Poetry and Squirrel Stew

I’ve indulged in hippie dreams,

Swirling like smoke in cedar groves.

Those backroad corners of my mind.

The dreams my upbringing promised me.

Me getting every last bit of flesh I can from the bones of a deer. Then the bones can be cooked for broth.

This is the first day of the regular deer hunting season.  This means more traffic on the road past our house.   The paved road ends not too many miles past our place and is normally traveled by a few locals.

Hunting is a big part of the economy around here.  Property owners (mostly ranchers) lease land to hunters who travel from all over to shoot deer.  I read that our area boasts the highest whitetail deer population of anywhere in the United States.

I should have snapped a picture of the foggy morning.  It looked like magic.  Too warm (many say) for good deer hunting.  Like a mild summer day.

We didn’t hunt today.  But we do hunt.  We’ll bag the maximum amount allotted if we get the opportunity.  For food.  Neither I nor Dave enjoys killing deer in a recreational way.  For us, it’s part of a lifestyle.  It’s a way to acquire the healthiest food possible in an affordable manner.

We get a lot of squirrels here.  They can be extremely destructive.  Chewing screens, electrical wiring, doing damage under the hood of our cars, raiding the garden.  When the population around our property gets too big we shoot them.  Instead of “wasting” the meat I process them for food.  There are seven in my freezer.  I’ll make a rich stew of them probably the next cold snap.

NOTE:  There’s no such thing as waste in nature.  Even if we threw the carcass on the ground, it will be reabsorbed by nature and a million different organisms will feed and benefit from the death and decay.  Life springs eternal and isn’t that a marvelous thing!

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