Our first date took place at Newport Beach. We walked along the beach at night, holding our shoes, listening to the waves. The waves danced on the sand but I mostly listened to his stories, trying to make pictures in my mind of everything he was telling me about. We made it back to the dorms and sat outside in the parking lot. I think we both knew we had just spent some time with someone who was completely different than anything we had ever experienced before, and yet we were afraid to move forward. I told Farmer Boy that I was not looking for a boyfriend, I simply didn't want to go there. At this point we were great friends, two farm kids in Southern California, so far from the farms we loved to tell each other about. I liked friends, I could understand that. I had tried boyfriend a time or two, but it only confused me. Friend seemed easier and more important.
He walked me back to the dorms and as he stood by the front door, I looked at him and realized I may have just lied to him. He was so different. I still wasn't clear on the whole boyfriend thing but could we do something like this again? The two of us? He smiled. Nodded. Told me he would call me tomorrow. He did.
We'll be married twenty years this month. Twenty years. It's difficult for me to grasp.
Farmer Boy went hunting this past weekend. It's his annual deer hunt.
These pictures are from last year's hunt. I didn't get any from Farmer Boy this year. Close your eyes and imagine basically the same thing. Orange, brown, piles of guts. I hope I'm not offensive.
Farmer Boy took all the kids with him and I stayed here. The house was mine on Saturday and as I moved around doing this and that, I remembered a former hunting story. I thought I'd share it.
I think this may have happened about 8 years ago or so. It was before any children went along for the hunt. It had been a long day, not many deer seen. It was snowing and the men were tired from trekking through the snow all morning. They broke for lunch and then returned to the hunt. Farmer Boy finally spotted a deer. He shot it. It went down. He raced over to it and couldn't believe his luck. It was big and beautiful and had a nice rack of antlers. He stood over it for a proud minute, taking it all in. The other men were making their way towards him to see his beautiful buck. Farmer Boy had a problem. He had ingested too much water over lunch and now he could hardly stand still. Before the other guys got there he decided to take care of business. He set his gun down close to the buck. He went about his business and as he was standing there, the buck who he thought was dead, got up and ran away!
Farmer Boy couldn't do anything but stand and watch. He was holding the wrong gun! By the time he had his shotgun in his hands, the big beautiful buck was gone. Gone. Gone.
Now it is only the stuff of legend. The men look for it every year. It's gone. Gone.
I'm very glad I decided to tell Farmer Boy what was truly on my mind all those years ago. If I hadn't Farmer Boy might only be the stuff of legend. He may have gotten away. Gone.
The moral of the story is - I'm not sure really. I'll let you come up with it.