One of my cousins called my mother last week to tell her that he had taken a deer while hunting at my late grandmother's homeplace. I used to hunt there when time was less constricted by responsibilities. The land is a mountainous wilderness of forest and streams, not much good for anything else. Being a younger fellow living alone, my cousin didn't have a lot of use for that quantity meat. Not that I would complain about that, since I am always happy to fill the freezer with venison, no matter who does the hunting.

So I took my pickup over to his house after work, ready to haul deer. I immediately saw a nice buck on the front of his Jeep. The head had fallen prey to a hacksaw, a 9-point trophy of sorts. He was planning on taking it by his local taxidermist to have it mounted. It was a beautiful animal with a very nice rack. Even though I personally don't believe in trophies, I don't have anything against those who do. I just can't see walking into a living area and seeing all of the animals I have killed. It would feel too much like a morgue to me. I don't feel good about killing animals, but rather, I feel good after eating them. It is my opinion that they were put here for just that purpose. So I put my trophies in the freezer and leave the deer-head gun racks and stuffed fish to those with a different inkling and a different taste in decorating. I did find a stuffed squirrel in a box I bought at an auction once, but, like I said, dead squirrels in the living room are not my idea of fun.

Anyway, I backed my truck up to the front of the Jeep and grabbed a back and front leg and used my body to tip the carcass over the tailgate. It probably weighed in at 150 pounds or so, just guessing by how much trouble I had moving it.

That was a lot more deer than I needed, but I knew how to take care of that. I made a couple of calls and offered to donate the hams to one fellow and some extra meat to a family member. It is easy to give away the meat early in the season and it is also nice to be able to spread the wealth. I figured that most of the meat, other than tenderloin, would be too tough to fry. That's one of my favorite ways to eat it. So, instead of steaks or other options, I cut it into stew pieces that can be frozen and used later. Cutting up an animal the size of a 150 pound buck is not an easy job. You have to remove all of the bones, separate the pieces and clean off the skin and fur.

I used to borrow a grinder to make hamburger and sausage from tough meat, but the fellow I got it from passed away. He would give me the grinder in exchange for a few pounds of the finished product. The barter system is still around and it still works.

I took my donated venison home so that I could lift it onto a rafter to work it up. I figured out that I couldn't heft the deer and put it on the chain, so I got out my come-along. Everything looked fine until I figured out that the deer was too long to hang in the building. Instead, I had to put it on a large table I had outside. Soon after I was carving away like a machine, removing the various sections one at a time with purpose. I learned most of what I know about handling game and butchering from my father. He studied to be a butcher on the GI Bill after Korea. He soon realized it wasn't for him, but not before gaining valuable skills to pass on. He also studied small engine repair, carpentry and other trades. Just like me, he was a man of varied interests. While there are a few places you can take venison to have it butchered, I find a certain satisfaction in doing the work myself to prepare a traditional feast — wild game served along with fruits and vegetables from my own garden.

The work put me in the mood for hunting, so I went out for a brief trip. Game is more plentiful than ever today. No sooner than I arrived, I spotted a herd — one little spike really caught my eye. I always shoot the smallest deer I can find. First, they taste better. Secondly, they are easier to carry out of the woods, load and unload, hang, carve and work with in general. Finally, the quantity fit my bill better than the larger animals. I don't believe in wasting anything that God has seen fit to provide. Each year, I try to harvest one large deer and one or two small ones. The larger ones make stew or burger, while the smaller ones make steaks and roast.

I leveled the sights and squeezed off the trigger, just like my father taught me. The rest of the deer, mostly larger than the one I harvested, ran off into the woods. A brief hunt culminated by one simple, precise shot fired from an appropriate weapon at the correct range — a job well done.

Some people turn up their nose to wild game. I even have one friend, hailing from another part of the country, that is offended by hunting. I try to explain that we locals have used wild game to subsidize our diets. It isn't only sport, it provides sustenance and continues a long-time tradition. A child's first kill has always been a rite of passage into adulthood, as much part of our culture as our faith or our self-sufficiency. Instead of seeing it as man against nature, as does my friend, I see it as man remaining a part of nature, assuming his (or her) God-given role on the food chain. When I compare the traditional mountain method of hunting and harvesting meals from the land to the new way — eating pork from huge hog farms, turkeys and chickens raised wing-to-wing in fetid enclosures and produce grown in third-world countries with questionable fertilizer — I'll take our way any day.

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