On the hunt
No, not that hunt. Not for another month or two, anyways. Job hunting.
Country living does not offer many opportunities to build a career. I found an ad in the paper for a seasonal position working in a hunting lodge. I thought perhaps this could be an opportunity to learn about the business, in case my deer/elk/antelope/moose crazy husband gets a wild idea some day.
After driving north more than 45 minutes into the middle of nowhere, I arrived. The lady was gracious and kind and very enthusiastic for my help. But in the end, I said I don’t think this will work. I have too many outside commitments to be driving that far one direction, only to turn back and drive twice the distance into the south.
Plus, I cook and clean for one man already; cannot imagine fifteen more.
My husband leaves in two weeks to go hunting in the beautiful state of Wyoming. If there is any reason for me to work, it’s to support this man’s addiction. I am the worst of enablers.
I love staying at home. You’d think a girl would go crazy with all this open space and nobody around to talk too. Some days, you’re right. But for the most part, between picking and chopping, canning and freezing, and just plain sitting outside on the deck with my pups admiring the clouds in the sky, this living is alright.