GOLDIE FAWN and STORMY ANIMALS

 There's a tradition amongst hunters to name particular big bucks as one tries to kill said animal. I shy away from euphemisms like "harvest." There's no getting around the fact that I spend much of my time from October 1- December 22 attempting to kill one of nature's most wonderful creations- Odocoileus virginianus, better known as the whitetail deer. Usually these attached monikers are names like "Goat" or "Stud" or "Macho Man." I thought I'd switch it up a little and honor women. Seems only right in this post-feminist era of inclusion and new found "girl power." Goldie Fawn has a high, tight, golden colored rack, while Stormy Animal's antlers are wide and heavy. Both are beautiful trophies I'd be more than happy to wrap my hands around. As our ex-President is so fond of saying, "We'll have to see what happens."

   I'm far from vegan but I wasn't always a killer.  In fact after growing up hunting, I stopped hunting entirely from the time I was about 20 until I was around 40. I lived in SF and NYC and had lost the killer instinct, instead concentrating on career and chasing women. The career path led nowhere, but I did finally "catch" that one and only woman. This is what whitetail bucks and the males of the human species seem to have in common. A buck will chase a hot doe until she's too exhausted to resist his advances. It's a metaphor but I think Shewho will admit that over the years I was always the one that was diving head first into the briar thicket after her. "Hello. Who is this? Oh. Yes. I remember you...tonight sounds good."

    For whatever reason when I was in my early forties, married for the second time (not to Shewho), I got back into hunting. Away from the city, the failing career, the pressures of work and the rapidly unraveling marriage, I found refuge and calm in the woods. The first animal I killed (in my second hunter incarnation) was a squirrel. I wanted to see if I still had it in me to take a life. Then I shot another. By the end of the afternoon I had a meal. Squirrel broiled up with a little soy and garlic is surprisingly delicious. If things go south downtown, Tompkin's Square Park with a BB gun would be my first stop. This squirrel hunt was the beginning of my re-education as a hunter.

   Since then (26 years ago) I've never missed a season. I stopped hunting squirrel, instead concentrating on deer and turkey. More meat. Many of my friends don't understand it. The long hours, getting up at dawn in sub-zero weather, the failures, mistakes, bone crushing boredom of seeing nothing seems pointless to them. They'll ooo and ahhhh over my venison, but try to get them to get a hunting license or buy a decent gun and they'll just look blankly and change the subject. I only know one other artist who hunts. George Holz and I are two of the very few in our "profession" who fit this into our "practice." Thank God I have Savage, Bird and UB, a brother and two lifelong friends, to put on deer drives with during muzzle loader season in late December. It's the one social element in a long solitary season.

   So yeah, I'm a killer. I'm a meat eater. People like to paint us all with the wide brush, as flag waving Republicans, gun toting,  pickup truck driving Trumpies. This couldn't be farther from the truth in my neck of the woods. If you read a couple of blogs this becomes apparent. 

    It's just after noon as I write this. This morning I was in the stand at first light, in the rain and saw nothing. The wind is supposed to shift and the sun may come out. This afternoon I'll get back at it. Maybe I'll see Stormy or Goldie, or maybe I'll see nothing. One of these days I'll get a shot. Maybe I'll blow it. Maybe I'll score. Everything can turn on a dime. I can think of a lot worse ways to spend one's time.....like working. I feel sorry for you suckers reading this from the office. Wish me luck.