My father, now 91, fell and broke his hip this past week. Typically, for him, he is already up and walking after a ball-joint replacement. That incident has had me thinking about him, my childhood, and the unique sporting life we enjoyed. Here is one from the archives.
I laid out my shotguns and deer rifle on a folding table outside the kitchen window. With fall around the corner, it was time to clean and oil the guns. It’s a methodical process that is satisfying to undertake on objects that are a beautiful marriage of design and utility. Using a kit made for the purpose, I rammed the cleaning rods through the barrels, oiled the working parts, and rubbed the wood stocks till they shone. I finished just as guests arrived for dinner, returning the guns to the cabinet as they walked up the drive.
Growing up in Louisiana, I, alongside my father and brother, hunted and fished year round. It was a rare week that did not find me crouching in a duck blind, running trot lines, crabbing, or catching crawfish. Game, fresh- and saltwater fish, shrimp, and oysters easily provided five dinner meals out of seven for our household. Staying up late at night cleaning and gutting fish, setting the alarm every two hours to run the trot-line, waking up at 3 a.m. to get to the duck blind or be on the open gulf by sunrise, all were part of the landscape of my childhood.
Mine was the hunting and fishing of providence, not of the trophy hunter. It was the experience of a profoundly masculine world. From the catching, shooting, and cleaning to, in many cases, the cooking, it was a culture of men putting food on the table for their families. It wasn’t needed in the middle class home of my father—he certainly could have provided all of our meat needs from the grocery store—but it was a lifestyle I shared with most of my friends growing up.
There was always an exhilaration in making a good shot or setting the hook on a large fish. It provided, and still does, a sense of accomplishment that is part evolutionary and large part tribal. The camaraderie of men in camp, the solitude of the hunt, being on the water by myself, or with my father, the rituals of killing and of eating, each shaped who I am as a person.
Perhaps it is counterintuitive, but killing another living creature can teach a person a lot about nature. Putting that act of killing in its “proper place” reminds us of where we came from and where we belong. And remembering our place in a natural order may be the best way to save this planet.
A detractor could argue against the killing, the male role in that culture, and I would listen and perhaps agree in part. But my defense is simple and straightforward: I prefer to be the one with blood on his hands. I believe it is a stance that makes me more, not less, sensitive to the value of life. It is the same reason I butcher poultry and livestock. It seems more honest.
Some may be shaking their heads right now. But as we collectively pile into our cars, while away our hours shopping, allow our kids to grow up without seeing the light of day as they game their way into perpetual adolescence, move from air-conditioned office to air-conditioned vehicle to air-conditioned home, with all that those actions entail to the planet, we might ask ourselves a hard question: who are we kidding?
Whether vegetarian or meat eater, just because we do not pull the trigger or set the hook, we are all culpable in the killing that our lifestyle requires.
Thinking about “…profoundly masculine world”. When the fatigues are spotless and the firearms have never been grabbed with the intention to put food on the table, but are used on a range and to get into local TV news – would we still call that a display of masculinity?
Excellent question sir. For me, in the strictest sense, I have to say yes – if indeed the culpable are male. But herein lies, I think, an opportunity to co-opt the “male” gender aspect of ‘masculinity’ for a better and perhaps longer understood meaning of the word. Testosterone level needn’t be the only metric to measure masculinity IMHO. Strength and aggressiveness are the hallmarks of masculinity. Stupidity should counted against it.
So we have both male and female exponents of this kind of display, with strength (the one used to perform manual labor) regularly taking a backseat to parading forms of stupidity, displaying aggressiveness towards a mortal but ever elusive enemy.
I’m seeing sleepwalkers (at best), possibly skinwalkers (at worst). This isn’t even a critique of anything tangible (intangibility being its most prominent characteristic), only a description of things violently performed in a vacuum.
It is so easy to describe things which are not part of this universe of nothing – for us, that is 🙂
I’m grateful for being someone who can, even if the blood on my hands usually is from forms of self-mutilation featuring an ill-used pocket knife.
There was once a skinwalker named Ben
Arrested and detained for skinning a hen
The blood on his knife
Was the hen’s in her life
Now a vacuum’s his only play pen
Cindy and I both came in from a long day of work on the farm, each asking the other, “where did you get that cut, bruise, blood….”
I wouldn’t want to get into counting the number of angels who can fit on a pin head, here. The piece, hopefully, speaks for itself. I think all can agree that there are a vast range of boorish or violent behaviors that can be laid at the feet of the human race.
Brilliant insights beautifully presented. Thank you.
you bet.
I believe it is a stance that makes me more, not less, sensitive to the value of life. It is the same reason I butcher poultry and livestock. It seems more honest.
Indeed. We have a place in the overall scheme of the environment. It likely does actual harm to hide from the realities of our participation in the same. And taking an honest responsibility for what we are about seems most wholesome and respectful.
The senior Mr. Miller sounds like a pretty remarkable chap. But then I could have suspected the same from the evidence of his son.
Thanks, Clem.
Brian,
I really enjoyed reading this piece. What a wonderful description of growing up hunting and fishing. It reminds me a bit of my own childhood, although not as many early mornings! We lived near a large lake that was well stocked with fish and I often went fishing with my father. I wanted to go deer hunting with him and he told me I had to take gun safety training first. I enjoyed learning to shoot at the targets, it still feels good to hit the mark! But I never did find I enjoyed shooting animals. I grew up loving Louis L’Amour westerns and was fascinated with guns. I thought I would enjoy hunting. I still enjoy feeling the pull of a fish on my line but I didn’t enjoy watching the animal I shot fall to the ground. So I never did hunt, but I do enjoy being in the woods and noticing the trails of wildlife. My father’s father was an avid hunter and trapper. My brother has followed the family tradition.
Your thoughts about the “a profoundly masculine world” make me think about being experiences being with only women. I used to love working in the kitchen with my mother, grandmother, and other women preparing a big church dinner. At family gatherings whenever the women gather the talk turns to children, pregnancy, and relationships. I think there might be a similar comparison that could be called “a profoundly feminine world” that has to do with caring for our families. I often enjoy the peaceful camaraderie of being with my sisters or other women friends. We tend to share in ways that are more free and open than when men are present. I assume it might be the same with men.
Perhaps humans segregated different types of work because it was tradition, or perhaps it was because of natural inclination. And although we could argue that both men and women can enjoy and be good at the same tasks I think there is something important that happens when we do things in segregation. I think it is good for us to find our feminine or masculine side, to be comfortable with what it means to be who we are.
Jody,
Thanks for sharing that experience. And, I appreciate that you “got it in one”, the use of masculine within this context.
Cheers,
Brian
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