I’ve dabbled in lots of things in my life, with varying degrees of immersion. Some things you just scratch the surface on and some things become a part of who you are.

Quilting was like that for me for a few years about a decade ago. I threw myself into it. I lived and breathed fabric. I designed quilts in my head – some were completed, some only started, and some never saw a stitch. I’ll have to find some pictures, but the few unfinished objects I still have around, I still remember exactly what my vision each one was. If I choose, I could go find the raw materials (the challenging part after a move) and get right back to it. I choose not to mostly because quilting was something I did at the most unhappy point of my life, and touching it reminds me of those days. As much as I loved it, and as much as it helped my sanity at the time, I don’t want to go back there again right now.

Roping had the potential to become everything to me. I eased into it slowly, learning better horsemanship before I ever started to swing a rope from the ground. I really enjoyed it and let it define me to the point of inspiring the name for this journal, which has long since become slightly irrelevant. Long-time readers know why and how I was suddenly thrust out of that world. Losing the hobby was as much or more of a blow as losing the relationship that spawned it. It’s certainly had longer-lasting repercussions for me. I miss the horses and the cattle and the sport, but obviously not the man.

Of course, there are things that are strictly entertaining but not defining. I like the photography a lot, but I don’t claim to be a photographer. I haven’t taken class one to enrich that branch. I enjoy doing it because it’s fun, is all. I like to mess around in my garden and eat my tomatoes, but I’m no expert. I’m good at training dogs but have no inclination to make an agility competitor out of one of them.

Cooking falls somewhere between the two extremes. Of course, I have to do it, a lot, and I get to resenting it for that. Sometimes though, it’s just plain fun. I like to make my jams and smoke my sausages and trout, and cooking for a party is really satisfying. I’m good at it, but it’s not one of my top passions.

No, that spot has been reserved for hunting for the last decade. I wanted it so badly that I drug an inexperienced ex-husband into the sport when I was 23. I resented like crazy the gap of years when life kept me from hunting, even though I’d never killed a thing. I had the drive years ago; something slightly unusual, I gather, for someone who didn’t grow up in the sport.

I met some enablers right around the time I got divorced. A good group of guys who didn’t mind an apprentice tagging along. They got me started on a path that I’ll be following for the rest of my life. One hunting buddy and one way of hunting led to another, which led to another, which led to a consuming passion. I live for hunting season. I think about it all year. I already hunt for at least three months a year and would like more. It exhausts me, but I’m willing to make that choice. I’m extremely fortunate to have found someone who shares that passion.

The bear hunting in particular is a black hole. I got exposed to the adrenaline and it’s done nothing but suck me in further each year. I went from running with them one time to talking my connection into doing it a few times the next year. After that I just dove in. I was drawn in more each year until bear hunting was what I did, with a little deer hunting in the afternoons.

Grey Fox has said for years that I’d make a good houndsman. Well, maybe so, but it seemed like a bit much to do by myself. There’s a lot to it in the off-season, and I just didn’t have the resources. I was sort of waiting until Seamus was old enough to drive and become my partner in crime, but then I met Junior.

Having a partner whose passion is also yours is a mixed blessing. It’s fanstastic to be able to share your activities with someone else who also gets the draw and it’s great to be able to spend so much time together, but it can be a little hard on the checkbook. Where I would have waited a few years and so would he, suddenly we’re a team with complementary skills. I’m not great at getting to the dogs in a deep canyon or pulling the bears out, but he is. He doesn’t much care for taking care of dogs at home, but I’m good at that. We egg each other on higher than either of us might have gone alone.

We’ve been talking about it, and somehow it’s gone from maybe getting a hound next year to thinking about buying a dog rig that’s for sale. I thought we’d just continue outfitting the Dodge, but it is a little big and cumbersome to get everywhere it needs to. We’re fortunate to have these mentors to work with right now too, and don’t want to blow that chance. And I’m getting a little old to be starting a physical sport; if I want to get a good ten years’ worth out of this, I’d best start pretty soon. I’d hate to miss this and have it be on my list of regrets. I should have jumped into the roping more when I had the chance, and I don’t want to make the same mistake with the hounds. Besides, it’s not like it’s an irrevocable decision; hounds and boxes and trucks are all marketable commodities if we decide we hate it. We can get out of it as easily as we can get into it if it doesn’t work for us.

So don’t be too surprised in the next year to see a Walker Hound or two of our own pop up here, or a tracking box, or another vehicle. It’s not a done deal yet, but we’re sliding towards another degree of passion, one that will consume us for much of the year. I predict a lot more poison oak in my future, some kennels out back, and a whole lot more dog poo. But with that comes a whole hell of a lot of fun. It will be an adrenaline-fueled ride, that’s for sure.