I love that you wrote about this, and I think there's something really valuable in simply having the grief moment. The sudden unfilled hollow makes it so clear how much the season really means while it is happening. I find it so tempting to try to rush past the icky bits of loss or desolation because they feel so bad, and bad feelings tend to mean something is WRONG...but I think it's not at all a bad thing when we don't IMMEDIATELY move on to something else equally consuming or enticing. I think important experiences deserve (and need) sufficient time to digest, reflect, process. I feel like those times are often very desolate and lonely, but surely they have to be -- if they were full of other stuff, there wouldn't be room for the deep feeling.
Of course you're totally right that non-human-determined seasons have less of a drop-off, but I guess I feel like any really important + vivid + vital time leaves a real emptiness behind when it's over, whether it's a whole season or just a great fucking party. I think maybe I count on that moment of mourning in some ways. It tells me that that time really mattered.
I think what I've come to is this: I don't bother fighting it anymore. I just go ahead and experience it.
It's been a long time since I first read The Art of Happiness, and while I wasn't able to fully live its message for a long, long time, I knew it was right the second I read it: Life is struggle, and the degree to which that struggle hurts is directly proportional to how much you resist it.
I now actively avoid people who crave drama, who thrive on drawing out pain as long as possible. I want no part of their bullshit.
Yeah... I know the feeling exactly. Years ago, I made a conscious effort to seasonalize all my outdoor adventures and related activity. I have a month for un-effing my gear, a month or two of mushroom foraging, birch tapping, ice fishing, open water fishing, bear season, deer season, small game... not to mention reloading and shooting.... you get the idea. One season flows naturally into the next nowadays. So I always have something to look forward to, even as I’m enjoying the adventure of the moment.... and as always, life intercedes to confound the best laid plans. Lol.
I seem to have lots of gaps between my seasons, and I supposed those are house- and yard-keeping intermissions. But of course I need more than to just keep busy to find joy.
A story nicely told. I too, (like others here) feel that the end of a season reflection is missing in the hunting media. We regularly read about the exciting moments of hunting; ducks gliding into the decoys with wings set as we grip the shotgun, the heart-stopping flush of a pheasant at our feet, looking through the bow sight with bated breath as a deer slowly moves into the shooting window. Those are but mere moments in the overall hunting experience. What we don't often read about are those special moments during the rest of the hunt, especially that last rays of sunlight on the final day of the season. Here in MN, our deer season for bow ends on December 31 and for years, I have trudged out to the stand on that last day to take in the end of the season before the rest of the world starts their New Year's celebration. I have never harvested a deer on on the last day of the season and I'm not sure if I even would. It would almost seem a shame that, after the deer had survived through a 100 day season of bow, gun and black powder hunting, that it would fall to an arrow those final minutes of the season. And so, I sit in my stand until well after dark; listening to the curtain of silence fall upon the woods, reflecting on past days afield during this season and planning for next fall's opening day. After all, I only have next eight months to get everything ready!
It seems that the older I get, I realize that I have had the majority of hunting experiences in my past and and will have fewer in my future. That makes each experience, past and future, that much more treasured.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts and feelings in this blog!
That hasn't quite occurred to me yet, though I'm probably past my halfway point, with 16 seasons under my belt. Still hunting at 83 would be pretty badass, but I know there are no guarantees.
End of the season is always such a bittersweet thing. For years, I've made it a habit to watch the last hours of the season fade toward darkness, and then take a deep breath and think about what's next. But this year is the first time in ages I haven't watched the waterfowl season end from the marsh... in large part because our season ended on a weekday this year and I didn't want to take a day off. I know... skewed priorities and all that.
So I watched the sunset from the porch while I fed the dogs, including my lab, Skipjack, who has yet to actually see me kill a duck (he did, at least, get a few doves this year). Just before it was fully dark, I heard the whine and spotted the fleeting shadow of a wood duck heading for some freshly flooded spot in the swamp. It sounded vaguely derisive.
"Hunting all day is exhausting, but I really like being in the marsh at the moment the ducks are liberated from the long siege. I enjoy hunting them, I enjoy shooting them successfully, and I enjoy eating them. But I also enjoy knowing their lives will be a little easier now without assholes like me trying to kill them."
Perhaps this hidden absolute about hunting, once you have lived within the rhythm of the pursuit long enough, so often overlooked, should be celebrated more in print?
Many of us do indeed find no shock at all in the feeling of joy we experience when indeed our quarry is safe from all of us who give chase! The quiet assurance that comes with knowing we are a part of this natural scene, but not the only part!
Your paragraph speaks to the ethics behind those who founded the North American Model of Conservation so long ago. It also points out a glaring deficiency in most of today's writing about hunting. Great piece of writing and a good one to ponder over.
It is gratifying saying things that legions of us feel, but few write about. I think we, collectively, have gotten it in our heads that writing in any way that reflects nuance or conflicting emotions is somehow giving aid to the enemies of hunting. I say writing honestly is power.
Of course I may be overthinking this. A huge amount of creative work is just doing what other people do without giving it much thought at all.
You need a seasonal hobby, like, I don't know, carving duck decoys. I know it's very hard to come to a screeching stop from any activity this intense, though. In my case, I go from being a celeb to kids in the schools where I present, to a woman in front of a computer. Hardly comparable, but, yeah. 😂
I suffer the same thing, more intensely and briefly, after big mentored-hunt events that I organize - a lot of work followed by giving myself completely to a group of people (which has its rewards but is also exhausting - I'm guessing you can relate).
I have plenty to do. But the older I get, the more I love my routines, and being good at the routines of duck hunting is far more satisfying than the time-fillers that ooze into the post-season void.
I love that you wrote about this, and I think there's something really valuable in simply having the grief moment. The sudden unfilled hollow makes it so clear how much the season really means while it is happening. I find it so tempting to try to rush past the icky bits of loss or desolation because they feel so bad, and bad feelings tend to mean something is WRONG...but I think it's not at all a bad thing when we don't IMMEDIATELY move on to something else equally consuming or enticing. I think important experiences deserve (and need) sufficient time to digest, reflect, process. I feel like those times are often very desolate and lonely, but surely they have to be -- if they were full of other stuff, there wouldn't be room for the deep feeling.
Of course you're totally right that non-human-determined seasons have less of a drop-off, but I guess I feel like any really important + vivid + vital time leaves a real emptiness behind when it's over, whether it's a whole season or just a great fucking party. I think maybe I count on that moment of mourning in some ways. It tells me that that time really mattered.
Well said.
I think what I've come to is this: I don't bother fighting it anymore. I just go ahead and experience it.
It's been a long time since I first read The Art of Happiness, and while I wasn't able to fully live its message for a long, long time, I knew it was right the second I read it: Life is struggle, and the degree to which that struggle hurts is directly proportional to how much you resist it.
I now actively avoid people who crave drama, who thrive on drawing out pain as long as possible. I want no part of their bullshit.
The past is set, the future is not guaranteed; live the present to the fullest!
Yeah... I know the feeling exactly. Years ago, I made a conscious effort to seasonalize all my outdoor adventures and related activity. I have a month for un-effing my gear, a month or two of mushroom foraging, birch tapping, ice fishing, open water fishing, bear season, deer season, small game... not to mention reloading and shooting.... you get the idea. One season flows naturally into the next nowadays. So I always have something to look forward to, even as I’m enjoying the adventure of the moment.... and as always, life intercedes to confound the best laid plans. Lol.
Peace.
I seem to have lots of gaps between my seasons, and I supposed those are house- and yard-keeping intermissions. But of course I need more than to just keep busy to find joy.
A story nicely told. I too, (like others here) feel that the end of a season reflection is missing in the hunting media. We regularly read about the exciting moments of hunting; ducks gliding into the decoys with wings set as we grip the shotgun, the heart-stopping flush of a pheasant at our feet, looking through the bow sight with bated breath as a deer slowly moves into the shooting window. Those are but mere moments in the overall hunting experience. What we don't often read about are those special moments during the rest of the hunt, especially that last rays of sunlight on the final day of the season. Here in MN, our deer season for bow ends on December 31 and for years, I have trudged out to the stand on that last day to take in the end of the season before the rest of the world starts their New Year's celebration. I have never harvested a deer on on the last day of the season and I'm not sure if I even would. It would almost seem a shame that, after the deer had survived through a 100 day season of bow, gun and black powder hunting, that it would fall to an arrow those final minutes of the season. And so, I sit in my stand until well after dark; listening to the curtain of silence fall upon the woods, reflecting on past days afield during this season and planning for next fall's opening day. After all, I only have next eight months to get everything ready!
Such a deeply human thing, to mark transitions, reflect on endings, and search for joy in the next thing!
It seems that the older I get, I realize that I have had the majority of hunting experiences in my past and and will have fewer in my future. That makes each experience, past and future, that much more treasured.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts and feelings in this blog!
That hasn't quite occurred to me yet, though I'm probably past my halfway point, with 16 seasons under my belt. Still hunting at 83 would be pretty badass, but I know there are no guarantees.
End of the season is always such a bittersweet thing. For years, I've made it a habit to watch the last hours of the season fade toward darkness, and then take a deep breath and think about what's next. But this year is the first time in ages I haven't watched the waterfowl season end from the marsh... in large part because our season ended on a weekday this year and I didn't want to take a day off. I know... skewed priorities and all that.
So I watched the sunset from the porch while I fed the dogs, including my lab, Skipjack, who has yet to actually see me kill a duck (he did, at least, get a few doves this year). Just before it was fully dark, I heard the whine and spotted the fleeting shadow of a wood duck heading for some freshly flooded spot in the swamp. It sounded vaguely derisive.
Hahaha, always derisive!
Our season ended on a weekday also - not a hunt day at refuges.
Sage and I enjoyed the onslaught of ducks that poured into our pond, urging us to GTFO. I will always love that abundance.
My favorite bit:
"Hunting all day is exhausting, but I really like being in the marsh at the moment the ducks are liberated from the long siege. I enjoy hunting them, I enjoy shooting them successfully, and I enjoy eating them. But I also enjoy knowing their lives will be a little easier now without assholes like me trying to kill them."
Perhaps this hidden absolute about hunting, once you have lived within the rhythm of the pursuit long enough, so often overlooked, should be celebrated more in print?
Many of us do indeed find no shock at all in the feeling of joy we experience when indeed our quarry is safe from all of us who give chase! The quiet assurance that comes with knowing we are a part of this natural scene, but not the only part!
Your paragraph speaks to the ethics behind those who founded the North American Model of Conservation so long ago. It also points out a glaring deficiency in most of today's writing about hunting. Great piece of writing and a good one to ponder over.
Thank you so much!
It is gratifying saying things that legions of us feel, but few write about. I think we, collectively, have gotten it in our heads that writing in any way that reflects nuance or conflicting emotions is somehow giving aid to the enemies of hunting. I say writing honestly is power.
Of course I may be overthinking this. A huge amount of creative work is just doing what other people do without giving it much thought at all.
You need a seasonal hobby, like, I don't know, carving duck decoys. I know it's very hard to come to a screeching stop from any activity this intense, though. In my case, I go from being a celeb to kids in the schools where I present, to a woman in front of a computer. Hardly comparable, but, yeah. 😂
I suffer the same thing, more intensely and briefly, after big mentored-hunt events that I organize - a lot of work followed by giving myself completely to a group of people (which has its rewards but is also exhausting - I'm guessing you can relate).
I have plenty to do. But the older I get, the more I love my routines, and being good at the routines of duck hunting is far more satisfying than the time-fillers that ooze into the post-season void.