IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO EAT IT, DON’T KILL IT
By Mike Faulk


Dad was a simple man. He had a few mottos by which he lived. Those mottos were repeated regularly in his daily life. But, his lecturing was minimal – unless you consider the silently-delivered lectures – the ones delivered by his deeds.

Harvesting any animal, fish or fowl, with the sole purpose of displaying a trophy was out of the question in his mind. If, on the other hand, there was a trophy and a good meal – so be it. Hence the motto: “if you’re not going to eat it, don’t kill it.”

At holidays I miss Dad the most. He’s been gone 24 years now. The remarkable impact he had on my life is manifest during these times when we long to have family and friends close at hand. His presence is always with me in the hunting fields – the places were we were the closest – the places where we were both the happiest.

After the traditional Thanksgiving family meal, Brother Loy and I adjourned to the cabin for a long weekend of deer hunting during Tennessee’s first segment of rifle season. We often invoke Dad’s name when we’re here. One of us ends that segment of conversation with something along the lines of: “Dad sure would have liked it here” or “Dad would never leave here if he were alive today.”

We expect company at the cabin over this long weekend – family and good friends each and everyone. Number one son, Andy, is expected one night during Thanksgiving break from his teaching first graders. Chuckles, my partner in Strum Island Hunting Club, will hunt a couple of days. And our resident used car salesman, Rick, will join us a couple of times to hunt. [I mention “used car salesman” simply to denote one amongst us with lower standing in the eyes of the public than the lawyer author.]

We’ll consume a substantial amount of food – not just leftovers – during these three days. Our evening meals are always special. Not only will they taste great; but they’ll also uphold and reaffirm Dad’s motto.

Friday night faire includes North Dakota walleye, baked turnips [claimed from the food plots planted for the deer], hush puppies, and Mom’s coleslaw. Saturday evening we’ll have venison stroganoff, mashed red potatoes, and green beans from Paul and Peggy Morrison’s garden. Our lunches come from a cast iron pot of duck stew with some of Shirley’s homemade bread toasted with butter and garlic salt. Desserts include what’s left from Thanksgiving’s meal – Sister Kathy’s pecan pie, Shirley’s butterscotch delight, and Maggie Christian’s blueberry cheese cake.

This holiday I have some understanding how truly blessed I am. Thankful am I for the abundant bounty of all God’s creation which I enjoy daily. Thankful am I for the earthly father who taught me so very much in both word and deed without every hearing me say, “thank you, Dad, for the lecture you live”.