I drove to the old deer camp last week. It looks nothing like it did then. The field where we pitched tents is overgrown now. Most of the woodlands we hunted are bean fields. When I arrived, though, a big buck bounded away, and memories came flooding back.
I was twelve when my best friend's older brother Jimmy took me there for my first deer hunt. That was forty years ago, but I can recall every detail.
A dozen men were there — relatives, neighbors and friends. We set up camp ...
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