Living close to the earth sometimes means doing without. We gardeners/hunters/gatherers talk so much about abundance that I think sometimes we give the impression that we’ve got everything we want. But that’s not the case.
This year, no one in the family got a moose. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but just a few more hunters squeezed into areas with tighter regulations, and some chance thrown in, too. Some you win, some you lose. This will be the first year I can remember that we don’t have fresh moose in the freezer. A few lonely packs of burger and breakfast sausage remain from last year; the steaks and roasts have long since been eaten.
My husband, father, and a friend went ptarmigan hunting yesterday. All they saw was one set of bird tracks.
I didn’t grow as much spinach as I’d hoped this summer; the seeds I bought from Walmart didn’t germinate, so I planted another batch later than usual, and they were spotty as well. So we have carrots instead.
I’m not complaining. Our freezer is full of salmon and local veggies, and the cupboard is well-stocked with jam and jarred salmon. Every few days, though, I find myself craving a moose steak, rare, with seasoned salt.