By Brianna Smith

November is a big month here on our farm. It’s officially peak deer season.

Hunting has always been a family affair. My dad has hunted for as long as I can remember, and my brother started when he was young. Even my mom would get in on the action, joining us during youth season as a chaperone.

I didn’t start hunting until high school, but I distinctly remember my first successful hunt. My dad and I were in a buddy stand in a small patch of woods along a wheat field. I was using my Great Uncle Junior’s crossbow. I have no idea how old that bow was, but it was definitely made well before I was born. It had a red-dot scope, and all of my uncle’s notes on sighting it in were written in Sharpie along the limb.

A little basket-rack eight-point buck came within 20 yards.… Con

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