With rifle season ending Saturday, it was time to spend some time at camp.

Accordingly, Jim Acker and I met up Thursday and, after building a fire in the wood stove, Jim volunteered to put a couple drives on for me. With a Missouri buck in the freezer, there was no need to harvest a Pennsylvania buck just to say I did.

So far, the larger bucks had successfully eluded me and I marveled at their ingenuity and elusiveness. They are remarkable animals and deserve our respect and appreciation, they certainly have mine.

We knew of a secluded plot of land on private property. This knoll had a stand of thick aspen, blackberry thickets and several small openings covered in tall goldenrod.

Located in a rather inaccessible area, it was a perfect spot for pressured whitetails to lay up, feed and snooze the day away.

To cover the escape route, I positioned myself on a steeply sloping hillside where I could clearly see the knoll. A short glimpse of Jim’s orange hat as he worked his way to the far side and I slipped open the bolt to make sure a shell was chambered.

Not a bad thing to check, I might add.

As I scanned the area, a memory I’d been trying to suppress and yet honor, contradictions of the highest order, came vividly to mind. The hillside in front of me lost focus and a wave of emotion seized me.

Today was my wife’s birthday. It has been five years now since she passed, and though time does dull the pain and your mind finally accepts her passage, love never dulls or grows stale.

Smiling through my tears, old memories swirled like windswept leaves through my mind, twisting, turning, rising and falling in a kaleidoscope of emotion. Suddenly, I could see her sitting across the table from me as we cleaned venison.

Jane was very particular about removing every bit of tallow from the roasts. Though some may consider such an undertaking a dreary chore and pay a processor to do so, Jane and I wanted our venison prepared to our fastidious standards.

We’d sit across from one another trimming, cutting and talking. Drinks at hand, we spent compatible hours together in a common cause, tedious at times, but all the more appreciated when accomplished.

She’d hold up the roast when finished and ask me if it was OK. Those green eyes were sharp and penetrating and always a little mocking.

The roast was perfect, of course, but I don’t know if I’d said it wasn’t for any cause. She was exceedingly sensitive and I’d discovered, painfully, she didn’t care for my often-insensitive male sense of humor.

Not that long ago, Jane purposely left a large, obvious, thick piece of fat on. I saw the trap immediately and paused for a second, smiled broadly and replied it looked perfect. Those mocking eyes softened, her posture relaxed and the love we shared unexpectedly flowed like a powerful current between us. Reaching out, I took her hand and for a few seconds there was that rare moment of unspoken, loving communication, understanding and tenderness. We released hands, she sliced off the offending fat, tossed it at me and we laughed in perfect harmony.

The hillside came back into focus, but nothing appeared. I walked down to meet Jim when he finished and neither of us could believe not a single deer had been sheltering in such a perfect location. It didn’t make sense.

My eyes must have given me away, for Jim asked if anything was wrong when we met. I told him and he simply patted my shoulder and nodded his head. After all, what can you really say?

The next drive, I snuck into a thick bottom and climbed into a tree stand. Large hemlocks dotted the ravine sides and a crystal-clear brook was busily singing its way among the roots and stones. The head of the brook was thick with evergreens and brush interspersed with scattered apple trees.

Happy memories of my wife chased one another through my mind as I watched; the pain had passed and I smiled as pleasant memory after pleasant memory returned.

Did we forge bonds and make promises in the world before we came to earth and our mortal probation? Was the love Jane and I shared on earth simply an extension of a love that long existed?

I believe with all my heart that it was so.

Is there such a thing as love at first sight? Possibly, but to my mind, the cliché really means we recognize the one we loved before we came to earth.

Love existed before we came here, it exists now and it will exist after we leave these mortal bounds.

It was then, with a guilty start, I remembered I hadn’t sung Happy Birthday to my dear wife. Surrounded by the beauty of nature, in the solitude of the forest, amid towering hemlock, immersed in the cold crisp December air I sang to my girl, who I am sure was listening.

Jim appeared. Once again the deer had given us the slip.

After climbing down, I told him I’d sang Happy Birthday to Jane.

Jim gave me that great smile of his and startled me when he said, “I’m sure she heard, Wade. I’m sure she heard.”