In the 1980s, shortly before I was born, my father killed a male white-tailed deer in the woods of Oklahoma, harvested his flesh, and mounted his head. Years later, my brothers regaled me with the ...

I’ve been hunting in the woods lately, but without a firearm or a bow. Vernal pools are boiling with mating wood frogs. Honking geese fill the skies. Trees have not yet begun to bud so the sun is warm ...