Two years ago, on the Monday after Thanksgiving, I shot a buck at 8:34am. He had jumped calmly from the brush to the immediate right of my tree stand, paused broadside, and in that breathless moment, I took my shot.
He dropped, thrashed momentarily, and was still.
I stepped carefully through the tangles of wet grass and stood over the large white-tail with his crown of antlers: the pride of Pennsylvania. I have reflected on that moment often, wondering how I would explain it to someone: pride, gratitude, sadness, relief. That moment is not, for the thoughtful hunter, one of pure triumph. We are not so callous. As one friend pointed out, it’s not a fair fight, and he’s right. Though it takes skill to hunt well, it’s not something that you brag about in those first silent moments.
I’ve spent years trying to articulate an ethic for hunting. Like many rural Pennsylvanians, I am the descendant of hunters, and my childhood was shaped by this tradition. In elementary school, I remember feeling the warm weight of a cottontail in the back pocket of my orange vest while I struggled to keep up with Dad in a tangle dense thickets. Later, I watched in rapt amazement while Dad skinned that rabbit, teaching me about its miraculous anatomy as he did so.
Later, as an adolescent, I remember bundling up late in the evening to gather with the family in Uncle Randy’s garage. The men were busy cleaning deer brought back from camp. The metallic scent of blood and meat floated with our breath in the frigid cold. I saw the shining loins and steaks, and helped to wrap them for the freezer. I saw where those steaks came from, and learned to look plainly at the cost of meat.
In high school, Dad would sometimes pick us up in the middle of the school day so that we could hunt pheasants. In beautiful, quiet fields, we would team with bright, energetic dogs to flush the birds from their ground nests. Fighting the blindness of sunlight, I would take aim and fire. I liked being out in those fields, but most of all, I loved the feathers. I remember laying them out in the sunlight on our deck one autumn afternoon—iridescent and varied.
And now, I am older, and I live in the city. I work for a grocery store where I marvel at how neatly our meat is packaged. When I look at the meat case, I imagine the flocks of chickens and herds of cows, and each time, I feel grateful for what they have given. We have so much, at such a low cost, and with so little effort—it is remarkably easy to forget the fullness of story in each chicken breast.
Several months ago, I was in conversation with someone at work who I respect very much when I mentioned that I was a hunter. He looked at me reprovingly and immediately asked if I was a member of the NRA. I was hurt and angry to have my legacy and my way of being in the world reduced to a political dichotomy. He negated the possibility that I could be thoughtful, wise, and also a hunter. I resolved to better articulate why I hunt, so that I could help people make sense of a practice that I think feels foreign to many.
In that spirit, I offer a few simple, guiding ideas. First, choosing to avoid meat because you can’t stand the thought of an animal being killed to provide food for you is a totally valid decision. It’s not what I’ve chosen, but I respect that for some people, it feels like the best way to love creation.
My frustration lies with those who eat meat and yet look with disdain upon hunters. Objectively, hunting is the best possible way to source organic, regenerative, and ethically harvested meat. An animal who is shot with a legal weapon (rifle, muzzleloader, or properly tuned bow) experiences almost no distress preceding its death. Marksmanship and responsible shooting (shooting to kill and only ever when you can do so confidently) are essential to this claim. My greatest fear is wounding but not killing an animal, having heard stories of people looking all night in the snow to right this awful wrong. Those are stories of shame, earnestness, and the hard work of taking responsibility, and they shaped me as a young hunter.
I know that hunting isn’t practical for everyone, but if you have an interest in more mindful consumption of meat, I have some suggestions. First, start with organics. Organic farmers and ranchers have gone through a strict certification process and omit inputs that are harmful to animals, including people. From there, where possible, look for regenerative organics. These products are difficult to source in many markets and they come at cost, but regenerative farms and ranches are designed with the wellbeing of earth, animals, and people in mind. An interesting fact for folks who have cut meat from their diets based on environmental concerns: Regeneratively-raised beef actually sequesters carbon into the soil, whereas production of popular plant-based burgers still releases it into the air.
Multiple online retailers will ship regeneratively raised meats to your door (yes, I know that shipping has environmental implications, but in my opinion, they are presently outweighed by the importance of supporting this movement). In all things, locally-sourced products are ideal, and I hope someday to have some influence on the food industry’s ability to profitably support local regenerative operations.
It’s okay if you don’t want to hunt; I’ll carry that tradition on with many others. After years of reflection, I’ve decided that this is a weight I want to shoulder. Someday I want to teach my children, and my children’s children, about the great responsibility of caring for creation and the importance of shooting straight. Maybe someday you’ll join us in the woods. It’s a magnificent thing just to sit quietly in a tree all day. I’ll happily share my stand with you if you ever want to come.
Ansley Kelly (’16) makes her home in Rochester, NY, where she delights in short, sweet summers spent sailing and long winters spent skiing at her favorite mountain. Between outdoor adventures, you can find her buying books more quickly than she can read them and indulging in mid-morning naps. She works for Wegmans Food Markets where she finds purpose and joy in feeding her community and the wider world.
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Thanks for this thoughtful looks into your hunting ethic! I’ve been vegetarian/vegan for about ten years, but there’s definitely room in my personal ethical framework for thoughtful hunters (including indigenous folks often excoriated by vegans for making, serving, and celebrating their traditional animal-based dishes).
There will always be people who attack our convictions. I like how you still hold to those convictions, try to explain yourself and your way of doing. Through understanding, we may still have disagreements, but at least we can also have respect.
As someone who grew up on a farm in a rural community in Central Oregon, I definitely resonate with a lot of what you’re saying. Raised on meat that we grew ourselves, from cows we named and raised from calves, I now find myself thinking about many of the things you mentioned: sourcing meat locally and organically, and how easy it is to condemn hunting/killing animals when all you see of a the meat process is plastic wrap and a price tag.
Thank you for your thoughtful, informed reflection, and a great piece of writing!