Experiencing how all things die so that others can live

As a hunter, fisherman and angler, it is of paramount importance to have a healthy view of life and death. Many people who have watched Disney’s “The Lion King” have at least some awareness of the “circle of life” and, for a brief time, understood that all things die so that others can live. This is true of all entities. Taking a life requires a modicum of acceptance that it is “morally acceptable” in our personal definition of that value.

Studying this paradox has brought more questions than any other attempt to understand our place in the universe. It is easy to go down the proverbial rabbit hole on this topic. Rather than spend the next 10 pages of this venerable publication descending into the moral abyss, let us instead take a few examples to investigate the mystery of the paradox.

The most obvious one is the act of hunting. When a hunter takes his prey and causes it to die, what is actually occurring? Is it violence? Or is it nature? In a quote attributed to Big Thunder, a 19th-century Wabanki Algonquin (likely a tribe that inhabited our home state and New York), he states, “When we go hunting, it is not our arrow that kills the moose, however powerful the bow; it is nature that kills him.”

We are a part of all nature, whether we take the responsibility of killing our food or choose to let someone else do that for us. It is butchered, aged, separated into cuts, washed, dried, packaged and prepared for consumption. Hunting keeps the participant involved in every aspect and consummates the process by preparing it with the utmost respect and care. Often, hunters will share their animal’s flesh with others, but only when the moment that “the green fire in its eyes dies” and the spirit of the animal is passed into the next realm. For me, as a hunter, this is the most difficult process: to sit with the animal, feeling remorse as well as gratitude and sharing that gratitude with the animal.

Now, let’s look at an elementally different being; a sentient one, like a wild asparagus. When bought in a store, or even a local farmer’s market, do we give that being the same gratitude and respect that we give to an animal?

“Well, it doesn’t have a face or eyes, so it’s OK.” Some might say, “Yeah, but it is not really ‘alive.’” Why not? I invite you to research Kirlian photography. In this form of the art, a picture is taken using a special camera capable of capturing life energy. When the top of a leaf is cut off, then a shot of the leaf is taken, there is a clear “aura” of energy where the top of the leaf had been.

So, back to the asparagus. Let’s look at both wild and cultivated. The wild asparagus grows mostly in the ditches of dirt roads and procreates naturally by its own root system of male and female plants. When harvesting wild asparagus, what energy is exchanged? Do we feel remorse for taking its life? Do we feel gratitude? Or just authentic joy for having found the plant at all? What was the life of that plant like? Was it blessed to have found the sustainable soil, sunlight or the proper amount of rain? If it had been raised in a garden, what soil had to be disturbed to plant it? What microbes and organisms had to die for it to live? What insects, worms and butterflies had to die if a pesticide or herbicide was used? When we sit down to a meal of vegetables and the asparagus is on the plate, does it deserve any recognition or gratitude for having sacrificed its life for your nourishment? In some homes, people still pray and thank their higher power for this food. But I think our society has gradually slipped away from that practice, unlike Indigenous people who have always been connected to their food, be it plant or animal.

Finally, where does all this fit into our own lives? I’d like to share this true story of this past weekend’s memorial service for a legendary outdoorsman, Graydon Barron Stevens. Gray was a gregarious and incredibly kind gentleman who founded Vermont Outdoor Guide’s Association, Vermont Outdoor Woman’s “Doe Camp” and was on the board of directors of the Lake Champlain International Fishing Derby. When an issue that might negatively impact the outdoor community, be it skiing, hiking, ATV and snow machines, or Vermont Fish and Wildlife regulations, Gray would send out emails to his massive list of concerned parties, and then, more importantly, he would spend many hours at our state capital speaking out and giving testimony to our legislators about the concern.

Gray worked tirelessly to promote and protect our outdoor community. To see him in person, one could quickly recognize him as the “mountain man” wearing the leather hat and blue bandana, the lines on his face chiseled by laughter and a life lived that way he chose.

Gray passed in December of last year, and the only directions he gave his two sisters and mother regarding any memorial were: “Surprise me.” This past Saturday, about 60 of us gathered at Jackson’s Lodge in Canaan to celebrate his life.

Jackson’s Lodge was the epitome of Gray’s understated rustic sense of life. No matter what challenge or crisis stood in front of the man, he would grin and somehow “know” that everything would be OK. It was as if he’d been here before and knew it to be true. It brought great comfort to those around him to feel his calm presence and apparent wisdom.

After a wonderful meal of bear sausage, venison loin, lasagna, macaroni and cheese, and smoked brisket (and yes, even salad!) we all walked own to the beach of Lake Wallace, where the family handed out candles and shots of Gray’s favorite whiskey, “Tullamore Dew,” to those willing to accept his offering. His ashes were put in an inconspicuous but very defining tin container of another of his favorite beverages and was handed around to all present to give him one last hug. One of his sisters and his mother then got in a rowboat with his personally appropriate version of an urn and rowed out into the lake covered in mist.

On the far shore, the hazy outline of a mountain shone like a distant destination. His family said a few words, and since Gray was also a tremendous lover of music and his guitar, three beautiful souls played soft, comforting melodies that floated out over the surface of the foggy lake.

Suddenly, to everyone’s amazement, as the sister and mother placed his ashes in the lake, a most curious yellow and black butterfly swooped around all of us for several minutes. Jaws dropped as it flew to each of us and circled the group over and over again. When the butterfly turned northward, the perfectly stagnant air filled with a cool breeze from the north. The day had been completely windless until then.

I returned home to look up the meaning of a butterfly visitation in my book “Animal Speak” by Ted Andrews. Under the meaning of “butterfly,” I found the following: “To Native Americans, the butterfly is a symbol of change, joy and color. … They remind us not to take things so seriously within our lives. They awaken a sense of lightness and joy. They remind us that life is a dance, and dance, though powerful, is also a great pleasure.”

(Bradley Carleton is the founder and director of Sacred Hunter.org, which teaches the public respect and empathy through hunting, fishing and foraging. To read more of Bradley’s writing, please visit him online.)