One of the biggest culture shocks for me moving up here was hunting season. The clerk at the gas station asked me if I was feeling under the weather on 15.November, 2007. I wasn’t buying meds or anything. No, it’s that it was opening day and I was in town.

Now, for me, opening day happens only once per year and it’s the beginning of April—it’s a national holiday as far as I’m concerned when the baseball season starts. But she was referring to hunting season, and her look of concern turned to one of confusion when I didn’t know what she was saying.

How about you? What are your hunting season memories, either as an avid person of the outdoors, or as a slightly baffled suburban person like me?