I can’t believe I haven’t written about this yet.
Last weekend, J. got a buck while hunting at the farm. He said he had walked a ways out of the woods to relieve himself and when he turned a buck and a doe were standing behind him. The doe fled when he walked toward his gun (he wasn’t even carrying his gun!) but the buck stood his ground and only turned when J. raised the gun to his shoulder to aim. He didn’t get far.
We spent Sunday processing the meat in the farm’s kitchen. The entire time, I was thanking the buck for offering himself up for our sustenance – how else can I look at it, he didn’t even run. I thought it would be difficult to butcher the meat, but it was strangely solemn and beautiful. The day was crisp and cold, and I often looked to the woods in the west where the deer was taken to reflect that few things I have done as felt as correct as participating in the respectful use of the life that was given to us.
That is all.