HUNTING or, “specialized city-slickers” or, “theologians”
When I was a kid in the ‘60-70’s, I was introduced to hunting.Since I grew up in the woods, it meant dropping off one’s school books, letting the beagles out, and tromping off into the woods behind the house – no special permission, no hunting club, no 4-wheeler, no special “mossy-oak” gear. I had a great time, killed many a rabbit, and enjoyed being outdoors. Aw-w-w, the smell of wet bottom-land, the muskiness of pine forest floors, the dryness of hardwood aromas.Now, I boycott hunting. The woods are full of ignoramuses that have the best trophies hanging on their walls that money can buy. They congregate, segregate, vegetate, animate, specialize, industrialize, then tell lies. They shoot farm-raised deer from heated shooting-houses over planted bait fields with rifles sighted-in at 150 yards. Then they farm out the carcass to processing houses while they go get drunk. Whoopee.But, try to talk to them, and one gets a rude shoulder. It is a bit like an irish imp snaring rabbits on the crown’s estate, to them. But, they are experts who do not really know shoot from shinola.Theology is really my point. I have done both: solitary stalk hunting and organized club harvesting, with a simple SS upbringing and a near DD. Two groups, two spins, two results? I long for a cool morning, walking through a river swamp, listening to the little hounds, waiting for a canecutter to circle back.But, it seems the out of town tags have filled the parking lots and are shooting up the woods. maybe I am just an old redneck. But, I keep listening for the breeze in the tree tops.
When I was a kid in the ‘60-70’s, I was introduced to hunting.Since I grew up in the woods, it meant dropping off one’s school books, letting the beagles out, and tromping off into the woods behind the house – no special permission, no hunting club, no 4-wheeler, no special “mossy-oak” gear. I had a great time, killed many a rabbit, and enjoyed being outdoors. Aw-w-w, the smell of wet bottom-land, the muskiness of pine forest floors, the dryness of hardwood aromas.Now, I boycott hunting. The woods are full of ignoramuses that have the best trophies hanging on their walls that money can buy. They congregate, segregate, vegetate, animate, specialize, industrialize, then tell lies. They shoot farm-raised deer from heated shooting-houses over planted bait fields with rifles sighted-in at 150 yards. Then they farm out the carcass to processing houses while they go get drunk. Whoopee.But, try to talk to them, and one gets a rude shoulder. It is a bit like an irish imp snaring rabbits on the crown’s estate, to them. But, they are experts who do not really know shoot from shinola.Theology is really my point. I have done both: solitary stalk hunting and organized club harvesting, with a simple SS upbringing and a near DD. Two groups, two spins, two results? I long for a cool morning, walking through a river swamp, listening to the little hounds, waiting for a canecutter to circle back.But, it seems the out of town tags have filled the parking lots and are shooting up the woods. maybe I am just an old redneck. But, I keep listening for the breeze in the tree tops.
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