Growing up, I spent a lot of time out in the woods at my grandparents’ house. My grandparents own 55 acres of land south of Bellevue, just west of I-69 and about 3 miles from Turkeyville. On this land, formerly a YMCA camp, is a lot of woods, lakefront on a small lake, a small house that’s been abandoned for roughly 15 years, and some nice, lengthy trails. My grandparents encouraged us to stop playing inside 100% of the time, take a can of Cutter and some water bottles, and walk through a bunch of trees. 

   At first, it seemed weird to be in a quiet,occasionally swamped forest. Some days, I would have rather stayed inside and watched Spongebob. However, it quickly occurred to me that the middle of the woods was a great place. It was a place where I, my sister, and my cousins could mess around and get ourselves into stupid scenarios no kid would ever encounter in a subdivision backyard. I fondly remember certain moments of exploration that might make ordinary sense to an adult, but are great discoveries to a young kid. A specific one would be when I was seven, when my cousin Quinn and I found one of my grandpa’s old hunting spots. 

   Over a period of 20 years, my grandpa altered the location of his treestand numerous times before finally crafting a permanent stand in the location he found the best. One of his old spots was at the top of a hill on the southeast end of the property, about the farthest spot from the house possible. We happened to stumble upon the spot by accident, after looking for a good capture-the-flag spot.

   We saw a few old boards there, and after a few minutes of looking around, we found some discarded shotgun shells, 12-gauge. At the time, Quinn and I barely knew what a shotgun was, and I thought the shells were just some weird tiny cups. I decided to pick them up and bring them with me to show my grandma when we eventually returned. 

   As we began to continue on our journey, we noticed some white objects way down the hill. In a giant forest of dead November brown, a white object sticks out a lot. We naturally went straight for it and arrived at a group of bones. 

   These were the bones of three deer, which was very odd to me. Most of the time, dead deer were the direct result of my grandpa; he wouldn’t leave the hunted game to rot away. Even on hunting trips as far as Alberta and New Mexico, he drives his trusty Dodge Ram to bring back whatever he killed in a sizeable hunting cooler (and to bring his guns hassle-free). To find three whole deer skeletons on the property was out of the ordinary, especially in retrospect being so close to a previous hunting spot. 

   Unlike the shotgun shells, I knew very well what a skeleton was and what a deer skeleton looked like. Quinn and I thought that these bones were pretty cool, so we decided to keep them. After making sure no maggots were infesting the bones, we loaded up the skulls and a few other miscellaneous bones into our backpack. 

   The way back to the driveway was a bit tricky, as the southern stretch of the property contains heavy forestry, unlike the north line which consists of the abandoned house’s former driveway that parallels the main driveway. On the way back, we happened to stumble upon some small remains of the former YMCA camp that was on the property decades ago, including a still-solid tire swing and an old Schwinn bike. The bike had solid-rubber tires, so we were able to push it back no problem. 

   We eventually found the one-lane gravel road that we needed to return home and by the time we got back, it was close to sundown. We unloaded the contents of the backpack on the kitchen counter, which immediately dropped both of my grandparents’ jaws. They had no idea how we were able to find shotgun shells, deer skeletons, and a rusty old Schwinn without leaving the property. 

   I remember that day in particular very fondly and I wish I could relive those events. I’m also very grateful for the fact that my grandparents encouraged us to go outside, as it helped instill some of my life values, like my love of nature and personal freedoms for sure. I still have one of those deer skulls in my backyard, although it’s in decrepit condition due to bees using it as a small hive for a couple of years, and a couple of those shotgun shells somewhere in my room. We cleaned up that Schwinn and sold it for $50, and that tire swing is now long gone, but the memories of that day will always be with me and Quinn.