John Tertuliani: Memories of long-ago come flooding back each deer opener

I was 13 when an opportunity for a rifle hunt came together in north-central Pennsylvania, the region where my grandfather immigrated to and met the woman who would become my grandmother. The hunt started a generation or two before me. It was how they fed their families. Her parents had immigrated, as well.
A way of life for them, with close friends becoming members of the hunting family. For me, it was passage to the inner circle of heritage hunters who went after everything allowed, especially whitetails. My journey began in a World War II-looking Jeep.

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