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When I think about my life, there seems to be one constant through every stage of it: the woods.

I did not grow up directly on the family farm. Instead, I grew up in the family woods.

Some of my earliest memories took place among the trees — tea parties with my cousin under the pines, where we learned the hard way about bee stings; skipping rocks in the creek with my parents and brother; and collecting tadpoles along the bank of the pond. As I grew older, the woods continued to shape me. I spent time identifying wildflowers with my aunts, searching for morel mushrooms with my grandparents, and helping split, haul and stack firewood that heated our home each winter.

The woods were never just a place to play. They were where our family worked, gathered and built traditions. Hunting was one of those traditions. I remember many family gatherings that revolved around processing deer, cutting venison steaks and making our own jerky and snack sticks. As a young child, my job was to label the storage bags, but today I help with every step of the process, from skinning to vacuum sealing.

I did not start hunting until high school, and I actually began with turkey hunting. I tried valiantly then, and I have recently tried my hand at it again, though I still have not found success. But even without tagging a turkey, those mornings taught me patience, persistence and how to appreciate a sunrise in the spring woods.

I have had a bit more success with deer hunting. I got my first deer at 16. I used my great-uncle’s crossbow. When I shot my first buck, an 8-point, I took it straight to my great-uncle’s house. He was so proud and so tickled for me. That memory has stayed with me because it showed me one of the greatest parts of outdoor sportsmanship: celebrating someone else’s success as much as your own.

Another favorite memory came in 2023. I got home from work early to hunt, but when I pulled into the driveway, I noticed a loose dog trying to get into our shop. I had seen the dog around the farm before and assumed someone had dumped him, so I loaded him up, took him to the dog shelter, and jokingly asked them to name him “Buck,” since I figured he would be the only buck I would see that day.

When I got home, to my surprise, there really was a buck standing near the pond behind our house. I slipped down there as quietly as I could with my crossbow. He was on one side of the creek, and I was on the other. I knew if I was going to take the shot, it had to happen quickly. He turned broadside, and I made the shot. He did not go far. That buck later scored 144 1/4 and qualified for the Buckeye Big Buck Club. It was an extremely memorable hunt that will be tough to top.

To me, though, outdoor sportsmanship is about much more than harvests or trophies. It means respecting the land, wildlife and opportunities we are given. It means being ethical and doing the right thing when no one is watching. It means making memories and spending time with people who matter most to you.

It also means appreciating everything the outdoors gives back. My love for the outdoors has fueled much of my creativity. I have written poems, dreamed up story ideas and worked through complex challenges from a tree stand. It gives me a chance to disconnect from the fast-paced world and truly spend a few hours in quiet. More than anything, I have gained a deep appreciation for the natural world and found a peace there that is hard to describe.

The woods have given me lessons, memories and perspective that reach far beyond hunting season. They have taught me patience, humility, gratitude and wonder. That, to me, is outdoor sportsmanship.

If you enjoy stories rooted in rural life, agriculture and the outdoors, I invite you to read my work in Ohio’s Country Journal.

Brianna Smith is editor of Ohio’s Country Journal. An avid sportswoman, Smith enjoys writing stories rooted in rural life, agriculture and the outdoors.

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