I come from a family of rough necks.
Hunters, sailors, loggers; really rugged folks.
I am not a veggies-only type of gal. Although, I do love a home grown vegetable, brought up in fertile dirt.
I have shot my own deer, pulled up drowned muskrats, set a snare for the elusive K9 ....
My dad was a trapper in the 70s. My husband is a trapper now. (Dad would of liked him.)
We're not ones to worship creation, only the Creator, and we always thank The Lord and the animal after each kill, kind of like the Natives.
The problem has been, deep down ... I am not a hunter. It's like being a pale parakeet and living in a house full of cool cats.
I know how to shoot. I can load and fire as fast as any man. But the deed always seemed at odds with my nature, the very essence of who I am.
I'm probably a good huntress due to the fact that I DON'T get trigger finger, all jacked up with excitement. It was never fun for me.
If this world took a poop and fell apart, I could feed my family. I possess the knowledge and ability.
Just not the heart.
No wonder I am so misunderstood, planted in a huge Boy-Family (all brothers) of hunters and trappers, loggers and drinkers.
Bloom where you're planted, they say. So, this year I have declined to take part. Not out of a new (pardon the phrase) "tree hugger" attitude, because I believe in hunting. I understand the need for it. I get that we need to "harvest" for a reason; keeping herds healthy and populations at bay ....
I am just not one of them.
I've finally said it out loud over at my in-laws. Their mouths hung open as if I announced I were leaving for the moon. I could almost hear their thoughts ... and I'm sure they thought they could hear divorce papers rustling.
My husband knows of my tender heart. He says it's one of the things he loves about me.
He understands me and knows my capabilities. He has been there to see me pull up and shoot an 8-point buck ... dropping 'the dandy' where he stood.
I am able .... just not willing.