The writing on the back of this polaroid just says one thing... " '83 " . I can still picture every inch of this field in my mind's eye - back on the Schoonmakers' farm. Many times I chased fireflies in that field, or chased Dad around with walnuts in one of our heated battles. Not very far from that spot I had my first ever encounter with a buck, bow in hand, when I was just about twice as old as I am in this picture. That number, 83, makes this thirty years now of digging in the dirt and snow. From fox to coon to possums to lynx to marten...its been a heck of a journey. There is something about trapping that gets into your blood. Here, on the eve of opening day, here in my thirtieth year of setting steel, I am looking outside at the absolutely horrible conditions - blowing rain, ready to freeze - and smiling with anticipation. Because I know that no matter what, regardless of the weather, I will be out there tomorrow, making sets. Whether those first sets of the year endure the weather and connect or not really doesn't change a thing. Trapping is something I do, and love. You have to love it. If you don't, all that's left is just plain work. It has become such a part of me that I cannot imagine going through Fall and Winter without it anymore. After all, it's been a part of me for far longer than not. Tight Chains to all of you setting steel tomorrow. I'll be out there with you.
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