hunting season

 Most of you know that we live out in the sticks. It has its challenges, but is mostly wonderful. The worst time of the year just ended, the two weeks of the deer hunting season. My levels of agitation and paranoia rise greatly during this period of time. I'm so happy and relieved that it's over for another season.

About a week ago I looked out the window in the kitchen and saw a herd of about 10 deer walking across the back field. They were heading to a field on our property that has a number of wild apple trees. They were being led by a doe that was walking about 20 yards ahead of the others. Most of the deer displayed varying states of attention, some of the young ones were actually playing, but not the lead doe. She was totally focused on her environment, looking for signs of danger. Animals like deer desire life and fear death at least as much as we do. The image of their plight was with me during the entirety of the hunting season. Actually they reminded me of essential workers during this period of Covid-19. Essential workers don't really have any great options. Regardless of their personal circumstances, they can't afford to shelter in place. They need to go out into the world and work to sustain their lives and the lives of their families despite the risks involved.

Jim Fawns Pexels

This whole question of hunting, of killing, is a difficult one when you stop and examine it. The First Commandment says: Thou Shalt Not Kill. In Buddhism, the First Cardinal Precept says: I resolve not to kill but to cherish all life. In these two statements, there are no explanations, and there is no equivocation. What do they mean? How are we to make sense of them in relation to our actions in our lives? We need to eat in order to live, and that means that some things need to die in order for us to exist. What then, are we supposed to do?

 

The words of Ernest Hemingway are somewhat instructive. He said "if it's necessary it's moral, and if it's unnecessary it's immoral." I can survive and thrive quite nicely on a vegetarian diet. Does that mean that eating meat is immoral on some level? Is hunting immoral? In many areas, the predators that used to help maintain healthy levels of the deer population have disappeared. It's my understanding that without any kinds of control, deer populations can reach levels that deplete sources of food for all the deer in an area. Then all the deer suffer and many more of them perish. I think this is a reality that has to be taken into consideration when grappling with the ethical questions involved in hunting.

 

There aren't any easy answers, but it seems to me that people need to come to grips with these questions. How do we make our way in a world in which many of the world's major religions seem to prohibit the taking of another life. How we answer these questions should inform our actions in the world around us, especially in relation to the natural world and its creatures.  

The last one

Sshhhhh from rain, pitpitpit from hemlock, bloink from maple, and lastly popp, of falling alder water. Alder drops make slow music. It takes time for fine rain to traverse the scabrous rough surface of alder leaf. The drops aren't as big as maple drops, not enough to splash, but the popp ripples the surface and sends out concentric rings. I close my eyes and listen to the voices of the rain.

The reflecting surface of the pool is textured with their signatures, each one different in pace and resonance. Every drip it seems is changed by its relationship with life, whether it encounters moss or maple or fir bark or my hair. And we think of it as simple rain, as if it were one thing, as if we understood it. I think that moss knows rain better than we do, and so do maples. Maybe there is no such thing as rain; there are only raindrops, each with its own story.

Listening to rain, time disappears. If time is measured by the period between events, alder drip time is different from maple drip. This forest is textured with different kinds of time, as the surface of the pool is dimpled with different kinds of rain. Fir needles fall with the high-frequency hiss of rain, branches fall with the bloink of big drops, and trees fall with a rare but thunderous thud. Rare, unless you measure time like a river. And we think of it as simple time, as if it were one thing, as if we understand it. Maybe there is no such thing as time; there are only moments, each with its own story.

Witness to the Rain

Braiding Sweetgrass

Robin Wall Kimmerer 

Happy Thanksgiving

 If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you. It will be enough.

Meister Eckhart

rural thermodynamics

 You would think that the last place on earth offering instructions on thermodynamics would be Vermont in November, but you would be wrong. I actually think that because it's cold that we are more sensitive to what little warmth is left. On our morning walk we go through various periods of cold/warmth, and some of those places are relatively consistent.

This section of the road is fairly nondescript, but it is usually one of the warmest spots. It is angled toward the morning sun and is unshaded. Trees on both sides cut down on the wind. It is also a place where we're walking uphill which helps warm us up. Early spring is actually the best times to observe the effects of sun, wind, topography, reflection, etc. as you can easily see the effects on the snow pack.

winter coats

 Days are getting colder and darker. Tee shirts and shorts have given way to wind breaker and long pants on the daily walk. We have recently added wool caps, gloves and neck warmers on those really cold mornings. Even the horses in the neighborhood are putting on their winter coats.

November

November is not a time for flowers, the days short and cold. Heavy clouds drag at my mood, and sleet like a muttered curse propels me indoors--I am reluctant to venture out again. So when the sun breaks  through for that rare yellow day, maybe the last time before the snow falls, I have to go.

Because the woods are quiet this time of year without leaves or birds, the buzz of a bee seems inordinately loud...

Witch Hazel

Braiding Sweetgrass

Robin Wall Kimmerer
 

 

gunmetal blue

 It's interesting to me how the sky, the mountains, and the surrounding countryside take on different looks depending on the time of year. Wondering if the amount and angle of sunlight, or the lack of sunlight factors into this, along with the amount of greenery present. At this time of year, the sky and landscape around here seems to present a gunmetal blue.