You stomp around trying to peel off your bib, so you don't track too much mud or blood in the truck, but you’re tired, so of course when you try to unzip the legs, they catch on your boots, forcing the whole getup cockeyed, jamming the butt of your pocketknife into the exact spot you caught the rung of the deer stand ladder on your way down to collect this buck, but it was worth it: two heads over the fireplace are much better’n one. There’s just something about working four-and-two, particularly when deer season falls in the two. It’s the time and more, you think, trying not to get self-conscious about the contortions it’s taking to get this damn bib off: it’s the space. The space to get out from between four walls, from order, that rigid living, and get up in the woods,...

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