Hunting Tales: An Awful Mercy
This achingly beautiful post, written by a man who comes by his food honestly (the author of Hunt, Gather, Cook: Finding the Forgotten Feast), will pull you in to that chilly Wyoming morning with vivid imagery. Hank's story may also invoke a pondering of life, death and the deeper meaning behind dinner:
"Nothing in this world is certain, except death. The Reaper comes for us all in the end. Sometimes that end is horrible, violent and cruel. Sometimes it is a lingering, painful path to rot and ruin, pockmarked with despair and regret. Most of us cannot bear to contemplate this. But in those secret moments when we do allow ourselves to envision our own departure from this world, we ache for it to come swiftly, cleanly. Such a death is the ultimate mercy, the ultimate kindness. Three days ago, on a cold and rainy hillside in Wyoming, I delivered that ultimate kindness to a dying fawn. And in the hours since, I have been unable to shake the image of that young animal from my mind — nor have I been able to fathom the seeming courage with which it faced me, a handservant of the Reaper."
Image credit: Petrified Forest Ranger via Flickr, Creative Commons.