My First Hunt: Dad, Deer, and the Dozier Farm

I grew up in a family of outdoorsmen. My dad inherited a love for the outdoors from his dad, who became a hunter after marrying into a family full of Tennessee sportsmen. I guess you could say I have the typical origin story of most hunters in the US today. It's all I have ever known. The memories of my first hunting experience are few, but impactful nonetheless. I was young, probably around 3 years of age, but still old enough to remember counting down the days to when I was big enough to venture out with Dad. My world was small then. I was mostly limited to the freedoms of home and my imagination, where laundry baskets were pickup trucks that would drive me deep into the hardwood hollows of Middle TN (at least that's where I like to think they would take me). The day finally came for me to hop in the real pickup with Dad and head towards our old family farm in Cheatham county. The truck was a 1992 3/4 ton Chevrolet with a standard cab and manual transmission. The red cloth interior and the classic two toned red/silver paint scheme was sharp and it embodied the modern, yet tough and hard working values of the 90's truck market. The farm was positioned a couple miles upstream from the mouth of the Harpeth River where it leads into the much larger Cumberland River in Ashland City, TN.

Get ready for some of my family history; this may get confusing so bear with me. The farm first belonged to the Dozier's. My grandmother's maternal grandmother was a Dozier. She married a Morris and then their daughter married a Brown, who then fathered my grandmother who then married a Beasley. Their first born fathered me and my two siblings. Whether you followed along that genealogy or not, the point is that this property was in our family for a long time and if it were not, my passion for the outdoors and hunting might never have flourished like it did. The farm consisted mostly of dense hardwoods and rolling hills with steep ridges. There were a few open fields towards the bank of the Harpeth, but for the most part it was covered in sheer forest. "Big woods" is what my dad would call it. The afternoon of my first hunt brought much excitement and anticipation. I'm sure I had dreamed of what it might bring long before we ever set foot in those woods. Would we see deer? Would dad get the chance to make a harvest? It was all so new, but at the same time it felt so familiar. Its like I was meant to be there and I believe I was.

Dad led me to a hillside that overlooked a bottom leading down to the river. We sat on the ground. Dad was on my right and before us both was nothing but opportunity. A chance for me to see what this was all about. The build up of such an experience must have overwhelmed my 3 year old heart because not long after we arrived I promptly fell into a deep sleep. Luckily, dad packed a sleeping bag for such an occasion. In the moments where I was awake and alert, I remember dad watching the field below us with such focus. What was he looking for? Obviously, he was looking for those crafty whitetails that called our family farm home just as much as we did. It seemed like he was looking for something deeper than that though. I remember the serious look on his face. It wasn't anger or frustration that we weren't seeing deer. It was more like he was deep in thought or reflection. Once the sun had set we loaded up the Chevy and headed home. I don't remember seeing a deer, but I remember being grateful to be there with my dad. I had a hunger to return. That hunger hits me to this day every time I drive home from an outing.

Since then, my desire to experience the outdoors has only grown. While I grew up in a time where video games and TV were the go to time consumers, (I no doubt spent my fair share of time with each) I still longed to be in those "big woods" again and again. Today, that family farm has been sold, but I have still been blessed with an immense opportunity to pursue wild places and the critters that inhabit them. I still miss those deep hollows and the creeks that ran through them. I miss the cabin we helped dad build and the hours spent sleeping under the tin roof (those were some of my best nights of sleep). I miss the sound of the cast iron dinner bell we would ring anytime someone was fortunate enough to bring a deer back to camp. Even though that farm is being hunted by another family and even though that cabin is probably on it's last leg, I am so grateful and look back at the Dozier farm with such love and adoration. It is the place that made me who I am. It is the place that enabled the imaginations of a 3 year old boy to become reality.

God teaches us so much through the blessings and abundance of life, but even more so when those blessings are removed. At the end of the day, God is still good. He is so much better than any farm, cabin, or old pickup truck. Jesus Christ is of supreme value and praise to Him that my salvation and ultimate joy is found in Him alone. I firmly believe that when God knit me together in my mother's womb, He intentionally threaded a deep love for His creation around my heart. I am to be a wise steward, a faithful sportsman, but most importantly I am to perform the task of hearld as all the trees, creeks, and wild creatures beneath do to declare the glory of God almighty who formed heaven and earth. Thank You Lord for Your creation. Thank You that we can enjoy it and glorify you in it. You continue to reveal deep truths about Yourself through the things that are seen that we may know more of the things that are not seen. That's my hope for this blog, that I would have a space to share God's truth and how my own experiences in nature have helped produce fruit in my heart. I hope this inspires you to find the people and places that highlight God's truth in your own life. To God be the glory in my hunting, my writing, and proclaiming of His greatness.