Posts of Convenience

Over the last few weeks I've relied upon my camera to blog without actually having to blog. This is fine. I'm not (generally) of the long or contemplative blog world. Also fine. But perhaps I should explain the previous post's photo-journalesque nature. Yesterday R! and I went out grouse hunting. The purpose was twofold. Less interesting, I purchased this fantastic oilcloth vest (not to mention the blaze orange knit hat as I planned to go out at some point) and felt the need to immediately justify* the purchase by walking in the woods. Perhaps more interesting are individuals' thoughts on hunting in general. I feel compelled to at least venture out with hunters and bear witness to all that is involved. But my hunting friends are very much of the eat-what-you-kill area of the hunting spectrum. If you want an example of an opposite end to this spectrum, think of Dick Cheney and his ilk killing around 400 pheasant of about 500 released during one "hunting" expedition on a private "game reserve." The reason I feel compelled to go out and witness is because I'll hapilly eat meat that comes in little packages from the grocery store... totally disconnected from the (perhaps not so natural) process. In that vein, R! has taken a vow to eat meat only when he personally kills a grouse/fish/rabbit/etc. this November. We're now onto day 5 and yesterday he tragically cried out, "I want a hamburger!" Don't worry, he persevered... but that doesn't bode well. But this compulsion to accompany hunters has been bouncing around in my head for a good long while. Does my witnessing without actually participating really stray from my slightly hypocritical omnivoure status? Not really. Hell, I don't even want to clean fish. But because it is slightly hpyocritical, I feel better about myself anyway. Such is life and the workings of my brain.

*Just in case anyone (LaLa) was wondering, the vest proved a resounding success when paired with a wool sweater. Drops of rainwater that fell from disturbed branches beaded on the material and rolled away, leaving me warm and dry.


Anonymous said...

My mom liked to hunt. Now she just likes to shoot, but I bet she'd go hunting if she could. She's got a couple rifles, a shotgun, a couple pistols. Regular Annie Oakley. I wouldn't mind joining a serious hunter (especially deer hunter - I HATE deer, they're just an ROUS) because that would mean yummy stew/steaks/barbeque later on. And face it - something that was living in the forest before it died is WAY better to eat than something you buy neatly package from the grocery store. But I wouldn't want to kill it myself, because if you kill it, you clean it. No thanks.

Anonymous said...

I am enthusiastic about Rick shooting things.

Anonymous said...

There is something about talking a hike with a gun that feels different than simply taking a hike (whether you use the gun or not). Perhaps the people who are most enthusiastic about this are the people who end up with gun racks in the rear window of their trucks.