Orcasional Musings | Birds and squirrels…and deer, oh, my!

||| ORCASIONAL MUSINGS BY STEVE HENIGSON |||

When I was young, I would find work on an upstate dairy farm for the summer, just  to get out of the city. Once, I had my arm deep inside a cow, helping it through a difficult birth, and then, a couple of weeks later, without a qualm, was helping to load her unnecessary bull calf into the knacker’s truck, to be turned into supermarket meat. I’ve hunted squirrels, which were delicious, and deer, which were even better, and then used the deerskin to make leather goods which I sold in my shop.

But nowadays my wife and I feed the local birds, including some hummers who winter over with us; and the squirrels, who know us well enough to let us get within a foot or two; and the raccoons, whose kits we tease with dangling cat toys, sharing mutual enjoyment; and, for the past two years and more, a beautiful, maturing, finally-four-point buck who was partial to dried corn.

Well, two weeks ago, a neighbor with property large enough on which to safely hunt, harvested that buck. We know because he told us that he was going to, and, in return, we told him that we felt entitled to some of that buck’s meat because of all of the corn we had fed him. Our neighbor wanted to tap into my leathersmithing experience, to find out how to Indian-tan the buck’s skin, so I’ve told him the little that I remember, and he has promised us some December venison sausage in return.

Deer hunting has always been an important source of meat for the Orcasian table. That’s why we have Doe Bay and Deer Harbor, the latter in particular having been the notable location of wholesale annual slaughter. In the early days, store-bought meat was an expensive luxury, but rifle cartridges were relatively cheap, especially if the rifle user was both experienced and careful. And properly prepared venison is both tender and delicious. But as Orcas caught up to the modern world, hunting was replaced by salaried labor, and the deer enjoyed a time of peace.

When we first became Orcasians, so many years ago, we were assailed by the moans of the pleasure gardeners who complained about the myriad deer who were constantly beheading their peonies.

“Piece of cake,” I told one of them, “I’ll just go home and get my rifle…”

“No! No! No!” came the reply, “I can’t let you kill Bambi!”

And then the beheaded-flower wailing began once more.

Now time’s wheel has turned full circle, the deer have had many years to multiply unchecked, and, quickly, before all of the peonies are gone, we Orcasians have got to thin the herd. “Our” plump, young, corn-fed buck was a prime candidate for thinning, so thinned he was.

He’ll be put to good use. His meat, including our winter sausage, will be consumed with great pleasure, his skin will make perhaps a vest and a pair of gloves for our neighbor, his antlers will become tool handles, and, very likely, his bones will be ground up for fertilizer. And the peonies in our neighborhood will grow up tall, and strong, and beautiful.

My wife and I will continue to feed and associate with the local birds, squirrels, and raccoons, and we will watch with pleasure the maturation of the next generation of deer, one of whom is already munching on our dried corn.