A quick walk for pheasants on a warming Saturday morning, and a quiet sit at the deer stand Sunday before the weather shifted allowed me some alone time to draw up the boxes of things to do ahead of those seasons’ end, beyond the obvious of filling a muzzleloader tag and getting a few more brightly colored roosters and their pelts for my winter fly tying efforts. Leading into the holidays, these December weekends offer the best of all worlds outdoors and a time to tie the previous seasons up with a bow and tear the wrapping off the ones to come. Like a mix of cookies on a holiday-themed tray in the back room at the office, there are so many options to choose from.

A gift for all of those who might have been busy with the harvest or traveling for football games, many choices remain for a few stomps through frozen woods for wily ruffed grouse, or a rumble through cattail sloughs for late season pheasants. Everything is crisp and clear, and the snow adds a blanket of white which explodes with the rush of wingbeats before the boom of a shotgun, giving hunters who may not have gotten out enough (or who can never get enough) a dose of excitement to carry them into next fall.

While I was on stand, in the still of the creek bottom disturbed only by the knocking of nearby woodpeckers, the anticipation of filling my tag and backstraps roasting on an open fire kept me going as the wind rose and the temperature dropped ahead of the light, cool rain which ultimately chased me from my perch. I descended the ladder with the hope that the last weekend of the primitive arms season would give me one more opportunity to fill out. The experience also gave me a sense of appreciation for those gift-like warm days of September and October I had with the bow, as I fired up the truck and fanned my chilled fingers for a few minutes in front of the heat vents before driving home.

Afterward in the downtime in front of the TV, I readied some recently-ordered spinner-making materials while watching the end of the Vikings game; a win leading to an 11-2 record. That itself is a gift, but I know how it’s likely to end, having been a victim of the football Grinch for the last 46 years of my life. Content with the here-and-now, I set to work snelling the bases of three dozen spinners for friends and family members, to help add some twinkle to the visions of summer walleyes dancing in their heads. Following the blur of green monofilament around red hooks, I started in on my as-yet-untouched ice fishing gear.

It’s not that I haven’t had the opportunity to get on this season’s new hardwater; it’s just that I’ve extended my hunting opportunities out for so long that first ice for me will most likely come at mid-season for everyone else. As I wound the whisps of new two- and three-pound test around my reels for the on-ice adventures to come, I smiled as my ice combos began to line up along the wall of my den, standing at attention like soldiers in “The Nutcracker.”

I plugged in the charger and attached it to my Vexilar, the lights on each glowed a bright red and green as I set it to juice up the battery for my first trip out, likely to come during the holiday weeks ahead. For a moment, I huddled over the warmth of my well-worn Buddy heater, brought to life by a few snaps of the ignition button, as if I was in the flipover shack and then quickly shut it off. The scent of propane permeated the room, and I smiled with the satisfaction that all was in order after a long summer’s nap, and with the thankfulness of knowing there’s still much to wrap up before some seasons end, and so much more to enjoy as the new ones take shape. It’s the most wonderful time of the year to celebrate all the gifts we are given … in our outdoors.