My First Harvest
The morning was cold and the air crisp. As I stepped off my porch and onto the frozen ground, I could feel the crunching beneath my boot. With each exhalation, it seemed as if I had transformed into an old steam engine, leaving clouds of water vapor in a trail behind me as I walked. This morning as with many mornings past, I was reminded of my grandfather as I pulled the fluffy white lambs wool collar of his old hunting jacket up around my neck. Despite being nearly 60 years old, it was just as warm as the day he bought it. Though the sun had not yet crested the horizon, I could start to make out the shapes of trees as I crept through the woods to my blind. No matter how softly I tread, the forest floor had other plans, crunching and snapping with every step as though to warn all the creatures of the approaching intruder. Luckily for me, however, it was still too early for most of them to be awake.
I settled in for another cold morning of sitting and listening to the scolding of the squirrels and the tap, tap, tap of the woodpecker that calls this forest home. This morning, however, before the numbing cold crept into my boots, I saw her. Less than 50 yards away, she appeared. As though she had opened a portal from another dimension. 10 seconds earlier, when I was looking at that very same spot, there was nothing. Now before me walked a creature with the majesty of a queen, for a queen of the forest is precisely what she was. With silent grace and beauty, she slid through the woods, leaving no mention of her presence. I could see her ears move with every sound of the forest, and I felt as though she could hear each beat of my heart as it was now threatening to launch itself from my chest. As I took aim, I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. I began walking through my shot sequence and remembered I had stopped breathing some time ago. To me, it seemed as if the sound of air filling my lungs was as loud as the wind ripping down a canyon. In. Out. In. Out. Crack!
With a tiny move of the finger, the silence of the morning was broken with a violent explosion and a puff of fur as the hot lead found its mark. The sound of the impact was that of a fist hitting a sandbag, and the graceful queen sprang forward. She took a few bounding steps and collapsed. And once again, the forest was still.
As I softly approached her, I was overcome with the gravity of what I had just done. No matter how you think you may react, the weight of taking a life is palpable. There is something poetic about nature's need to take life in order to live. But this poem is lost on most today. When you buy a steak at the grocery store, you don't see it as a living being, only a clean, trimmed, and neatly packaged piece of meat. You don't marvel at its beauty as it silently walks through the woods, nor see its breath in the cold morning air, or feel its warmth as you run your fingers through its fur. But when you do, it gives you an incredible gratitude for the life you have been given and an appreciation for what it takes to sustain that life.