Deer Skin

The other day I helped my neighbor skin a deer in our backyard. We made a fire to help keep us warm and I watched as he carefully made the cuts to start pulling off the hide. The image seemed so old as we were transported back in time when people hunted for survival. I thought of the women who stayed home tending the fire while the men went hunting and how good they must have felt when they came home, successful after the hunt. How they must have cooked a meal of fresh venison as the deer still hung from the tree. The longer I watched him, the colder I felt, the more I remembered this scene. My ancestors survival revolved around the ritual of the seasons. This is the season to hunt. I took off my gloves and with bare fingers started pulling on the thick hide, slowly separating the fat and muscle, carefully pushing against the deer. We talked about all the ways to use the deer, to make soap or candles with the fat, to make string with the tendons, to tan the hide for leather. Back in the day, life revolved around the changing seasons. Sometimes, I long to live that life. One where my daily life is in rhythm with the land around me, and I don't have hobbies but meaningful activity that sustains my life with the land. I can imagine what that would be...especially on a lazy Monday morning when it is too early and too cold to get out of bed just yet.