I feel compelled to record what they're doing, what was here before they did it, and what they've left us to drive slowly by.
So much for our hearts as we drive slowly by. Looks like we'll have some handsome chain-link fencing to admire soon.
So these mornings I get up early and walk a mile east through the haymeadows and into the woods, where, if I drop below a steep berm, the sound of all this destruction is a little less obnoxious. At that point I'm three miles from it, and I can still hear it clearly, but it's not as bad as it is at the house. There I sit quietly with Chet and watch the birds and animals coming in to a game feeder on our neighbor's place. There's always action there, and it soothes me to see these animals take their corn breakfast. I don't think much of shooting deer over corn, but that's how it's done around here. It's all game cameras and time stamps and figuring out when that monster buck comes in so we can be there on opening day to drop him. Hmmm. However being an opportunist I am not above watching what comes in to their corn, and I absolutely love the beautiful paths my neighbors maintain through the woods, and the fact that they let me walk them whenever I wish. That privilege, I couldn't pay for. These men take good care of their land; they plant food crops for deer, and they are kind and friendly to me, and I respond in kind. They're good neighbors. They've bought a huge tract of land to leave it for wildlife. Far as I'm concerned, they can take all the deer they want. There are always more deer coming up.
This morning I walked out the driveway with Chet and I saw something I thought might be a white grocery bag that had blown in. I quickly realized that it was the white belly of a deer, laid out in the grass.
Disgust and anger welled up in me as I looked down on this little doe, wasted. So small--but nothing about her looked like this year's fawn. No trace of spots on the flanks. Something about her domed forehead opened a cold sinking drain in my heart.
I knelt and looked closely at her forehead. One eye was higher than the other, an asymmetry I knew all too well.