It is that time of year again: hunting season. My husband, GWH,
goes hunting every year. It is his passion. And every year at the end
of the hunt, he starts planning for next year’s hunt. He lives, eats,
breathes hunting and plans everything to the umpteenth degree.
GWH stands for Great White Hunter,
as a few friends and I, jokingly, call him but it may as well stand for
Gentleman Who Hunts. When you think of a hunter, do you conjure an
image of some trigger-happy, red neck in an Elmer Fudd hat whose main
goal is to put a trophy head on his wall? Think again.
When I think of a hunter, I think of someone who is passionate
about nature and the outdoors, someone who cares about the future of
the animals that he hunts as well as their ecological environment. I
think about someone who is honest about where his food comes from and
only takes what he needs, someone who appreciates that the lives of
these animals are used to sustain ours. I think about someone who is
dedicated to carrying on these traditions and passing them on to future
generations, traditions that promote companionship, camaraderie, and
respect for nature.
For
me, to sit down to a table knowing that the meat that we are eating is
completely organic, from an animal that lived in its natural
environment, is very satisfying. Yes, I used to be one of those who
were squeamish at the mere mention of wild meat. But seriously, people,
our meat does not come from a conveyor belt in the meat factory.
So,
alas, my Robin Hood will leave me once again. I have learned to keep
my whining to a minimum. (You’re going for how long?!) I know better
than to try to stifle his passions just as he knows it would be futile
to try to stop me from writing, reading or cooking but I will miss him,
dearly, once again. Be safe, GWH.
7 comments:
I've never thought of hunting in this perspective. It's always seemed like more of a sport to me (though not necessarily in the context of sport, maybe pastime is a better word since the people I know hunt for the meat as well), and my whole Bambi complex prevents me from enjoying it for what it could be.
I hope your husband returns to you safe and sound, with the meat you seek for your table. ;)
What a great tribute to your husband! It shows the respect and love you have for him clearly. Although my husband is not GWH, I understand that culture well since I've grown up and live in Michigan. The first day of hunting season is a holiday for many who live here. :)
I loved this post. Thank you so much for stopping by my blog. :
I love your perspective, Kelly! People are quick to judge that which they don't understand. The appreciation and knowledge for nature that it requires to be a good hunter are admirable. I applaud him for his tenacity and you for understanding it :)
My dad always went hunting, he always tried to tell me it was bambi. He had a strange sense of humor.
D.M. Do you think that the cows that we eat don't have mothers? lol I heard from my husband a couple of hours ago, he will be home tonight...with a moose.
Kristi - A holiday for opening day? My husband would love to live in Michigan, I'm sure.
Dwija - Thanks for reading with an open mind.
Anastasia - That is a strange sense of humour. Perhaps, he didn't want to share?
count me as squeamish! I can't cut up a chicken so I would be useless to someone who needed a helpmate with meat chopping and fixing skills! But I really found your perspective on this enlightening. I know hunters who I am sure feel this way but I haven't ever been able to get into their heads about it before reading this.
We are a hunting family, too, so WELL PUT!
We have raised beef, pork and poultry for our table, but mostly we eat game meat. We believe in fair chase, ethical shots to harvest that animals as humanely as possible, and eating what we tag. It sounds like you do, too.
Terrific writing. Thanks for sharing!
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