An Outdoor Memory

Later this afternoon I took a walk out to a lone patch of tall hardwood timbered woods on my family’s property. It's pretty open in
places and the trees are 50ft to 60ft tall and block out most of the
light heading for the ground, so ground vegetation is thin to non-
existent there. I walked around in this wonderland and absorbed the
sights and sounds of the song birds. It is a place that I have longed to
build an old long house style hewn hard wood log cabin. This is
something I have wanted to do by hand the old fashioned way for a long
time now. It would be my colonial style primitive home away from my
normal house. A place to escape the REAL world for a while. Oil lamps,
candles and the hearth would be the only light source at night. Old
hand made hard wood furniture and a loft for sleeping quarters. There
are no driveways or roads to this patch of woods, just farm fields
around it. I need this to forget that the REAL world exists, just for
a while. It would be a place where I could write my poetry and
creative writing projects in total peace and solitude. I have camped
in these woods a long time ago. The only noises I heard were the deer
snorting at night, the occasional pack of pesky coyotes howling away
in the distance, and the occasional sound of a great horned owl in
the trees. Then the sweet melody of song birds in the day with
squirrels scampering all over the forest floor burying their treasures
only to forget where have of the treasures are by winter. I thought
all this up after I sat down on a tree stump and smelled the smell
that I consider to be more intoxicating than any other scent on Earth.
It was just a glimmer of a whiff of the scent of damp hard woods
mixed the smell of damp rotting leaves on the forest floor. This may
sound strange to some people but to me it is the smell of my woods in
Autumn. The sudden anticipated rush of hunting season invaded my
senses and all the pursuits of being afield along with it. Bobwhite
quail hunting, the heart pounding pursuit of ruffed grouse in dense
cover, waiting for the right shot on the beautiful whitetail buck in
front of me. Such days afield are hard to come by with the hassle of
a full time job. When they come around though, I savor every last
moment as if it were my last. You see it doesn't matter if I come
home empty handed that day or not, it's being out there in the thick
of the wilderness with a good friend and hunting buddy, knowing that
in this short life, I'm making good memories that last. These
memories are what holds me over till the next hunting season. Ah, the
lingering perfume of damp hard woods in summer, the teasing scent of
Fall.