His Ear to the Ground

His Ear to the Ground

There’s something about fall in the South that feels like coming home.

Maybe it’s the cooler mornings, the changing leaves, or the familiar anticipation of hunting season. But for our family, fall has always meant something more.

It means the farm.

And for as long as I can remember, it means my Daddy having his ear to the ground.

Listening for a shot. Knowing who’s in which stand. Waiting to hear that somebody has made it safely out of the woods.

This year was a little different.

My youngest came home from college for fall break, and naturally, part of coming home means finding his way back to the farm and those peaceful woods. I love that 💙

But for the first time, my Daddy wasn’t there.

He and Mom have been away enjoying a trip and my brother stepped in to keep an ear out for Chip and his buddies.

Yet even hundreds of miles away, Daddy was still making sure everything was just right. The stand. The rifle. The plans. The little details that might not mean much to anyone else but mean everything to the people who understand.

And it occurred to me this week that while Daddy may have been on the shorelines North East, his heart was still right there on that farm, waiting alongside his grandson for a moment he wouldn't even get to witness this year if "the big one walked out".

Some traditions aren’t really about what we’re doing.

They’re about the people who have always made sure we could do them.