It was the type of silence that a hunter craves. The wind had ceased, and in those precious moments before last light, I listened intently for the sound of footfalls in the dry leaves. The woods were quiet, but it seems that so much happens in silence.

Even the squirrels, who had busied themselves all afternoon with the business of being squirrels, had grown still. Their shrill barks and energetic chatter remained fresh in my mind, still echoing in the reservoirs of my memory when I heard a crunch in the leaves, gently breaking the hush of the forest around me.

I trained my eyes in the direction of the sound and waited, hoping it would be the buck that I had come to this spot to encounter and knowing all along that, even if nothing appeared, I had already found just what I needed.

It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving and back at the farm it was quiet, almost too quiet. We had spent the days leading up to the celebration busily preparing for the arrival of family and friends, and then it was here, and in a blur, it was gone.

Our time together had been wonderful, and with all that goes into family gatherings, sometimes stressful. Family is like that; it’s a beautiful dichotomy.

Now, on the backside of our celebration, I found myself rubbing my neck and back from the effort that had gone into the preparation, needing an extra notch on my belt from being either over-indulgent or over-served. With the departure of almost everyone, I was left craving just a little more of the “family noise.”

As I had headed out that afternoon, I felt a bit empty, but I knew the woods would be a solace for that emptiness. It has become increasingly clear to me that we need both noise and silence in our lives, time together and time apart, in order to be whole.

I was reminded of that again in church this past Sunday. As part of my preferred Sunday morning routine, I like to arrive early. I use that time to slow down, to breathe and to prepare my heart (and mind) for worship.

In my article last week, I mentioned how time in the woods feels very similar to time spent in church. Both are places of respite for my body, mind and soul amidst the hustle and bustle of our busy lives.

As I watched the beams of sunlight diffuse through the stained glass windows while enjoying the peace away from the din of the outside world, I was reminded of why the comparison of church and the outdoors makes sense to me. I, once again, felt whole.

The footfalls in the leaves Saturday evening were those of a buck, a nice young 8 point. As I studied him through my binoculars and then through my rifle scope, I realized that he was better than either of the bucks that I had taken last year.

However, I knew that there were two much larger bucks frequenting the spot, and in hopes that either would appear, I lowered my rifle and settled in to watch the show.

As I sat observing the buck interact with several does that had arrived warily in the last light of day, I found myself experiencing feelings of both pride and sadness.

There was a time in my life as a hunter that I would have immediately taken the buck. True, he would have been my best to date, but only slightly, and I would much rather allow him to mature and hold out for one of the larger bucks. I did second guess myself on that as I walked out in the darkness, but in the end, I knew that I had made the right decision.

My second feeling, the sadness, had to do with the emptiness and quiet at the house after our family and friends had departed. It is an emotion that often comes to me in times of loneliness that centers around the last visit to my in-laws’ house in Meridian after we had helped Nana move to live next to us at the farm.

I had stopped by to get something that Nana had left for me, and honestly, I can’t recall exactly what it was. Before I left, I walked back into Nana and Pop’s empty bedroom. It was the last place that I had seen Pop alive, the last place that I had spoken with him.

When I turned to leave that empty room, I flipped the light switch, and the sound was almost deafening, echoing through the emptiness. In a house that had been so filled with life, it was as if I now stood in an empty canyon. As I said, so much happens in silence.

The holiday season is a wonderful time, and for some, it can be a lonely time as well. Make time this week to reach out to family or friends that may be struggling with loneliness. If they share your love for the outdoors, invite them along on a hike or a hunt or just sit and talk under the trees.

Until next time, I look forward to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.

Email outdoors columnist Brad Dye at braddye@comcast.net.