Deer In The Orchard
Deer came out of the pines into Esther’s orchard in October. The sweet smell of the apple trees lured the animals from all corners of the Appalachians.
No matter how abundant the harvest was each year, the thought of the antlered rodents eating $10 worth of apples each night made Esther twitch in her Lazy Boy recliner chair. She could see their eyes gleam in at her from the orchard at night. They looked like demons peeking out from hell when she spotted them with her flashlight, powered by a half dozen D size batteries.
Because Esther didn’t make at least 70% of her annual salary from the apples in her orchard, she was not permitted to shoot the deer on her land. The Pennsylvania Game Commission kept a close eye on things, even though it was her land.
But Esther had hair the color of an oak tree in October. She was single, made a fierce apple cake, and usually got her way with men, including the handsome officers who worked for the Game Commission.
Her grandson slept with her in her bed at the far end of the pink trailer. Her mattress was better than Craft-O-Matic adjustable. The bed was stuffed with deer hides.
Her grandchild slept on the side of the bed not against the wall and window. Esther slept next to the window with her gun.
Each night around 2 a.m., Esther unloaded her 30-30 rifle, shooting at deer in her orchard.
The sound of gunfire in the wee hours of the morning scared the living hell out of her grandson, but it was exciting for him to see grandma happy while she yelled "Got you mother fucker!"
She kissed her grandchild on his forehead, and he fell right back to sleep.
In the morning they drank coffee together and ate toast with homemade apple butter.
Esther and her grandson didn’t go out to the orchard to pick up dead dear in the morning.
She simply picked up the phone while sipping coffee with her grandson, dialed the number to the Pennsylvania Game Commision and stated "Hello, is this Mr. Pro at the Pennsylvania Game Commission? Yes, this is Esther Taylor, come get these dead deer out of my orchard. Someone’s been hunting on my property again!"
She slapped her grandson a high five, took another bite of toast and winked while hanging up the phone.
No matter how abundant the harvest was each year, the thought of the antlered rodents eating $10 worth of apples each night made Esther twitch in her Lazy Boy recliner chair. She could see their eyes gleam in at her from the orchard at night. They looked like demons peeking out from hell when she spotted them with her flashlight, powered by a half dozen D size batteries.
Because Esther didn’t make at least 70% of her annual salary from the apples in her orchard, she was not permitted to shoot the deer on her land. The Pennsylvania Game Commission kept a close eye on things, even though it was her land.
But Esther had hair the color of an oak tree in October. She was single, made a fierce apple cake, and usually got her way with men, including the handsome officers who worked for the Game Commission.
Her grandson slept with her in her bed at the far end of the pink trailer. Her mattress was better than Craft-O-Matic adjustable. The bed was stuffed with deer hides.
Her grandchild slept on the side of the bed not against the wall and window. Esther slept next to the window with her gun.
Each night around 2 a.m., Esther unloaded her 30-30 rifle, shooting at deer in her orchard.
The sound of gunfire in the wee hours of the morning scared the living hell out of her grandson, but it was exciting for him to see grandma happy while she yelled "Got you mother fucker!"
She kissed her grandchild on his forehead, and he fell right back to sleep.
In the morning they drank coffee together and ate toast with homemade apple butter.
Esther and her grandson didn’t go out to the orchard to pick up dead dear in the morning.
She simply picked up the phone while sipping coffee with her grandson, dialed the number to the Pennsylvania Game Commision and stated "Hello, is this Mr. Pro at the Pennsylvania Game Commission? Yes, this is Esther Taylor, come get these dead deer out of my orchard. Someone’s been hunting on my property again!"
She slapped her grandson a high five, took another bite of toast and winked while hanging up the phone.
posted by Charles George Taylor at
5:49 PM
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