The most wonderful time of the year

I woke up yesterday very early and very nearly leaped out of the rack.  Tossed a duffel and a dog and some boots in the Jeep and hit the road.

We made Michigan around 2300 and crashed Mom's place.  That's 930 miles, so it was good work.

Why the sudden urgency?  Well, Sunday is the beginning of what Mom always called the "high holy days," that is, deer season.  I'll move my base camp down to Dad's this afternoon, make sure my shotgun still works (I have the confused idea that the rear sight on something - either my slug gun or my 30/30 - got dorked up, so I need to check it), then sit and dream of the 30-point buck until Sunday morning.

I'm not a real high-intensity hunter (more of a sit-under-a-tree-and-nap sort, really), but I can't not get excited about Opening Day.  It's a weekend (in Michigan, it's always Nov 15 - regardless of whether that's a Saturday or a Tuesday), the weather is not off-putting, and you can't drive down a road here without playing a white-knuckle version of deer pong, so I should see deer.  Whether or not I see anything to shoot at is a different question, but not a very important one.