I have always been one of those people that viewed the glass as half full but lately my vision has blurred.  It's becoming more difficult to look at things in a positive manner.  Every time I turn on the news something horrendous has occurred.  And I can't handle another one of those abandoned and abused animal commercials with their big sad pleading eyes.  I just want to bring them ALL home. Oh No! See what I mean?
 
I'm beginning to struggle to see the good in things and I'm usually allergic to negativity.  Laughter is my drug of choice but lately I'm having difficulty getting my fix.

2012 is going to be a really big year.  Some say the World is ending.  It very well may be...when I think of all the happenings coming up in the near future, if we even have one, I'm not sure if I should roll with it or FREAK OUT!  Here's what lies ahead in my future.

February 5th...I turn 50, yes, 50, a half century old.
Two weeks later I celebrate my 30th anniversary with my best friend and first husband.
In June...my one and only child graduates college, and speaks of moving 2000 miles away to New York City.
In August...my baby girl, turns 21.  There are plans of a celebration in Vegas and talk of commemorative tattoos..."tiny and tasteful, a scripture verse" she says.   I should get one too, a tiny, tasteful tattoo.  Oh my!  What am I thinking?
My hair is thinner, but my waistline is full.
My butt is bigger, but my bank account is not. 
My eyesight is failing but still good enough to see my that my brows and eyelashes are nearly extinct. 
My temples are turning grey more quickly looking less like "highlights" and more like Cruella DeVille.  I have to color my hair more often. 
My boobs are too big, a curse or a blessing?  I'm not sure.  It's a matter of perspective.  Bras are too small.  Apparently they don't make them in my size, as well as jeans that come up higher than a string bikini with legs long enough to touch the top of my shoes.
For the first time ever  "Cramps"  visit monthly but "Aunt Flo" has never left, "She could be with you for another five years," my doctor tells me. "Oh JOY!"

I'm pondering my future, if I have one.  When I look at my water glass it sits half full, but my wine glass is half empty.  I'm beginning to sound like Kathie Lee and Hoda of the Today Show.  So what do you think?  Should I freak out? Is it the end of the WORLD? 
Just in case...will you buy my book A SACRED PLACE, Memoirs of a Female Hunter, so I can go out happy with a feeling of accomplishment?

Cheers,
Sherrie Gant
A Sacred Place, Memoirs of a Female Hunter
www.sherriegant.com

_He sits there, peering into my window.  He’s been there daily for a week now. Dressed only in a plain gray suit, he almost goes unnoticed.  Although not much to look at, his presence is welcomed for the joyful song and dance he performs.

A Townsend’s Solitaire Thrush, according to my Field Guide to Western Birds.  I’m not sure why he’s there, or how long he’ll stay, but I chuckle at his greeting each morning. 

Time has passed so quickly.  As I reflect I'm reminded of all the gifts I've received this year...
    ...my husband has continued to work in construction when many others have not had work.
    ...my Lord and Savior has provided us with a home that is paid for that can't easily be taken away from us. And heat to keep us warm.
    ...we have plentiful food on the table, not fancy, but nourishing.
    ...we have not been injured and no loved ones have died, with the exception of my 31 year old horse that I raised from birth and my cow dog injuring his leg trying to herd my mare yesterday.  He hops on three legs and I pray it isn't broken but I am thankful for the ability to even have a dog.
     ...we have relatively good health.  It doesn't mean we haven't had challenges but they only make us stronger.
    ...I have a fabulous loving family to surround me throughout the year.
    ...and I have the Love of Jesus Christ and the reassurance of His presence to walk by my side each day.

The days are getting colder, but the sun still shines.  My little gray suited feathered friend continues to brighten my day with his presence.  He may be gone tomorrow, but for today, I have his song and tomorrow I’ll have his memory.  He reminds me to appreciate even the smallest blessings.

      Hope your Holidays are filled with precious moments and memories to carry you through a lifetime. 
Merry Christmas.
Love, Sherrie
www.sherriegant.com

 

 

_The morning was cold, 18 degrees when we rolled from the warmth of our beds. Dennis had loaded the truck the previous day in preparation of getting an early start, but after a frantic search for Michelle's misplaced Under Armour and Dennis' long johns, we left much later then we'd intended. 

The sun began to rise along with the temperature as we arrived at the edge of the National forest.  We headed up the ridge then turned off onto a narrow dirt road that cut through a draw.  The terrain looked promising so we parked the truck and headed out in search of sign.  Mom and my sister and her two children immediately started climbing, fanning out across the side of the ridge.  Dennis, Michelle and I spread out at the base of the ridge.  Side-hilling along the dry slope was difficult.  My feet slide inside my boots making walking difficult and increasing my risk for an injury.   Disappointed with my choice of footwear and disgusted with myself for wearing snow boots instead of my Danner hunting boots I headed back down to the flat at the edge of the road.  Michelle soon joined me.  The sun was high in the winter sky, I removed my hat and unzipped my heavy coat.  It was too warm for December.

Michelle and I stood scanning the hillside across the draw.  "I think we need to go look over there on that other ridge and look along the bottom in those thick trees," she said.  I agreed and we stepped from the road and started the downhill decent.  The grass was thick and tall.  Good feed for elk, I thought as we slowly worked our way for the bottom.  I stopped often to scan the hillside.  Elk had recently been in the area.  I noticed a track, then piles of fresh elk manure.  I felt a tinge of excitement as we eased our way down the ridge.  A stream trickled through the bottom.  "Oh this is good, fresh water."    Just as we stepped across the creek Michelle and I spotted it at the same time, standing in a cluster of fir trees.  We froze knowing we needed to wait for Dennis.  I motioned for him with the wave of my arm while Michelle and I held our position silently waiting for his arrival.

Dennis slipped in from below and downed our target with a single attempt.  It was a successful winter harvest. Then we began the long difficult haul back across the creek and up the ridge towards the truck.  The load was heavy but we eventually  made it back to the truck.  We promptly punched the tag and attached it. Then with the help of my sister and her kids we loaded it into the truck.  It filled the back of her Dodge pickup and hung a foot over the downed tailgate.  It's branches wear huge. It was by far the largest we'd ever tagged. 

Once we got it home, we carried it into the house and stood it up in from of daddy's seven point bull elk mount, It was huge, the tip of it's branches went clear to the ceiling of our open beam home.  "It's perfect," I said.  "It's the perfect Christmas tree."
Merry Christmas

Until Later,
Sherrie
A Sacred Place, Memoirs of a Female Hunter
www.sherriegant.com

My daughter is a senior in college majoring in journalism at a big University.  She is always telling me how she hates to write because she doesn't like the negative feedback she gets on her papers from certain professors.  They are the ones that don't bother to point out the good things about her writing but go out of their way to be negative and tell her everything she did wrong. I understand that their job is to teach but often their comments are just their opinion and their approach often feels like a kick in the belly.  They get an "F" in the "build me up" department. I try to support my daughter when she calls me in tears feeling like a failure.  I give her the "it's just one persons opinion" speech.  Over the years, I've given it many times.  She has grown up showing horses and knows how it feels to be judged, so she is not thin skinned.  You can preform a perfect pattern but if the judge likes paint horses better than appaloosas and you're on the appy, you probably won't win that class.

Writing, if grammatically done correct, is just a matter of personal opinion.  True some writers have the ability to paint a more colorful picture and spice things up more than others, but that doesn't mean they are better writers.  We all like different flavors, some like it hot and some do not and that's what makes us unique recipes. 

Where I'm going with this is that I made one of those "kicked in the stomach" calls to my daughter today.  I received a rejection letter for a short manuscript that I submitted two months ago.  I have written articles over the years and submitted them to various publications.  I have published several and been well paid for those pieces and I have gotten the dreaded "We're sorry but this doesn't meet our editorial needs at this time."  I can handle those kind of rejection letters.  They don't say I'm a lousy writer or my story looks like it was written by a first grader, it just says that they don't satisfy that publishers appetite at that time.  But this one was different.  I believe that the editor thought they were being helpful, but I didn't submit my manuscript asking for a grade or review.

I'm a self published author of a very personal book that I recently wrote called "A Sacred Place, Memoirs of a Female Hunter" .  I didn't even try to submit this book to a publishing company,  I just published with a print-on-demand company so I didn't have to deal with someone else telling me how to make it a better story.  This book is my story not theirs.  It's a true story and I tried to paint a descriptive picture to allow the reader to walk along beside me on my very personal journey and feel what I felt.  The rejection letter I just received was for one of those personal stories.  The letter started out by thanking me for submitting.  The editor went on to say they found it a "pretty good read".  Well there was the first little kick.  Then they went on to say that they had received stronger better stories.  Well that's OK, I can handle that. It's their choice to pick what they like.  Then they ended with the "General Critique" (unsolicited of course).  What is this, high school English class? I thought as I read the next sentence.  "It stays a bit too much on the surface"...what ever that means, I thought. Another jab to the midsection.  And now that I'm already in pain here it comes...wait for it..."you need to write from the heart."  Wow the final kick in the gut to make me feel like I'm a loser and total failure.  Wait a minute, this is my story, my emotions and my loss, how does this editor know how I felt and that I didn't write from my heart?

So I made the call to my college journalist daughter who gave  me some very sound advice... "It's just their opinion Mom," she said.  "That's why I don't like writing."  She reminded me that I need to practice what I am always preaching to her.  But it still kind of stings.  But I guess I need to pick myself up and shake it off.  I think I'll go bake some chocolate chip cookies.  I like that flavor.

Until Later,
Sherrie Gant
A Sacred Place, Memoirs of a Female Hunter
www.sherriegant.com

I am a self published author.  In the publishing world the general public has been led to believe that self published author's work isn't any good or they would not have chosen the "vanity publishing" route.  However many self published authors are proving that rumor false by becoming Best Selling authors, and they did it without the help of big publishing companies.  I am one of 700,000 self published authors, true some will be poor writers but the odds are we aren't all bad.  Just because we chose to self publish doesn't mean we tried traditional methods and failed.  For me, I chose it because I'm a control freak and wanted things to be done my way.  I will admit that I have struggled when it comes to marketing.  Writing is my cup a tea, it's just talking with  my hands, and I'm quite good at that.  But marketing on the other hand is a whole new beverage for me.  One that has a bitter taste.  So I'm always on the lookout for a new flavor; guidance.  My friend, who is an award winning, recently NYT Best Selling author I might add (not self published), sent me an email about a guy that has been very successful at self publishing.   He too is a NYT Best Selling author as well as an Amazon Kindle Best Selling Author.

From that e-mail I purchased a book called, How I Sold 1 Million eBooks in 5 Months, written by John Locke. In his book John shares his marketing plan on how he used social media to become a best selling author.  He was however first a self made millionaire in the insurance business.  And now a successful author.  I'm just a housewife and a mom.  I don't care about becoming a best selling author but I spent 6 years writing, and a lifetime creating, the stories that I've published in my book and I'd like to share them with more than a dozen of my closest relatives.  OK, I'm exaggerating but not much.  With the invention of e-readers, you can purchase books cheap.  In this case, for the low price of $2.99, that's less then a fancy cup of coffee.  For that price you can afford to spit out the bad ones and go to Starbucks.  With all that aside, I had a point to make.  It's the real reason I'm blogging today. 

In John Locke's book How I Sold... he tells of a blog that he wrote in November of 2010, he said it "is the blog that changed my life."  It is titled "Why I Love Joe Paterno and My Mom!"  In that blog John talks about how his father died when he was only two and how his mother never remarried.  She told him one day to find a role model to look up to, to choose a person of high character...and that "he will never let you down."  When I read that, my heart sank.  Oh no! I thought.  When John wrote and published this book, publicly announcing his role model, a man he says he has loved for 44 years, he had no idea what the near future held.  And now with the recent bad publicity and the firing of Joe Paterno from Penn State, I worried how it made John feel.  I felt his pain.  I have been disappointed by mankind.  I have been guilty of putting people high up on a pedestal thinking they could do no wrong.  But I since have learned that is "unfair" and I'm only setting myself up for disappointment.  We all have and will fail at some point in our lives, more than once.  I have learned that if I put my faith in mankind that they will ALWAYs let me down.  It say in Hebrews 13:5 that God will never leave you or forsake you.  And God will NEVER let you down.  So as far as a role model goes, for me, I'm sticking with God because He is the ONLY ONE that will never disappoint me.

For Now,
Sherrie Gant
A Sacred Place, Memoirs of a Female Hunter
www.sherriegant.com

  www.sherriegant.com
I've never shot a bow and arrow unless you count the toy bow made from a green willow branch and twine that my older sister and I made when playing cowboy and indian as children.  We'd race around bareback on our horses pretending, however we both always wanted to be the indian, so she was Nez Perce on her appaloosa gelding and I was Cherokee on my pinto pony.  I know that the term is politically incorrect and I don't mean to offend anyone.  I come from a long line of native Americans from both sides of my family and respect all heritage.  However we watched the great westerns of the times on television and modeled our play accordingly. 
    Like Native Americans, my family has hunted big game for food since before my birth.  My mother was eight months pregnant with me during that hunting season.   We rifle hunt, we always have.  We have never archery hunted.  I have a great respect for skilled archers.  I know that one needs to be skilled to hunt properly with a rifle  as well but I've always been impressed by people that are successful at bow hunting, especially harvesting bull elk.  I have been in close proximity of large branched bulls during rifle season and believe me it's exciting, but the thought of bugling in a huge angry testosterone filled branched bull elk is not only thrilling but terrifying.  I've heard stories where an agitated bull came within feet of the bugler.  So close that the hunter felt the animals steamy breath as he snorted over the large log where the hunter swatted in retreat. 
    I've seen negative results from both, rifle and bow hunters, where animals where fatally wounded and lost.  Sometime the result of a mistake or just bad luck, but often the result of an irresponsible hunter taking a shot that should have been passed upon or not bothering to go look after taking the shot, assuming that they missed when the animal didn't fall to immediate death.
    Myself, I will probably never archery hunt, I'm too much a creature of habit.  I enjoy the hunt.  Walking through the thick timber and climbing steep terrain in hopes of stalking or flushing an animal.  I have a difficult time sitting still.  I feel like I'm missing something just over the next ridge and I have to go see.  I lost an wounded animal once, my first year elk hunting...a mistake I vowed to never repeat.  I have honed my rifle skills since that day 30 years ago.  For that reason is why I'll never attempt to archery hunt.  The fear of wounding an animal and the thought of it suffering and dieing of infection is more than I could personally bare.

For Now
Sherrie Gant
A Sacred Place, Memoirs of a Female Hunter
www.sherriegant.com

November marks the two year anniversary of a great family tragedy.  We won't dwell upon the date, we will however move forward with life leaving behind the darkness of that day.  It is apart of who we are...who we have become.  It's what we do with the defining experiences in life that matter.  A dear friend and well known author, Jane Kirkpatrick, told me once that we all have a story.  Each story is different, some are not as exciting as others to most but we ALL have a story.  When I was writing my book A Sacred Place, Memoirs of a Female Hunter, I was writing it with the sole purpose of preserving my family traditions and a way of life that over the years is changing, like all things do.  I wanted to document for my daughter and future grandchildren, the ways things were before I was too old to remember.  So I wrote my story.  Then I published my story.  Others have read it and enjoyed it.  Maybe others...not so much, I don't know I haven't heard.  I am hopeful that my story may bring a smile to someone's face or spark a memory of their own, or they may learn something by walking along with me on my journey.  It might be boring or uninteresting to some, but it's My Story.  My sister is apart of my story but she also has one of her very own. 

My sister's story from that November night is tragic, and dark and unpleasant.  But it has an amazing ending, filled with faith and hope and love and a bright shining light which guides her.  She is growing and flourishing from her experience and has turned away from the darkness and ran to the light.  She will tell her story some day.  She has young children and her main goal is their growth and development and happiness.  They are doing very well today, due to God and my sister's nurturing.  We talked on the phone yesterday while she was shopping.  We discussed the need to tell her story some day when the time is right.  She believes that she'll know when that time it.  Immediately after ending our conversation, she walked past a sign with a road map and a compass and a phrase written at the top of the plaque, that said "The World is Waiting to Hear Your Story."  She smiled and purchased the plaque to hang above her desk as a reminder.  And when the time is right she will tell.

So...what's your story?

For Now,
Sherrie Gant
A Sacred Place, Memoirs of a Female Hunter
www.sherriegant.com

We drove along the deserted forest road without speaking, taking in the majestic beauty that surrounded us.  We hadn't been here in over 25 years.  Things had changed in that time making things appear new like we were seeing them for the very first time.  We carried no map, no GPS, only the direction indicator that lite up on the pickup's rear-view mirror.  We stopped and ate lunch in the sun along side the vanishing creek; roasted chicken from the grocery store deli and BBQ-ed beans from a can while sitting on the tailgate of our daughter's little Chevy.  Memories of our life together washed over us in waves as we recognized familiar looking places.  "Somewhere along here is where we went on the trail ride.  We crossed the creek and rode up an old skid road," my husband Dennis said.  I had no recollection of that but I did remember trips up here with my parents and once with Dennis's mom, Arlene.  That was before we were parents.  Arlene and my dad are both gone now...the memories where sweet. 

We stopped without concern of time to take photographs of God's splendor...color spots of glittering gold.  In the bottom of the draw, five lone surviving aspen trees stood 40 to 50 feet tall surrounded by a thick grove of young suckers, the rebirth after a massive forest fire a few years back.  While we strolled amongst the spindly white bark the sun peaked through the branches.  A symphony of golden instruments softly played overhead in the gentle breeze showering us with tender leaves that settled into a carpet below. 

Mule deer doe with their fawns gathered together in small bands basking in the sun, taking in the unusually warm October day.  They stood in pose long enough for me to adjust the settings on my new digital camera, allowing me to capture their beauty.

I appreciate the time...alone once again with my husband and friend of thirty years.  Our only child, a girl, is away at her last year of collage preparing to begin her life on her own.  We adjust to her not being here with us.  Unlike so many other couples that became parents soon after marriage,  Dennis and I had 10 years together, just the two of us before we started our little family.  We already know how to be alone with each other and are comforted by each others presence.  I enjoyed the opportunity...being surrounded by natures spectacular golden treasures...and I don't just mean the aspens. 

     The tepid air brushed our faces as we walked silently single file through the normally crunchy sage.  Rain alternated between a steady drizzle and spontaneous showers building up on the brim of my cap before dripping down onto my face.  I turned and looked into Michelle’s unsuspecting eyes and smiled as I gave a hard flick of my finger to the underside of the bill to clear the heavy drips from my hat. Large droplets of water spattered her face.  She giggled and shook her head like a dog fresh from a bath slinging water back at me.
    “I’ve never had to deal with rain dripping from my hat during deer season before.”  I said.
    “I know,” she replied, “it’s cool, I love this.  The rain makes everything look so new and interesting, and it’s so quiet.  I just love walking in the rain.”  Then I turned away and we continued our walk in silence.

    We awoke on opening morning to the sound of pelting rain on the metal trailer roof.  I slowly opened my eyes; surprised to see it was already quite light, then I glanced blurry-eyed at the tiny travel clock sitting at the side of the bed.  I could barely make out the time without my glasses, but it appeared to be nearly seven o’clock.  Dennis, my husband stirred beside me and looked at the clock.
    “What time is it?  I can’t read it,” I asked.
    “It’s time to get up,” he said, “it’s seven.” The rain had started on Friday, the day before season and continued nearly all day and well into the night before letting up.  It was great that the parched earth was refreshed.  I was excited about being at deer camp in the rain.  Dennis and I prepared our espresso and poured a bowl of cereal while our daughter Michelle rolled from the bunk, taking our time for the first hunt of the season.  At 9:00 am we climbed into my sister Karen’s truck and headed down the road towards the cinder butte to make our opening morning hunt.  Mom left with Karen’s kids in the orange truck and headed south to get on her stand down by the Holey road, our destination. 
    “As late as it is, I hope we don’t just follow someone through the woods,” Dennis said, knowing that most hunters hit the woods at the crack of dawn.  “We need to get out earlier.” 
    “What do you expect hunting with a bunch of women and kids?” I said with a chuckle.

    Silently we walked as I scanned the darkened terrain off to my left.  The only sound was the patter of the rain as it continued to fall at a soft but steady pace.  Something felt familiar, and then I realized that we were approaching the same area where Michelle and I had jumped the big buck from his bed two years ago on opening morning, the last time we hunted here.  I envisioned the large buck and a doe running away from me in the wide open as I stood searching for the safety on the lever of my 30.30 rifle forgetting that I had decided to carry my 30.06 bolt that day.  By the time I located the safety, the buck was out of sight, I hadn’t fired a shot.  Michelle stood watching in wonder “why isn’t she shooting?”
    “Deer!  Bucks, bucks!” Michelle shouted at a whisper with urgency; her words jolting me back to the present. Startled from my thoughts, I panned the landscape searching for the bucks-bucks that she was obviously so excited about.  Spotting the movement off to my right, just 35 yards away, two large bucks had jumped from their bed in the wide open and ran single file, now in the scattered ponderosa trees.  I raised my rifle...

EXCERPT from A Sacred Place, Memoirs of a Female Hunter.
Creative Non-Fiction By Sherrie Gant