Outdoor Traditions

Searching for Sheds

Article and photo by SALLIE LEWIS

Late last February, I moved to my family’s ranch on the outskirts of Fredericksburg for a yearlong sabbatical. As the months passed and the seasons changed, I immersed myself in the outdoors, ready to learn in Mother Nature’s classroom. Having just read the bestselling novel Where the Crawdads Sing, I felt a kindredness to author Delia Owen’s unforgettable protagonist Kya Clark as I foraged the countryside on my daily walks.

Every day, I returned home with pockets full of treasure: sharpened flint and woven nests, fallen feathers and dried tortoise shells, each pattern as unique as a fingerprint. I began to sense a deep-seeded curiosity bloom within me as I pondered the natural world and the life that lived around me.

Come spring, one of the ultimate foraging traditions is searching for sheds. Every winter, when deer lose their antlers, they lay the groundwork for this time-honored scavenger hunt.

No matter your age, I believe there is something mystic about walking soft-footed through the quiet woods, newly green after a long winter, and finding a fallen tine polished by the elements. For me, it is a sensation akin to passing a lightning whelk on the beaches of Port Aransas or seeing the delicate disc of a sand dollar brought forth by the evening’s tides. Large or small, finding a shed feels like a stroke of luck, a gift—a communion with the wild.

On a brisk morning last March, I laced up my shoes, zipped up my jacket and set out on foot to comb the countryside for abandoned antlers. I passed through thick brush and tangled twigs, walking beneath canopies of live oaks and clusters of cedar trees, always conscious of the pervasive prickly pear cactus. Occasionally, I’d encounter a clearing aglow in sunlight, and I felt my mind still and my spirit stir as I took in the peaceful setting.

It isn’t often that I stumble on a shed, yet in those moments of convergence, I feel like a child again. Last March, as in years past, I heard my breath catch and my heart race as my eyes met the bone-white points of an antler rising from the grass, ready to be retrieved and appreciated anew.

As with many things in life, I have come to appreciate the pursuit of foraging as much as the discovery itself. Trekking through fragrant forests and quiet meadows can be as restorative and invigorating as crossing paths with treasure. It’s the alertness and anticipation that keeps me coming back. By learning to pay attention and stoking my curiosity, I’m nurturing a lifelong relationship with the outdoors.

Today, as I look back at my time in the Texas Hill Country, I can count the many ways that living here has shaped me. As it turns out, collecting sheds has also shaped the entry to our home. Over the years, we’ve fashioned the archway above a small gate with fallen antlers scavenged on the property. This collection is a constant reminder of the wonder and the wildlife that surrounds us, the hopeful renewal of spring and the timeless traditions we carry forth.