Eddie Lowe
Just A Thought
As the chilly fall morning sun slowly peeked over the horizon, its first beams found me already sitting at the base of a huge red oak tree. Trails of my breath drifted away, disappearing much like the frost that lay heavy on the leaves around me. All around, God’s little creatures began to stir. In the dim light of the wooded forest, I could faintly see the twitch of a gray squirrel’s tail as it quietly made its way down the tree to the forest floor, which was blanketed in red and yellow leaves that had once danced high in the treetops.
Soon after Mr. Squirrel’s appearance came more early risers: the squeak of a sparrow, the tap of a woodpecker drumming on a dead pine. High above, the crows squawked as they passed overhead, almost as if to announce, “There is something different in the woods this morning.” The crows were right. There was a new visitor—but none of the above-mentioned animals needed to worry. My eyes were searching for something else: the beautiful and elusive white-tailed deer.
For many in Surry County, this kind of morning is a rite of passage. It’s “Opening Day,” the long-awaited start of deer season. Many of us began this tradition as teenagers, tagging along beside a parent or grandparent, learning patience one shivering sunrise at a time. Often, the only result of those early hunts was cold feet and numb fingers, but even without a deer to show for it, the memories made were more valuable than any harvest.
Hunting teaches lessons that stretch far beyond the woods. The first rule any hunter learns is silence. True silence takes effort. In the forest, it can bring reward; in life, it can bring peace. I once saw a mounted bass with a plaque that read, “If only I had kept my big mouth shut, I wouldn’t be here!” It made me laugh—but it also made me think. Many of life’s problems could be eased if we practiced a little more quiet reflection.
Surveying your surroundings is another lesson the woods provide. A wise hunter never plops down without thought. A deer’s sense of smell is said to be thirty percent stronger than a dog’s and can detect scent half a mile away. Knowing this, hunters study the wind, their approach, and their exit. In life, this same principle applies. We’re better off when we “read the room” before speaking or acting.
There’s an old story about a pastor with poor eyesight who arrived late for a graveside service. He rushed to what he thought was the burial site, said a passionate prayer, and hurried off—only for the workers to remark, “I don’t know who that was, but he sure said a beautiful prayer over this septic tank!” The moral is simple: knowing your surroundings matters.
Perhaps the greatest gift from the woods is serenity. It’s the calm that settles over you when you sit still long enough to notice the world waking up. That calm has always been the real prize for me. I went many years without hunting but returned a few seasons ago, and once again found peace in those quiet hours outdoors. My family jokes that I “watch the deer through my scope” because I often let them pass. I watch, breathe, and give thanks for the beauty of creation.
Just a few hundred yards from my home lives one of God’s most majestic creatures, thriving on His bounty. You don’t have to be a hunter to experience that wonder. Go into the woods one cold November morning with only a camera—or nothing at all. Sit quietly and watch as God wakes the world, one creature at a time. Be amazed by the stealth of the deer, the grace of the fox, the chatter of the squirrel, or the flutter of a bird’s wings. But most of all, be still, if only for a while. It will do you a world of good.
