Suppose you knew someone who was asked to write an encyclopedia entry.
I once knew a man who had a small horizontal sign above his front door frame, up against the ceiling. If you looked up, you saw it just before you stepped outside: “You never know.” The more time I spend in the woods, the more sense the motto makes.
Had I, he asked, ever wounded an animal but failed to kill and recover it? If so, how did I deal with that?
Every once in a while, a non-hunter asks me, “What’s the hunter’s perspective on such-and-such?”
You never know how a conversation will reverberate, or what shape its echoes will take if they return to you.
If you live in or near one of these cities, please stop by, with friends in tow.
What is so compelling about the idea of life lasting until an organism gives up the ghost of its own accord?