Deer hunting season is almost upon us, and I am once again trying to get enthusiastic.

Your Scribe doesn't hunt, though I certainly have slain my share of fish over the years.

One downside is that the woods is full of hunters, some saner (and more sober) than others.

Even in blaze orange, I am vulnerable to hunters when I walk through the back 20 (acres).

Also, hunters park in my dirt driveway.

I don't know why this is nettling to me, but I feel uncomfortable about armed men tromping over the (unposted) acreage between the cabin and the river.

In addition, taking close to 24,000 deer each fall in Maine appears to be overhunting.

I contend that there are fewer deer in the woods now than in past years, though gardeners who lose flowers and vegetables to deer would disagree.

Actually, it is hard to be against hunting in my neck of cabin country.

This is "red state" country, and everyone seems to support firearms.

The local restaurant promotes dawn breakfast for deer hunters.

And the nearby Farm Store posts mammoth "Welcome Hunters" signs that appear to be the size of that baked-bean billboard on Casco Bay, outside of Portland.

Owners of the store maintain a chalkboard that provides running totals of how many (deceased) deer have been registered there.

Last year about 180 deer were registered . . . and one bear.

The Farm Store promotes hunting like the Chamber of Commerce supports capitalism.

It offers maps, apparel, ammunition, and information about guide services. (Gun sales are limited, but rifles are raffled off for good causes).

And for those too young or impecunious to arm themselves and purchase licenses, there is a well-promoted display that offers to fulfill "all your paintball needs."

Perhaps I should start with paintball, and work my way up to a 30.06 rifle.

But such a step is off in the future.

There is no way that I will launch my paintball career in the forest during the month of November.

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