Right now, I am exhausted. It's a good kind of tired, that kind of tired that comes from a pleasantly busy day that invariably involves playing outside. We went into Johnstown today and our days travel and adventures took us to Centennial Farms, the gun club that Mark's father belonged to for some thirty-odd years, the place where we originally wanted to celebrate our wedding, for a little bit of target shooting. I never knew anyone who even owned a gun before I met Mark; I handled and fired my first gun shots under the tutelage of my husband's watchful eye. This was a remarkable experience for me, not only did I find out that I was a pretty good shot at skeet shooting and target practice, but I garnered a new found respect for the power of these fear inspiring instruments. I am not interested in hunting, I have zero desire to kill anything, but it is an empowering skill and experience to have. I even have a favorite gun to use, a .22 long rifle semi-automatic, it holds 12 shots, and it's fairly light weight. I enjoy skeet shooting, however, I am a small person and do not enjoy the recoil on my shoulder of a shot gun so I don't last very long. Today was a gorgeous day, the sun bright, the sky clear, the warm fragrant breeze of the coming spring coursing through the air. Yet everything remained cool and crisp in the mountains, where close to a foot of snow still lingered to catch up with the rapid melting occurring everywhere else. We used the snow to our advantage, with its miniature sno-cone ice ball texture it was perfect for packing into solid masses, creating tiny snow men for our targets. They were lined up, 7 or 8 inches tall, ten or so of them in a row, only the first snow man was given the loving details of twig arms and discarded shell eyes. As each snowball section of a body was met by a bullet, it would explode into a spray of snow. You knew when you hit your target by the spectacular display. Normally we only use pieces of scrap wood, of varying shapes and sizes, for our targets at varying distances. But I guess Mark was inspired by the snow after a few rounds of just shooting at blocks of wood, he had me in hysterics once I realized what he was doing 20 yards away as he packed together a few balls of snow. That did it, after we saw the results of a hit; we repeatedly lined up a number of the little faceless fellows to shoot down. In past shooting outings, Mark has pursued small living targets. Chipmunks occur in over-abundance in the forests of the Laurel Highlands, they serve as plentiful challenging moving targets for Mark�s hunter side, that part of him that likes killing things. This is not a trivialized visceral pleasure in death; it is simply out of the challenge of the hunt itself. He grew up hunting alongside his father; the hunting culture is not one I advocate, but it is also one I did not grow up with, so I do not fully understand the pleasure or ritual of it. I do not participate, I do not even want to watch, ideally Mark gets far enough out of sight that I do not hear him on the chase, I do not hear the scampering through the leaves nor the tiny chattering squeaks of the hunted. I go on with my rounds of shooting at stationary non-living targets, trying my best to remain ignorant of the slaughter that may be going on in the woods around me. Mark didn�t intentionally go out today with killing in mind, there was very little wildlife stirring. However, to hear his tale you�ll have to watch for it in his blog for the first hand account. To end our day, we had the car washed; it was in dire need of it after Mark�s rally car style driving through the back roads covered in gravel and mud. The careful but swift driving being a by-product of his familiarity of the curves up and down the mountains, through the trees, past the dam and reservoir. After a casual dinner of stuffed chicken breasts, home made macaroni and cheese and piles of veggies on the side with Mark�s grandmother, and the added bonus company of his uncle Rick; with the sweet taste of coconut cashew cake still on our lips, we headed home. Now it�s time to relax, time for a hot shower, a steaming cup of tea and a good book.