A Reflection on Existence

More often than not, I spend my time writing by recounting my moments in nature. The stillness of the ponderosas as I dash through them after nightfall, leaving behind a herd of elk that ought to consider themselves lucky for being on private land just over the valley. The pungent sage brush, muddling against my legs, an aroma reminiscent and yet fresh. The snowfall like dust shaken from a rug on the porch, scintillating in the air around me. The mighty bison and the delicate trout, worthy of our respect.

Rarely, do I share my opinions on it all. Surely, it is all beautiful and worthy of respect without some blogging gal’s words attempting to do it justice, however, it is important to me and so, here goes nothing.

As I think about what I am thankful for this year, like most folks, I think of my family and friends. I think of the roof over my head, an obvious one, and the fact that my bills are paid each month (almost always on time) (almost). In all honesty, I couldn’t send enough thanks to the man upstairs this year for the blessings I have and have continued to encounter. There is one thing, however, that stands out to me this year as what I am possibly most grateful for: it is the natural world.

Yes, nature, simply put. Coming to live out west has shown me a view of the wilderness I haven’t quite had growing up in Michigan. It’s not to say one landscape is more impressive than the other, because believe me those great lakes will give you a run for your money, but it is to say, to me, it is a fairly new and enormous landscape. They weren’t kidding when they said big sky country.

I have encountered creatures out here that are powerful, terrain that is humbling, and rivers that go on forever. What I have realized more than ever, is the dire need to protect it all and to do that, I think we must recognize that we are a part of it.

I’m not here to claim that there is any right way of being a part of nature; hunt, garden, swim in the wide-open lakes, ride horses, hell just sit your ass in some grass once in a while, whatever it may mean for you, but actively be a part of it. Our inclusion in the collective is intrinsic and undeniable, but we are drifting and I believe the earth so desperately longs to know us again.

Often, I hear people refer to nature as if it is a mystical being worthy of honor. More often than that, I hear us talking down to planet earth, how we mighty humans, master of all, messed it up. How we must take care of the earth. How the earth needs us now more than ever. We tweet these things and then hop in our cars and drive to work spitting out combustion gas. I, do it too.

What I don’t hear as often is how intertwined we are with it all. Our existence here is as inherent as the dirt, sky, and water’s existence. Just like wolves have shed bison blood since their arrival, our ancestors too, did the same. The trees and flowers never grew because we watered them, rather, we watered them so that we could have cherries and seeds and pretty things to put behind our ears. The fish do not care if we catch them, but had we not piled them into baskets and fed them to our families, then the algae and stone flies would disappear alongside us, and eventually the fish too. The cold mountain streams would turn barren. How funny, the stonefly is one of our greatest indicators of purity in rivers. They too, are a necessary part. We all take care of each other.

I have had people ask me why I hunt and fish and how I manage killing animals. It is a complex matter that is easily understood by those who have done it themselves. For those who don’t understand it, I can only put it this way: it is not an easy thing to do, it is a matter of existence that I choose to embrace. A matter that allows both you and I to be here, writing and reading. I could certainly go to the grocery store and purchase what I instead choose to harvest, but in my mind, if I did this every time I would be depriving myself of the opportunity to understand life. The lettuce in my garden no less important than the trout in the stream no less important than the deer in the valley no less important than me, human being, with a bow shaking in my hands. The act of pressing seeds into cold spring dirt, slicing tenderloins straight from the body of a deer, and in other words meticulously caring for each resource that sustains me, are opportunities that are consistent with vitality. Let the record show, you may bump into me in the grocery store just as well as in the woods, but I have had the privilege in life to understand what it takes to be fed. I am indebted to my garden and the sweet tomatoes I’ve sank my teeth into each August and shared with neighbors. I am indebted to the naturally existing flora that sustains the animals I hunt. I am, of course, indebted to the animals I have harvested. I owe it all every bit of my attention and care. They have fed me, they have made me laugh, they have made me cry a lot more than I’d like to share. I am acutely aware of their indispensable presence.

I once saw a pack of wolves in the wild. It was when I first got to Montana. My old man was with me in the car and we watched as they crossed the road no more than fifty feet in front of us. Morning had just set over the valley. All the wolves were gray except one. One, was black and his spine was nearly parallel to the perfectly horizontal concrete road he walked across. He stared through the windshield and at our faces. My skin turned cold. We were two living beings, perfectly capable of killing, passing by one another. Us, humans, in our fancy car, and the black wolf on his callused and worn paws. I wonder if he scoffed at our contemporary existence. Regardless, the wolf and I both knew what being alive, can, and in his case does require.

The wolf does not weep over the still and bloodied deer he kills. The deer do not mourn the fields they graze down to dust. I think that is because they understand something that we may have lost along the way: Life on earth is not eternal in each living being but instead in the collective of us all. The only way it can continue to exist, is by each of us, each blade of grass, each flawless trout, each stoic elk, each wolf, and each human ceasing to last forever. It can only go on, if each of us individually, does not.

So, I am thankful for this land. I am indebted to these animals. Conservation can feel like a loose term, to me, sometimes. Conservation in the world of hunting and fishing is often termed by loving something enough that you want it to live and that certainly covers a piece of it. More than that, maybe it is loving something enough to let it outlive you.

This thanksgiving I am thankful for the elusive wolf, stirring, dancing through my worried but excited mind as I wander through the timber. You make me feel alive. I am thankful for the charred ponderosas and aspens along the pass to Livingston; your wild fire harmed skin, charcoal bark blowing with each breeze. You make me want to work harder to do right by you. You, still standing, with mushrooms growing at your feet, taking their turn to exist. I am thankful for the Coyotes calling out each night, amused only by the light of the moon or absence thereof. You make me peer up into the sky, recognizing the transfixing glow of the far-off moon and how that in itself, is enough. Finally, I am thankful for the momentariness of each of those things, for if we’ve done our part, the next generation of wolves and human will lock eyes, and share the understanding that they exist because we once did, and no longer do.

Happy Thanksgiving! If you are as passionate about this as I am, please join me in making a donation to one of my favorite conservation organizations: https://www.trcp.org/