Months ago, I was going to write about making my first drum.
The greens and meat are made of all these things, all these places, and more. And so, too, are we, as we ingest them.
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.