Years ago, while wandering the woods on a gloomy November day, I discovered the fallen remains of an ancient deer stand.

A snowstorm the previous night had left several inches of white powder, but not enough to hide the relics of a hunter’s decrepit perch, which now lay in heap next to the downed tree that once held the stand. Four short chunks of lumber were still attached to the tree’s trunk, evenly spaced along the log’s length. Obviously, they were steps used by the hunter to climb to and from the stand.

“If this old stand could talk,” I thought as I stood alone, my breath condensing into small clouds in the calm, humid air. “I’ll bet it would have some great stories to tell.”

My mind started to wander. Who had built the stand? How long had it been there? Had a big buck with thick a

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