First, a little background. I grew up in the suburbs of New Orleans. Louisiana is coined “Sportsman’s Paradise,” so geographically I wasn’t too far removed from the hunting world. I knew it existed and I knew of men who did it, including my Paw Paw Hollis. Every Thanksgiving, we’d spend a week in the country with him in the town of Sandy Hook, Mississippi. Paw Paw and all of the boys would go squirrel hunting, while the girls went shopping. As a little girl, I loved watching my mom get dressed for work in her beautiful dresses and golden earrings. Getting dirty just wasn’t my thing; that was for boys.

One childhood memory that stuck with me was the time I went to my aunt’s house and there was a large alligator skin hanging in the backyard. I didn’t think much of it, because I knew my uncle hunted, so maybe he hunted gators, too. My aunt made spaghetti and meat sauce, my favorite. After lunch, she told me the meat was actually alligator. What?!?! Why would someone feed me alligator?!?! I was horrified.

For the next 20 years, I refused to eat any meat at their house, afraid it might be gator, deer or squirrel. Other than that unfortunate event, I was a happy kid. I played basketball, participated in Girl Scouts, took piano lessons, went on vacations … life was good.

Fast forward to my 20s. I got married and had three amazing kids, but all was not a fairy tale. My marriage was toxic. During my 10 years of matrimony, I went through the motions of life, but my spirit was broken. I was able to get through college and became a special education teacher, but even in my career, my mind was unclear. I love every student who has stepped foot into my classroom and I knew I wanted to give them more of me than I was able, but I didn’t have any hope left in me.

My children were my rays of sunshine, but I wasn’t even giving them my all. I eventually ended the marriage, packed up the kids and moved to Mississippi, where my 14-year-old son took an interest in hunting. But I knew I couldn’t let him go into the wilderness without me, so I looked into hunting licenses.

Fate Steps In

In July of 2016, my little sister was in a car accident in Boston. After weeks in the ICU, she was transported to a hospital in New Orleans to be close to my parents. It was there that I met my husband, Jimmy. He was her night nurse and I knew right away he was a Mississippi boy as soon as he opened his mouth. I told him I was going to get a hunting license and he offered to help. I worked through the online Hunter’s Education course during the late-night hours spent at the hospital, and he was there to coach me through any uncertainties.

When he talked about hunting, I saw a passion in his eyes and heard a spirit in his voice that I longed for. Hunting was just a hobby, a past time, something to do in a rural area with no shopping malls, right? So why was this grown man as enthusiastic as a kid talking about his or her first trip to Disney World? How did he know every law and ethic involved in hunting and conservation?

It didn’t take long for me to become engulfed in this new venture. I was unsure, scared and really doubtful, but I wanted to share in his passion. I wanted to feel what he was feeling. I had so many questions, and he had so many answers.

My First Hunt

In the weeks leading up to deer season, Jimmy taught me about food plots, guns, rules, regulations and techniques. My dad bought me a Browning .270 Short Mag. and I got in lots of target practice. I didn’t have any trouble shooting and I thought, wow, this is going to be easy!

One morning, Jimmy and I drove to some land he had in Jones County for my first hunt. We pulled onto the property and parked nowhere near the shooting house. I was already out of my element. It was dark and very cold. Surely, we could have gotten a little closer, I thought as Jimmy gave me a sideways glance when I slammed the truck door. We began walking with the moon lighting our path. Maybe this isn’t going to work for me, I thought to myself. After all, they invented flashlights for a reason.

When we finally made it to the shooting house, I realized I didn’t even have cell service! What was I going to do for the next several hours? My only option was to sit, listen and watch. I have to admit, it was liberating. I was disconnected from the hustle and bustle, but for the first time in my life, I was connecting with nature. I heard birds I’d never heard before. And I realized that a chipmunk could make as much noise as a boar coming through the woods! I didn’t see a single deer that day, or the next several times that followed. In fact, I saw only one doe the entire deer season of 2016-17. It was enjoyable, but not quite as life changing as I had hoped. Still, I knew I’d be back for more.

A New Season, A New Tactic

Once my first deer season ended, I couldn’t wait for the next one to begin. As soon as I discovered that bow season would come first, I grabbed my son’s old Diamond compound bow and told Jimmy I wanted to learn to shoot it. I started practicing … a lot … several times a day, until I was absolutely confident shooting at 20 and 30 yards. Jimmy and I made and tended to the food plots, set up a ground blind, and put out cameras, checking them religiously.

When bow season finally came around, I couldn’t get in the blind fast enough. Being in the ground blind with a bow was a lot different from being in the raised shooting house with a rifle. I was very nervous. I had several people tell me that they didn’t think I’d be able to shoot once I had the opportunity — that I’d freeze, or feel guilty, and not release the arrow.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to put my courage to the test because there were no deer in sight. Jimmy asked if I wanted to get in the single man stand the next time, ALONE. Hunt by myself? In the woods? Wait in the dark? Solo? I wanted this so badly that even with my uncertainties, I thought I’d better give it a try.

Jimmy dropped me off at the stand and went to another field. So, here I was, completely on my own. It was on this day that I began feeling a passion. I didn’t care if a deer showed up. I loved being in that tree, with only my bow and my thoughts.

I thought about how a couple of years ago I would have never pictured myself doing what I’m doing right now. I also thought about why I was doing it, what events led up to this point, and why had my life changed so drastically. I watched the animals in their natural habitats, gathering nuts and scurrying from tree to tree. Had this whole new world been here all along?

Then, they came — three bucks, all shooters, all within 30 yards. I had my pick. I didn’t even hesitate. I had practiced for this for the past several months. I drew back my bow with a steady hand and peered through the sight. My pin was right on the deer’s heart. I took a breath and released my arrow. Miss! All three bucks ran off and my arrow was staring back up at me right where my first buck was standing just seconds ago. As defeated as I felt, I went back almost every day during bow season and I made friends with the animals. I saw lots of does and yearlings, but no bucks.

My First Buck

Bow season was over, and I switched back to my rifle. I had several hunting spots, but my favorite became a two-man stand in the back of Jimmy’s parents’ property. I was faithful to hunting. I’d always go on my own now and I really looked forward to being in the woods. If I had a challenging day at school or a stressful day just living life, I knew I could clear my head when I got in my stand.

December rolled around and we had a couple of snow days. If you’re from the South, you know that snow days are a foreign concept. Our world shuts down with the first snow flurry. On the following Saturday, the snow blanketed the land. It was gorgeous. I grabbed my rifle and got in my stand. Most of the animals must have been still hunkered down because there was little sign of life. But within the first hour, I saw a buck in shooting range. He looked massive. This was it. I was ready. I picked up my rifle and set the crosshairs. I cleared my head, took a breath, took the safety off and squeezed the trigger.

I immediately looked up to be sure I could see which way the buck was running, but there was no running. He had dropped right where I shot him. I looked through my scope again to be sure he was still there. He was!

I’ve struggled for a long time to find the words to describe what I was feeling at that moment, and as most of the people reading this know, there really are no words for it. I felt elated, overwhelmed, emotional, engulfed with pleasure, confident, excited and unbelievably proud of myself. But most importantly, in that moment, I felt alive. My soul was awakened and I could feel years of disappointment lifted from my shoulders. This was my moment!

With shaky hands, I put the safety back on the gun and picked up my phone. Jimmy was in a tree in another county. I texted him: “Jimmy!! I did it. He dropped right there. OMG. I’m shaking. OMG.”
It turned out that he wasn’t the big monster I saw from the stand. He was a spike, but he was my spike. He gave his life to feed my family and to bring my life back to me. I will never forget that moment, and I think of it every time I climb into a stand.

Alive Again

My short time hunting and the people I have met during the first two years of this journey have taught me that life is what you make it. I still have a lot to learn about hunting and conservation, and with my husband as my guide and mentor, I plan to continue doing my research, visiting the expos and talking to both the people who have done it their whole lives and the people just beginning.

I didn’t think it was a world that women could be part of, especially a mom in her late 30s, but I have been met with nothing but acceptance from the hunting community. I’ve realized it’s not only the kill, but the entire experience that makes it worthwhile. It’s a connection to nature that can only be described as a gift from God. I feel like this fire inside of me has trickled down into my parenting, my marriage and my teaching. My mind is in a better place and my spirit is alive.

Now I understand how a Mississippi night nurse in New Orleans could have such passion in his voice when he talked about hunting. It’s not just a hobby or a pastime — it’s a lifestyle, a feeling, a calling and a culture of people with a shared passion.

— Rebecca Palmer is now a passionate whitetail hunter from Mississippi who recently answered the call of the wild.

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