Karen Wils photos Above, at left, Dad with homemade bow, circa 1950. Above, at right, David is shown with his bow and a doe in 2000.

Karen Wils photos
Above, at left, Dad with homemade bow, circa 1950. Above, at right, David is shown with his bow and a doe in 2000.

ESCANABA — October means it’s archery season in Upper Michigan.

The crisp, cool autumn days bring on the harvest in so many ways.

Pumpkins and squashes decorate our driveways and fill our ovens.

The gardens stand golden brown with most of the goodness gone.

The last of the tomatoes are layered in baskets for ripening.

The brave cabbage, carrots and Brussels sprouts are the last to be processed.

The harvesting of deer with bow and arrows has been a Michigan tradition with a licensed season since 1937. Before that, native peoples hunted all over the North Woods with bows and arrows.

My dad hunted deer with a recurve bow that he made about 1950. Over the decades, bows have come a long way.

Now most bow hunters hunt with compound bows with lighted sights.

I will always remember the perfect autumn day back in 2000, even though I am not a bow hunter.

We had only been married two years and my husband was an avid bow hunter back then. I had a few days off of work that October.

Frosty nights and sunny days painted the hardwoods around camp into an awesome autumn masterpiece.

We would spend two days at camp.

The day before we headed out was a cold, gray October day. The blustery wind brought with it about an inch of snow.

When the weather turns unseasonably cold I did what every Yooper woman did — I turned on the oven.

I roasted a small turkey along with some garden veggies and stuffing.

Into the Dutch oven I packed up a wonderful Thanksgiving-type meal to be enjoyed the next day at camp.

The next day dawned sunny and clear. The wet snow made the crimson and gold leaves rain down.

With a baby boy, a beagle and my husband, we headed for camp.

After we set up camp, David wanted to go to his bow stand.

So with supper already prepared, I decided to hike out to the old apple tree orchard to pick apples for apple sauce making.

The air was intoxicating with the smell of foliage, ferns, apple and balsam.

Little Robert was happy and content to ride in the carrier on my back. He played with the apples I handed him.

Gus the beagle tried to roll in deer droppings before he was whisked away.

In what seemed like a few minutes, there came my husband the bow hunter again.

“I shot a nice big doe with my bow,” he said, so we went with him to haul in his kill.

As the orange moon rose in the sky, we bowed our heads with a “thank you for the harvest” prayer.

The turkey dinner at camp, with a deer already hanging, was the most delicious ever.

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Karen (Rose) Wils is a lifelong north Escanaba resident. Her folksy columns appear weekly in Lifestyles.