There's a new addition to our living room at Old Fox Hollow.
A beautiful mule deer now hangs above our mantel, having made his way here from Wyoming just a few days ago. I've found myself stopping to look at him, remembering a particular October evening and all that happened before those antlers found their place in our home.
In October of 2025, Jeremiah and I traveled to Wyoming for a public-land mule deer hunt. It was our first trip away together, just the two of us, since Lydia was born in 2019.
Jeremiah had drawn a mule deer tag, and we were looking forward to several days exploring the wide-open Wyoming landscape. We had no idea our hunt would be over on the very first day.
We spent the day hiking and glassing the mountainsides. With about an hour of shooting light remaining, we decided to make one last climb onto a nearby bench to look across a large valley.
Thinking we'd only be gone a few minutes before heading back for the evening, we left our backpacks at the base of the mound.
That's when Jeremiah spotted a large mule deer more than 1200 yards away on the neighboring mountainside.
We had a decision to make, and very little time to make it.
Jeremiah needed to cross the valley and close the distance to within 500 yards for a shot he felt confident taking. There was no time to retrieve our backpacks, so he took his rifle and headed across the valley while I stayed with the spotting scope, keeping my eyes on the deer.
He made the crossing in record time and took an incredible shot at 500 yards.
We were thrilled!
But darkness was settling in, and we suddenly realized the predicament we'd gotten ourselves into.
Jeremiah was on another mountainside with his rifle, his cellphone flashlight, and the keys to our truck. His knife and processing equipment were in his backpack, which was still about 100 yards away from me.
I was alone with the spotting scope, no firearm, no truck keys, and two backpacks I now had to find in the dark.
I was frightened. The vast Wyoming landscape felt considerably different without daylight or my husband beside me.
Jeremiah located the deer, marked its position on his onX app, and began making his way back across the valley. I found our backpacks and held my little headlamp high above my head, using its light as a beacon to help him find his way back to me.
Eventually, we were reunited, but we still had a deer waiting on the neighboring mountain.
With our equipment finally in hand, we drove around and hiked into the other mountain, reaching the deer sometime after 9:30 that evening.
Then came the work of processing and packing him out across steep, rugged terrain in the dark.
I carried both hindquarters in a little daypack while Jeremiah carried the remainder of the deer. By the time we reached our vehicle around two in the morning, I was so physically exhausted and sick that I thought I might lose everything in my stomach.
I climbed into the truck and promptly fell asleep.
Jeremiah still had more than an hour of driving ahead of him, winding through rugged mountainous roads and across the wide-open Wyoming landscape toward our cabin. I remember none of the drive off the mountain.
We made it back safely, but I can assure you we spent some time afterward discussing the decisions we'd made.
There were several things we would do differently.
Several.
And now, a year later, that mule deer hangs above our mantel.
I look at him and remember the beauty of the Wyoming mountains, the excitement of that first day, the little headlamp shining in the darkness, and the two of us finding our way home.
It certainly wasn't the peaceful getaway we might have imagined. But it was ours, and I'm grateful the Lord gave us such a wonderful memory together.
And every time I look above the mantel, I smile.