to look at hunting as a harvest.  I enjoy nature; in fact I thrive on it.  I also like to partake of it from time to time with an occasional meal of fish or red meat.  So if I decide to catch and keep, or pull the trigger, I try to do it as respectfully as possible.  It is a gift that should not be taken lightly.  

Chuck with a Bushy-Tailed Gray Squirrel

From there we continued up river until we came to the edge of another wooded area lined with thick brush.  Chuck spotted a cottontail moving into the thicket, and after waiting a moment for a clear shot, I downed it.  We cleaned it out right there as well.  It had a lot of meat on it.  I rinsed it off, along with my hands, in the river and then we started the hike back.  We walked through a thick, marshy area to see if we could kick up some other rabbits, to no avail, before heading back up through the hills to my Jeep.

Cotton Tailed Rabbit

Making use of Moving Water

            We spent well over six hours in the woods and lowland, enjoying periods of talking, periods of walking, and periods of the kind of silence only nature can provide.  We each gained some meat that we will cook as a meal later this winter.  Although it was a rather dark and dreary day afield, it provided us the chance to get out, the chance to hunt, and the chance to be in the woods and share the experience together.  It’s a day known as the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice, and thankfully the days will now grow longer and lighter from here on out.

            See you along The Way…