The Second Fawn

A true moment from the woods that brought peace

One mid-morning not long ago, I was heading into town—about a 10-mile drive from the small cabin we were living in while building our new log home. As usual, I was taking the long gravel drive that leads off our property, a stretch of quiet road carved through forest, trees, and a small creek.

That’s when I saw it.

Right in the middle of the driveway lay a fawn.
So still and small, I thought at first it might not be alive.
But when I walked over and gently touched it, it stirred.

It stood up, but barely. The fawn wobbled a few steps forward and then laid down again.
There was no room to drive around it—barbed wire on one side, woods and water on the other.

🖼️ [Insert a photo of your driveway, or a peaceful brush/creek image]

I got out of the truck once more, gently picked the little guy up, and carried him over to some thick brush on the creek side of the road. I laid him down softly and stood there for a moment.

Then I left—hoping I’d done the right thing.
Hoping that its mother would find it.
And trying not to second-guess what I could’ve done differently.

The Guilt That Lingers

As I drove off toward town, I couldn’t help but think:
Should I have stayed longer? Waited to see if the mother returned?
Was it too young to survive?

That guilt stayed with me for a while, even after I didn’t see the fawn again.
But life went on. I got back to building. Back to the rhythms of cabin life.

🖼️ [Insert image or silhouette concept for a fawn curled in brush]

And Then… Peace

It was maybe two or three weeks later, late in the afternoon. I was up near the new cabin and happened to glance up toward a small clearing on the hillside.

There stood a doe with a single fawn.

I watched them quietly, just taking in the scene, when suddenly—
another fawn burst playfully out of the brush, hopping and bouncing like a wild little spark.

I froze.

A smile crept across my face.
Could that be the same fawn?

I’ll never know for sure. But I believe it was.
Maybe this mother adopted it. Or maybe it had reunited with her after I moved it to safety.

Either way, I felt something lift in me—guilt gone, heart settled.
That moment gave me peace.

🔧 Why I Turn These Moments Into Metal

This story, like so many others from our land, eventually found its way into a metal sign.
Not just a design of a deer or a fawn—but of that fawn.
Of the brush beside the creek.
Of the quiet hope I felt watching two fawns leap through the trees.

I call these the Wild Steel Collection—signs based on true stories, shaped by our life in the woods.

If you’d like to see the fawn sign, or the others that came from similar moments, you can explore the collection or subscribe to get the next story when it’s ready.

There are more to come.

Because out here, the forest is always speaking.
I just try to listen—and turn it into steel.