The Deer gun season in Ohio starts the first Monday after Thanksgiving, so for nearly forty years I have been scurrying around trying to get my warmest and best outdoor clothes together the weekend after the holiday. The first year my cousin Keith and I got to go with my Pop and Uncle Marvin, we were off to the hill country of southeast Ohio. That was a time when most people considered themselves lucky to see a deer in Ohio. Of course the white tail population has grown dramatically since then. We drove two trucks, Dad’s little Toyota and a big pickup with a camper shell and it was quite the adventure. There were several great memories created on that trip but one of the funniest was the unexpected trip to the grocery store. Dad and Uncle Marvin had no idea how much two 13 year olds could eat. We left on a Sunday morning and by Monday afternoon, Keith and I had eaten nearly everything that had been packed. A bit bewildered, Dad and Marv took off to do some more grocery shopping leaving Keith and I alone in the camper. As they were leaving, Keith and I were down to eating the last of the supplies, Hormel potted meat out of little tin cans on Saltines. When the men returned with additional stores, they had bought several more cans of the potted meat because Marv had seen us eating it and thought that we liked it. As you might imagine, that really wasn’t the case, we were just eating it because there was nothing left to eat. At any rate I had the opportunity to hunt with Pop and a growing number of my cousins for several years camping in everything from a shed to tents. We had some great times and experienced nearly every kind of Ohio weather. As I got older, I really notice Dad slowing down. There was a transition from him waiting for and looking after me, to me waiting for and looking after him. Before broke down and got glasses, I remember one time him trying to light a Coleman lantern and not being able to see the port for the match. I lit it for him and he said, “Getting old is no good.†When I moved to northeast Ohio, I started hunting up here because of a number of factors, ample local hunting opportunities and limited time made it seem a bit unreasonable to drive all the way to the other end of the state. In 2000, I drove back down south to surprise the gang and had a great time walking the hills I had spent so many hours walking and hunting in past years. On that trip I also realized that in his mid 70’s tent camping was a bit rough for Pop, so I insisted that he start coming up here to hunt with me. I had the good fortune to have access to a cabin and some pretty nice hunting territory just west of the Ohio/Pa line. So that was the beginning of deer camp as several of us have come to know it along Conneaut Creek. Our little party has grown to include my son Phil, my son in law Sean, my nephew Franklin and a few other friends. Franklin drives up from Tn. and stops in Dayton to pick Dad up on the way. We assemble on Sunday and enjoy each others company till mid day on Tuesday when we all part to return to our regular routines. I have assumed the role of the camp director for lack of a better term and I divy up the work of cooking and cleaning up after meals and making sure everyone’s guns are sighted in and functioning properly and giving everyone instructions on what kind of food to bring. And there is no potted meat! We eat entirely too much and have a good time reliving the past years events. We are normally exhausted and in bed by 9:30. The activities in the evening have often been hilarious. I could go on in great detail about Dad’s homemade marble game and his ever changing rules, or the time I forced the “boys†to eat all the Little Debbie and Hostess snacks that Dad had brought so he wouldn’t think we weren’t appreciative of his offer to the camp. The next year he brought twice as many treats! And I again coaxed them on sharing the story of the potted meat. As time has progressed, it started to become clearer to me that my success wasn’t measured by if I got a deer but rather to who else would get a deer in our party. This year was the first year that I actually assigned people on where to go and who did what in the field. The conditions on Monday were nearly perfect with reasonable temperatures and snow on the ground. And we had remarkable success. But with several missed shots and plenty of material for next year’s stories and good natured teasing. Dad is 84 this year so each and every one of these moments is special. It takes a lot of time and energy to organize everything but then again anything worth doing takes a little bit of effort. At 52 I am critically aware of my bodies own aches and pains, and the very real shift that has occurred to my vision. But as long as I can continue to bring them all together for a day or two of companionship, I will and that is how I will measure my success.