The Day I Saw the Buck in the Field

The Day I saw the Buck in the Field

It was a warm August day. The road made its way through the cornfields of Southern Pennsylvania. Suddenly, I spotted a large buck bounding through a field on my left. The bright morning sun highlighted its brown fur and huge antlers. My mother and I watched the deer bound into the woods on the edge of the field. "What a beautiful sight" my mother exclaimed; an eight -point, I thought. "I don't see any sign of a school. " I said. "The sign said " Mont Alto five miles" We pressed on and came to a stop sign at the beginning of a small town. Further up the road we saw the entrance to the campus. We turned left across a small bridge and proceeded to a small house called Wiestling Hall. Once inside, we were greeted by a very pleasant woman who welcomed us to Mont Alto.

"What interests you in Mont Alto?" she asked. Well I tried to think of something intelligent to say, not wanting to tell the truth, which was I thought Mont Alto would be the warmest campus since it was the most Southern. Little did I know that my lack of meteorological knowledge would come back to bite me in a few months as I ran a skid loader on a very cold windy January day in the Waynesboro Watershed. "Main Campus is too large" I blurted out. The woman seemed to accept my explanation. Smiling she invited us into her office and proceeded to review my high school records and recommended an associate degree program. Forestry sounded good. I liked the out doors. That day I became a Mont Alto student. Some days, fate is against you, some days fate is with you. I would soon come to realize just how much fate was with me that day. The year before I had graduated high school and like a lot of kids was a social reject. I had spent the last year working. The one thing I learned in that year was my life was going nowhere.

September came and I found myself going to the bookstore with a list of supplies needed for school. An Axe, compass, red vest, hard-hat, and oh, yes, a few books.

I spent the evening playing with the compass. In the General Studies building a class list was posted with reading assignments to be completed prior to the first class. Two chapters! College had begun. I sat down under a tree in the grass. The air smelled clean from the pine trees and the fall sun warmed my face. I opened the book to chapter one, 'Introduction to Dendrology'. Dendrology? I thought.

Mr Rung moved at a fast gait to the next tree, my classmates and I hurried behind him. "What was the last tree, Pinus Strobis? What?" a student asked in desperation. "White Pine" another student volunteered. Mr Rung was a tall, muscular man and an active woodsman. He went up and down the mountain with ease with his class chasing behind him. "This is your next tree," said Mr Rung. Acer Rubrum-Red Maple" He then proceeded into a description that sounded remarkably similar to the last tree. 'Smooth, grey bark, blunt scaled buds... This is your first test tree" Mr Rung had taken off again. He stood behind a three-inch tree stump that had what appeared to be a sprout growing out of its base. We examined the tiny shoot for a few minutes. Mr Rung instructed us to fill out a card with the tree's common name and its scientific name and hand it in. "May I pick it asked Jeff. "? Sure" said Mr Rung with a big grin. A few snickers were heard from the woodsmen at the back of the class. Jeff picked it and examined the six-inch plant. At the next tree we were informed that the test tree was poison ivy! After many days of examining bark, leaves and fruit of various trees the semester came to an end. On my way home for Thanksgiving vacation, I was able to identify every tree in English and Latin from my car window while whizzing down the turnpike at sixty miles an hour. Somehow Mr Rung had succeeded. Bucko, which is how Mr Rung affectionately referred to me, had taken the first step to becoming a forester.

After Thanksgiving, the cold weather set in. A friend asked me if I wanted to go to the 'Chap' a small watering hole that did not mind students. "ID" said the bartender. "Dang" I thought. I was only nineteen. "Well the most they can do is throw me out." I thought to myself. I handed my divers licence to the bartender expecting to wait in the car while my friends had a beer. "What will it be" said the bartender. Very surprised and elated I said a beer" I proceeded to engage in a pool game with some friends. A few hours went by and more students gathered. Then suddenly a girl called out "The LCB is here!" Whether this was true or not I do not know to this day. As if there was a fire, everyone rushed to the back door which had a board across it. Pressed against the door, another student and I managed to get the board off, and we emerged into the cold wintry evening. Across the icy parking lot, I located my car and about six students jumped into it with me. I started back to campus with my fellow students piled up in the back seat. A car came up behind me in a hurry and started to tailgate. I sped up. A woman in the back seat asked me why I had accelerated. I told her that the car behind was making me nervous. "Don't let other people push you. Slow down and be yourself. " It was one of the better pieces of advice I had ever received. I took my foot off the gas and smiled into the rear view mirror at her. She smiled back. The lot of us spent the rest of the night talking and laughing at the Emporium; maybe the black cloud of social outcast had not followed me to Mont Alto.

A few nights later at the Emporium, I noticed across the room a quiet, mild mannered girl whom I knew from my forestry classes. Looking half tomboy and half flowerchild. She was wearing what she always wore-Blue Jeans, a flannel shirt, a leather vest and a large brimmed leather hat with tassels that had turquoise on the ends. Her blond, curly hair emerged from under her hat and beautifly accented the tassels and her blue eyes; we walked out on the porch into the fresh air and sat down on the stoop. After what seemed like five minutes of casual conversation but really was a few hours, we arrived at her rooming house door. I spent a long time admiring the way the moonlight played on her golden blond hair and cast a warm glow on her face, revealing an attractive quiet smile. We stood in silence for quite a while, both contemplating whether the door opened to diamonds or dust, This ritual would continue many times during our days at Mont Alto.

Since Mont Alto, I have stood at many doors, Some I have walked through and some I have passed by. But the door I walked through the day I saw the buck in the cornfield will live in my heart forever.