Hunting is, for the most part, a solitary activity. Yes, they make something called a 2-man tree stand, but it really should be called a wide-seat stand because two grown men, let alone a hunter and hunter’s wife, would never sit side-by-side in one of those things. You might be able to fit an 8-year-old child up there with you, but an extra 80 pounds is about all it will hold.

At any rate, solitude is often a good thing; loneliness is not. Loneliness is driving an hour to the hunting grounds in the pitch-black dark, hours before daybreak. Loneliness is dragging the deer through the woods by yourself. Loneliness is having no one to share the thrill of your morning hunt with on the hour drive back home. So, when my husband asks me to go with him, I say yes. I am delighted when he asks me, and feel lucky to be a hunter’s wife.

We awaken two hours before nautical sunrise. I don a pair of brown pants and a dark green fleece sweater, pack up the rifles, and drive to our hunting property in Anderson County (which, by the way, is for sale). Without camouflaged clothing or ritualistically dousing myself in deer urine, I climb into what we call the “crossroads stand.” I quiet myself and simply listen to the sounds of the forest.

With a crash, gravity pulls a limb out of a nearby tree, and I can hear unsettled animals scurry to safety and bed back down. Gradually, the sky begins to lighten, but everything is still a little out of focus. I put the scope up to my eye to see if it helps clarify the field, but it is still too early. I enjoy the solitude, peace, and quiet of the morning and wait.

After a while, I hear stirring to the west. A young buck wanders into view. The light is insufficient to take a shot, but I could tell he was too small anyway. He nibbles on the corn and eventually heads back to the west. Shortly afterward, I see a doe just beyond the tree line, moving quickly to the east toward the creek. It is still early, and I haven’t heard any shots from my husband’s direction. He is stationed to the west, beyond where the deer are bedded down.

Shortly after full daylight, I hear grunting noises from the west. A gorgeous doe saunters out into the open and stands about 50 yards in front of me, showing off her beautiful body. Perfect shot, but the grunting becomes more intense. Obviously, she wasn’t on display for my benefit. The buck emerges. He has a magnificent 10-point rack and he’s standing directly beneath me. He’s grunting and eyeing up that doe and I’m thinking, “I’m so glad I’m not covered in deer urine because he couldn’t possibly get any closer to me.” I didn’t have a shot – he was so close. The doe starts the game of chase and bolts into the woods. The buck follows in hormone-driven passion. Both are gone, but the thrill of seeing such fine beasts lingers.

Still no sounds from my husband’s corner of the woods. I wait. The fifth deer of the morning emerges into view, again from the west. It looks like a small buck. It stands in front of me for what seems an eternity. I try to rationalize that it is a doe. Perhaps it has some sort of small antler? Or maybe I just think I see a spike that’s not really there?

The deer is still standing there, practically begging to be shot. It’s the fifth deer of the morning, and I bet I won’t see another one. After all, I’ve been pretty lucky to see so many. It’s still standing there. OK, now or never. I soundlessly snick off the safety and press the trigger. I see the flash. The deer pauses with no sign of panic, then bolts to the west. I hear rustling from that direction. Could I have missed? I don’t see how. It was only 50 yards. Questioning myself, I text my husband that I missed a doe. Perhaps I really did miss and won’t have to confess to killing a spike.

Erik, having seen nothing from his stand all morning, packs up and hikes over to me. We head off into the woods, just to make sure a wounded deer isn’t left for the coyotes. We hike in about 200 yards when we spot the fallen deer. It is indeed a spike, but it is my first deer.

The hunter’s wife is now a hunter.