Jim Olson- 11/4/25

It is within days of the Minnesota Deer Season.   There is, for those of us with more than a few decades in the stand, a steady change in our mindset as we approach that first light of dawn on the opener each year.

The excitement of a potentially “lifetime best” remains, but that anticipation over the years trends considerably further down the list in value compared to what I refer to as the growing “residual comforts” of each season.  

These “comforts” differ from person to person. They are derived from the experiences, happenstances, routines, and traditions the years have imparted.  They become the rhythm and soul of the yearly experience, like a well-known and welcome melody from the past. 

I must explain that while I have hunted for 27 years, which is considered relatively light experience for a person going on 65, I have only ever known the experience of hunting my sister’s and Brother-in-law’s property, almost exclusively just with him.  Even further, this experience requires less than a 12-minute walk from the front door of their beautiful home on a lake to my stand.  “Deer Camp”, and miles deep to the stand is not really an experience of mine.  

What is mine, are the residual comforts I find in things not of the actual hunt.   There is the quiet and solo prep in early Autumn each year.   I put my warming shack with a second story stand back in order.  Then there is the clearing of dead fall and other obstructions from shooting lanes, and finally, the setting of my gear into place.  This time gifts to me an extreme measure of self-reflection.  Time of which I have come to be both jealous of, and comforted by.   During the season, there is the 30-minute drive to and from my sister’s, where I can do nothing but enjoy the thoughts of the coming day, and then on the drive home, I can reflect on the comfort of that day’s wooded beauty and quiet solitude. There is of course the comfort of the breakfast or lunch breaks back at the house, with the expected great stories, reminiscing, and the warmth of family fellowship.

While some of the residual comforts I have mentioned here are akin to the experiences of others, some are occasionally more abstract.   One great abstraction of comfort comes during the morning drive.  There is a stretch of road I travel between 4:30 and 4:50 AM on any given day that I hunt, and there, I know I will find the “Walker”.   Usually heavily bundled up, small in stature, with a pronounced drooped shoulder and uneven gait, the Walker has been constant as far back in my memory of seasons that I can recall. As I turn the corner unto that stretch, I immediately look for the reflective jacket, and upon each sighting, all becomes right for the coming day.   Warm or below zero, the Walker is there; ageless, timeless, and constant.   Without realizing when, it has become a comfort to both expect and then see the Walker, allowing me an inner smile and thoughts of such a disciplined nature upon each sighting.     I expect, with some trepidation, the Walker’s absence at some point, but regardless, I will carry the comfort and marvel of that disciplined presence into the future. 

“Residual comforts” associated with a specific time or annual event are the underappreciated gifts of the human experience.   Such residual comforts when found are comforts to be valued and worn warmly forever.