I’m not a fan of organized religion. I don’t go to church unless forced to do so by circumstances. There have been times when I was pretty certain God didn’t exist, and there are days, even now, when the jury is still out on that. I know there are a lot of people who find solace in organized religion, and I know that there churches and pastors and religious laypeople out there who do a lot of good, but it has just never worked for me. I don’t know if I’m too cynical, or too skeptical, or if I’ve been burned too often by people who claimed to speak religion but really spoke hypocrite. I just don’t buy the whole organized religion thing. For me, it just doesn’t work.
Given that I’m not much of a fan of anything connected with religion except, in some cases, their architecture, you’d probably imagine that I’m quite spiritually impoverished and drifting without any moorings. If that is your thought, you couldn’t be further from the truth. Although I don’t have a brick and mortar church, and I don’t speak to a flesh and blood pastor, I do have a cathedral of sorts, and I do talk to someone or something. Sometimes, not often, I think someone or something talks back.
I first found my cathedral in the worst year of my life, the one I still call “the dark year”. When I was 24 I entered a dark tunnel called clinical depression. I didn’t care about anything. I lost my job, there were days when I didn’t eat, and I probably would have killed myself, except I couldn’t be motivated to care enough to do it. After years of dealing with a variety of issues, I’d had it, I was done. The darkness was pulling me under and I didn’t care enough to raise my hand for help.
During that time, one of the things I did often was spend hours sitting at the window of the small apartment in which I lived, watching what I called my “Monet Trees”. Through the screen on my window the trees across the park from my apartment looked pixelated and rather like a Monet painting. As the year went on and I sank deeper, the trees grew and changed color, then lost their leaves and drew stark lines against the sky. I’d walk by the trees on my way to the library, which was the one place I did go, and scuff my shoes in their leaves, and see that things could grow and change. In a strange way, at a time when it all seemed hopeless, the trees gave me hope. They were still striving and growing and living. If they were doing it, maybe I could too.
It took a lot of work and some help but eventually I did get better and I started living again. I moved to Northern Michigan, and I found solace in the lakes and the rivers and the beautiful scenery. I’d walk along the beach of Lake Michigan and think about how small my problems seemed against the immensity of the lake. On occasion I’d write my problems in the sand and let the lake wash them away. I’d drive along the winding roads in the Fall and let the beauty of the leaves feed my soul. I’d scamper around in the snow with the dogs because my Mom who was standing at the window had cancer, and me being a cold and wet idiot made her laugh. The outdoors soothed a part of me that nothing else could quite reach. I didn’t even have to experience the beauty first hand. Just seeing it through a window was enough.
The outdoors became the place where I went to ask the big questions. “Why me?” when I had to have heart surgery. “Why her?” when the hospice nurse told us my mother only had days to live. “What next” when I wasn’t sure which way I wanted to go with my life. I sought guidance, and even if it came only from my own brain and my own heart, I got it. Maybe it was just that being in the outdoors quieted the chatter of my mind and my heart and let me hear the still, small voice that spoke the truth, but I found the sharpest clarity in the moments when I contemplated the outdoors.
I’m not a religious person.
I’m not entirely certain I believe in the conventional idea of God.
I do, however, get the moment that motivates people to say Thank You when they’ve seen a particularly beautiful sunrise. I understand why hunters often say a prayer or thank the animal they’ve just taken for its sacrifice. I identify with those who love the cool, crisp stillness of an autumn morning or the smooth, unblemished whiteness of an early morning snow.
I’m not religious.
But I do have religion.
Can I get an Amen?
Kristine’s Note: A while back I wrote a post on the OBS blog detailing the fact that I was busy and blocked and could use some help filling space on my blogs. Ranger Squirrel of RangerSquirrel’s Ramblings kindly offered me this post. I think it’s a thoughtful discussion of an issue I’ve been considering myself, and I’m proud to share it with you here.
My wife and I are engaged in a very civil debate at the moment about hunting and whether I should do it. I feel compelled to learn the skill. She doesn’t like the idea of me killing small furry creatures unless it’s a survival necessity.
What I don’t think I’ve expressed very well to her is that I don’t much love the idea of killing anything. It’s just not my way.
Since I’m absolutely positive that she and I are not the only ones disagreeing about this issue, I thought it might be helpful if I documented it so that perhaps others can benefit.
Here’s where my wife and I stand in agreement:
I can’t rightfully claim to understand her viewpoint completely and for that reason I won’t try to represent it here because I don’t want to seem to belittle what I’m sure is an entirely valid point of view from the person I love and respect the most in this world. The truth is, we haven’t really talked about it at length. With the baby coming, our focus has been on other things.
Instead, here’s where I’m coming from:
I used to rationalize away my desire to hunt by telling myself I don’t actually need to kill something to learn the skills. After all, I can track, and shoot for that matter, with a camera as well as a rifle and I already know I’m one helluva good marksman. What’s different this season is that I called “bullsh*t” on that line of reasoning.
Tracking and shooting with a camera will certainly help me build some of the skills I need for hunting, but it will not make me a hunter. When it comes to providing food in a time of emergency, my family will need a hunter, not a photographer. A paintball player is not a combat veteran and neither is a war correspondent. I wouldn’t trust a combat journalist with my life in a firefight, and I’m not going to put my family’s well-being in the hands of even the most experienced photographer.
Moreover, tracking and pulling the trigger are not the only skills involved in hunting. If you don’t develop the familiarity with your firearm to place the shot accurately, you risk wounding the animal and causing a great deal of suffering. Similarly, you don’t need to learn to field dress, skin and butcher an animal when you’re just taking a picture.
There are many other arguments in favor of hunting:
Philosophical – most of us soft Americans are too far removed from the production of our food. We have no idea where it comes from and we don’t, therefore, have any respect for the process or the food itself. I remember reading a blog comment recently that said, “To all you cruel and unthinking hunters out there – why don’t you just buy your meat at a grocery store so no animals will be harmed?” I’ve always hoped that comment was tongue-in-cheek, but I’ve also always suspected otherwise.
Health – Compared to store-bought food, wild game is usually fresher, leaner, healthier, and about as free-range and organic as you can get.
Environmental/Ecological – Hunters play an important role in monitoring and controlling the population of game species as well as the health of the environment as a whole. Even countries that have outlawed so-called sport hunting have regular “controlled” hunts to keep these populations down. The natural predators have been eliminated for the most part, and hunting pressure at least partially rectifies that problem. Over populations of a particular species can result in the destrution of crops and even whole habitats. Moreover, it’s things like hunting and fishing licenses that help the state raise the money necessary to actually regulate the environmental conditions in the state.
Humanitarian – Indiana has a program where you can drop off harvested game to participating butchers and they will process the animal and donate the meat to charities across the state. Under this program, one deer can provide up to 200 meals (that’s DNR’s statistic, not mine) for families in need. Healthy, fresh food for hungry people.
Safety – unchecked populations of game animals mean more car accidents from animals crossing the road. This can result in death for both the animals and the people who hit them with their cars.
I agree with all of these reasons, but the one that really compels me is my instinctual need to develop this skill for the protection and providence of my family.
I don’t know how it will come out in the end. I do know this – I would never harvest an animal for fun. I would never be disrespectful to an animal’s body or waste the nutrition it would provide, and I would never want to kill an animal unless there was a purpose for it. This is not a sporting interest for me – it’s the development of a necessary survival skill.
- RangerSquirrel (http://rangersquirrel.wordpress.com)
I’ve been having a conflict of late, which is why this blog has been largely silent. (O.k., that’s one reason, the other was that I’ve been insanely busy, but since no one really wants to read a post about that, we’ll stick with I’ve been conflicted.) My conflict centers around the fact that, while other people may see me as an outdoor voice and an outdoorsperson, I don’t really see myself that way. I’ve always been a woman who likes her creature comforts. As my recent trip to Texas proves, I’m very much enamored of room service and plush hotels. I’m not much inclined to tramp around in the cold and the wet, or the hot and the humid for that matter. If I see a snake you’ll hear my scream three states away, and my sense of direction means any hike I take has a 50/50 chance of being a hunt for home. I’m probably the unlikeliest of people to be writing about the outdoors, let alone actually participating in outdoor activities.
I struggled with this fact for a while because I started feeling like a bit of a fraud. When I’m writing for the Outdoor Bloggers Summit I’m writing on behalf of the organization and I’m writing as a blogger. I have a lot of experience in being a writer, I’ve been writing one thing or another since I was six years old. I know how to write and I know how to give advice about writing and blogging and marketing. More to the point, I feel qualified to give advice and talk about writing. I feel like I’ve earned my spurs in that arena.
When it comes to the outdoors I’m not even sure I qualify for novice status. While there are things I want to try, there is also a lot of stuff about the outdoors (dirt, heat, snakes, animals that bite) that doesn’t appeal to me at all. There is also the fact that I support a lot of activities, say hunting for instance, and write about those activities, without ever having done them and without really being sure I will ever want to do them.
I think, sometimes, I feel a bit like Jody does, a trifle insecure about my status in this outdoor world that I’m just learning to know, a bit concerned that I might be trying to seem like something I’m not, and a little bit eager to see if I could be something more than what I think I am. If I’m being totally honest, there’s still a part of me that like the outdoors best when viewing it through a window. There is, however, also another part of me that wants to be out there, to test the limits of what I can do, or at least of what I want to do.
I’ve come to grips with the fact that I will never be the consummate outdoor woman. It’s taken a little longer to get comfortable with the idea that I don’t have to be. I guess I needed to hit myself over the head with one of the things that I so often say on the OBS blog, the outdoors is for everyone. There isn’t a prescribed way to enjoy it, and there isn’t a specified amount of time you must spend. Everyone goes about enjoying the outdoors in their own way, and that’s a good thing.
They say the first one always holds a special place in your heart. I currently write for five blogs, two of which deal with the outdoors, but the first outdoor blog I ever wrote, the Hunt Smart, Think Safety Blog, will always be special to me. I did a lot of good writing there, if I do say so myself, but more importantly it is where I learned that I might have a place in the outdoor world, and where I discovered that I did have more to say about outdoor issues than I’d ever suspected I would.
I started writing the blog in 2006. When I started I didn’t know what it would be. I wasn’t even sure I knew enough to write more than one post. The company was new, the product was new, and I was brand new to the outdoor world. The fact that I was even attempting to write a blog about outdoor subjects filled me with equal amounts of excitement and anxiety. What if no one wanted to read what I wrote? What if the outdoor community thought I was a fraud? What if the blog was no good?
In any case, I had a brand new job, and part of that job was publicizing an outdoor products company, and part of publicizing the company was writing this blog. So I wrote and I read a lot of other blogs and I left comments and slowly, very slowly, I started to carve a niche for myself in the outdoor world. I also slowly came to love that world. It wasn’t a world to which I had ever expected to belong, but I gradually started to feel that I had a place there. No one, trust me, was more surprised by that than I was.
Unfortunately, almost three years to the day after I wrote my first post on the blog, it became apparent that the company wouldn’t survive the economic downturn. The decision was made to shut things down, and the blog went dark. It has lingered in a kind of limbo these last few months, but I was informed today that the domains have been released. Pretty soon the blog will go dark for good.
When you put your heart and soul into something, and when you do what you know is good work, you want to believe that it will outlast you. I guess I’m now receiving a lesson in how impermanent the Internet can be. As proud as I am of the work I did on the Hunt Smart, Think Safety Blog and as much as I wish it could be available for years to come, it won’t be, and nothing I do can change that.
I guess in the end all I can do is be grateful that I got to write that blog in the first place. Everything else I’ve done in the outdoor world, the Outdoor Bloggers Summit, this blog, the friends I’ve made, all stems from that blog. Without it, none of the rest of this might ever have happened. As much as it pains me to see that blog go dark, and to see all the work I did disappear, I still have no regrets. Sometimes what you write on the Internet is fleeting, but that doesn’t make the writing any less worth doing.
Besides, if I want to write something that will be around forever, I could always write Turning Tricks in a Treestand.
After all, books stay around forever.
Don’t they?