Christmas Story '09

"Hunger for the Holidays"

Venison Shoulder Roast with Wild Mushrooms, Apples and Turnips. Venison Osso Buco with Israeli Couscous. Venison Backstrap with Pears, Red Wine, and Pickled Golden Raisins. These are the recipes that greeted me when the December issue of Field and Stream arrived at my house just before the start of the Oklahoma Deer Gun season, and I salivated at the possibilities for the dinner table on Christmas day. "America's Meat" was the title of the article and the variety of styles and the geographical location of each chef only backed up the title's claim. From the experts of the Cajun kitchens of New Orleans to the pretentiousness of ritzy five-star restaurants in New York, venison is a delicacy that those who don't hunt can only appreciate for its taste. Around here, well, that's another story.

Anyone who has ever eaten venison prepared correctly knows that there is nothing that even comes close in taste. The tenderness and flavor of a medium-rare backstrap over the grill is enough to make one wish for warmer grilling weather. A lean roast in the crockpot, "camp" chili, even deer jerky: these simple recipes had always been the fruits of the hard work when dragging a 200 pound deer out of the trees. When my shoulder would feel about ready to give, the thought of a freezer full of meat for the coming year was more than enough motivation to get the job done. So when I read these recipes and the taste buds started to water, the excitement of the hunt peaked. I pictured not just these staples on my plate, but all that came with the terroir of our red soil mixed with vast American cultures.

So on the opening morning of Oklahoma’s deer gun season, all the proper arrangements had been made Carrying my new rifle that my wife and her family bought me for my previous birthday, 6:30 found me in the exact same spot that I had been in three years before when I had taken my first doe on my wife's family land in Northwest Oklahoma. I recalled the joys of that hunt. I reminisced on the unseasonably-warm weather, the little forkhorn that trotted right up to my Dad and me, and its social awkwardness when we both smiled at it. And I gave great contemplation to the harvest later that week, of the doe who presented herself just a few moments before legal shooting light gave way to night. It fed me on cold winter days with warm bowls of chili. It fed five hungry fishermen after a long day of fly fishing in Colorado. Hamburgers in May, steaks in July, roasts in September, and none of it went to waste. Its sustenance was a special bond between a nostalgic hunter with only a doe tag on him and a giving God.

I peered southwest through the semi-darkness to the exact spot where my bullet had found its mark and I noted to my dismay that the vegetation and the growth of the tree branches of the little creek that traversed the property would impede any attempt at the same shot this year. I then glanced north at the open pasture where two years prior, with my brother sitting in the same spot my father had the year before, I created one of my biggest gaffs to date. With only a buck tag in my wallet, a decent eight-pointer came running to Chris' calling and did an about-face at ten yards when he caught wind of us. Though having girls on the mind, he stopped twenty-five yards away and gave me a clear shot. Someone once said that the two loudest sounds a hunter will ever hear is a boom when you expected a click, and a click when you expected a boom. Well, I got the latter.

It wasn't in the cards that year, unless one considers the deer. God mercifully gave life that day. The firing pin only nicked the surface of the primer and when he also heard the click, he took to his hooves. Though being girl crazy, he paused broadside once again at 100 yards and I apparently shot for 450 with my next round, all of which now makes my brother and me laugh at the remembering.

In the few years I had been able to hunt this little slice of heaven, I had already gathered many memories which always make for great conversation at reunions, or anytime for that matter. And despite not having any of my loved ones beside me to share the day's experience, I fully expected to make some new memories to share around the Christmas table or to rehash over a campfire in the Rockies with the guys. I suppose that is why I wasn't surprised when not fifteen minutes into shooting light, a nice doe appeared just to the west of my blind, browsing in the only clearing in the trees that afforded me a shot. As with most glorious moments, I found myself outside my body, watching with intense interest the scene unfolding before me. Time slowed to highlight-reel speed as the hunter raised his Remington 700 Magnum to his shoulders and made an impossible shot. At least that's how I would prefer to remember it (and undoubtedly that's how it will be told in Colorado with even more fantastic details to be made up by then,) but the truth of the matter is that all I had time to do was assess the deer and fire. Mercifully, it was over in five seconds or less. Despite the lack of drama, I was again thankful that God had provided, but interestingly He hadn't provided for me this time.

To play it safe, I had bought both a doe and a buck tag. I had planned on donating the first deer I harvested to Hunters Against Hunger for some family in need, but in speaking to my wife, I found out about a nearby family in need. When my father-in-law and I hauled the doe to their farm, they were thankful in receiving and answered yes when asked if they would take another one. To that point I had been wavering back and forth about the right thing to do. Venison Tenderloin with Sage, Pumpkin, and Prunes sounded awfully delicious, but the fact was that God had provided well for my family and any venison in my freezer, while certainly not going to waste, would be in excess to my needs. It's not coincidental that God made it to where the harvest season directly precedes the season for giving.

That next morning in the half-light of dawn and under almost the exact same circumstances as the morning before, an eight-pointer served as a second Christmas gift for that family. So on Christmas day when I am enjoying ham or turkey with my family, I will smile knowing that God has provided. Pan Roasted Venison with Jalapeno Sauce can wait until next Christmas.