“Even when the hunt doesn’t go as planned, the woods have a way of teaching gratitude.”
There’s just something about being in the woods that’s unlike anything else. The stillness, the cold air, the way the sun climbs through the trees — it all makes you genuinely thankful to be there. Hunting slows life down, and it has a way of teaching you lessons you never see coming.
This season in Kentucky, I was blessed to hunt the rut, and let me tell you, I learned more than I ever expected. It was one of those hunts that tested both my patience and my faith. I made a shot on a buck I’d been after, but I wasn’t sure if my placement was vital enough. (Keep in mind, this would be my first bow kill.) That kind of uncertainty eats at you. You replay the moment over and over, hoping you did everything right.
We tracked and searched for more than 24 hours — through thick woods, up and down hills, across creeks. There were moments I wanted to quit, moments where I thought maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. But something in me said keep going. I had my dad and my boyfriend, Jonah, by my side, reminding me that part of being a hunter is pushing forward, even when you’re tired, unsure, or discouraged.
When we finally found my buck, the wildlife had beaten us to him. Buzzards and coyotes had done their work, and there wasn’t any meat left to bring home. It hit hard. I had worked and waited for that moment, and it didn’t end the way I pictured it would. But standing on that Kentucky hillside, I realized something important: hunting isn’t just about the harvest.
It’s everything that leads up to it—early mornings, cold sits, memories, and lessons. It’s respect for the animal and the land. It’s understanding that nature has its own balance and its own way of teaching us things we can’t learn anywhere else.
That hunt taught me patience, humility, and gratitude all at once. I was thankful for the experience, for the people who shared it with me, and for the lessons it revealed. It reminded me that success in the woods isn’t measured only by a punched tag or antlers on a wall. Sometimes it’s measured by what you learn, the memories you carry, and the peace you feel just being part of the outdoors.
As hunters, I think we all have stories like this — the ones that didn’t go according to plan but still meant something. They remind us why we do this in the first place. Because no matter how a hunt ends, there’s always something to be thankful for: the sunrise, the wind in the trees, the time spent with good people, and the chance to do what we love. In the end, the woods always humble you. They remind you to slow down, look around, and be grateful—not just for the harvest, but for every moment that comes with it.