Earlier this year, my two oldest boys expressed that they wanted to go hunting. My husband Isaac and I have six boys and the desire to be closer to our food and to steward the land that bears it is a daily drumbeat in our souls. Our commitment to this is clear in how we run our company - the way we source every ingredient at FOND - but even we have yet to arrive. We are always learning and growing. Our society is so divorced from how our food is grown, produced, killed, and butchered. While we have taken many steps to get closer to that, we still have more to go.
When I was invited to a dinner and dove hunt with friends, I decided this was the time to learn how to hunt, or at least to take that next step in the process. Growing up, my experience with hunting was strictly as a predator regulation event; something my dad and uncles did to keep the coyotes from overtaking the calves on my grandparent's dairy farm. But, the desire as a mother and as a steward to take a deeper step in the process beckoned me on.
Upon arriving, I didn’t know what to expect and at times I wavered on whether or not I would hunt. In a safe environment, with a strict respect for gun safety and a love for the land and the lives that call it home, I learned how to shoot a shotgun. It was a beautiful experience rooted in a love of stewardship and conservation and connection to our food; where it comes from and the reality of death in this cycle of life. As God would have it, the doves were not flying that day, so we had the opportunity to shoot clay pigeons (skeets) instead.
Learning how to shoot a shotgun was a transformative experience. It was intimidating, it was illuminating, and it was empowering. Intimidating because it was completely foreign, I didn’t know if I could do it. Illuminating because I understand why people are drawn to hunting, the theater and the skill, the transparency of death and life. And empowering because this was the first step of many to my first hunt. I could see myself doing this someday with our boys.
When my turn came, I held the butt of the shotgun up to my cheekbone, nestled into my shoulder firm. My heart was pounding, my hands were shaking. Why was I nervous? I was wearing gifted headphones to cancel out the noise. The Head Gamesman asked if I could take off one side so I could aim better. I did as I was asked and laughed to myself at how I must look. A first-timer for sure!
The Gamesman asked me if I’d ever shot a shotgun before. The answer was no. He told me to do it the way he’d taught us, methodically, step by step, safely. The first shot was louder and bigger than I was expecting; it amazed me.
He advised me to stretch my neck a bit down the barrel. I took a breath.
“Pull!” I said with confidence that surprised me, I saw the skeet flying. I marked it and I shot. It shattered into three pieces.
My friend cheered, I don’t think anyone was expecting me to hit it.
The first thought I had was that I could tell the boys that I did it. And suddenly a lost memory returned. 8-year-old Alysa’s hero was Annie Oakley. A smile spreads across my face. She would be proud.
As we drove back to enjoy dinner under the stars, the sun was setting, there was a glow in the trees, and I felt a connection and a belonging start to grow. I realized I felt at home.
They say to become a hunter is to become a conservationist and it is a paradox, but true.
How could you not? We love, protect, tend to, and fight for home.
As I said, I am not a hunter yet, but I am one step closer on this journey. I am grateful for my friends who called me out of my comfort zone, who taught me to love what they love, and who made this journey possible.
