Why this ‘country girl’ has mixed emotions about hunting season.

Yeah, that’s right – I have mixed emotions about hunting season.  I understand that it’s a way to control the overpopulation of deer in our area.  I understand that venison is a great way to supplement the family’s food supply.  It’s also a way to connect with your ancestors who were forced to hunt for survival, and a way to give thanks for all of the blessings we have in this life.

But that’s not why most people do it.  They make killing into a sport.

That’s what bothers me more than the random gunshots in the middle of the day, the fact that they leave their cars and trucks haphazardly on the side of the road, or that some hang dead deer from trees in their front yard.  (For anyone who isn’t a hunter, you have to hang the deer for several days.  I would just prefer if they did it in their garage or barn.)  I simply can’t get behind the idea that killing something should be held to a fun pastime.

‘But it’s only a deer’, right?  Yeah, it’s only a horse, a dolphin, a whale, a bald eagle.  Their only animals, so who cares?  Who cares about causing pain with the intention of sport?  Who cares about hunting something and leaving everything but the head?  Who cares about wasting a life for a trophy?

I’m not saying don’t hunt – that is useless and wrong.  Hunt if you like.  Do it safely, responsibly.  Don’t leave the body in the woods.  Don’t be cruel.  Don’t be heartless.  Do it for the environment.  Do it for food.  Do it because your ancestors did.  But remember that you are taking a life – you are making a choice, and it should be treated with the proper respect it deserves.

Gay in Rural America

So far, I have written general posts about rural life: chickens, horses, snow, cooking, and so on.  These are things I enjoy – they make me happy, and I figure there needs to be more happiness in my life.  Really, anyone’s life – yours included.  It goes by too quickly to be unhappy.  Whatever you love to do, get out there and do it NOW.  Frankie’s wisdom of the day! 

I was raised in small town America – horses, tractors, bonfires, and beat-up pickup trucks litter my childhood memories.  I love the quiet, open air; the forest with it’s musky smell of underbrush, the beautiful nothingness of an empty field, or long summer evenings with family and friends reminiscing about days and years not yet forgotten.  This is my home in every sense of the word. 

Here’s the kicker: I left. 

When I graduated from high school, I hightailed it out of here.  I went to college in a completely different state, encapsulating the small-town girl, big city stereotype.  In one swift move, I left my tiny comfort zone and experienced life – life, the beautiful and terrifying eternity we share with billions of other humans in an infinitely complicated web that lasts forever, and ends in the blink of an eye.  I lived in Florida, California, Pennsylvania, and finally ended up back here in Upstate New York.  Cities, suburbs, towns, and villages each have their own characteristic uniqueness that have molded me into the person I am today.  No, it’s more than that – these places have allowed me to find, accept, and embrace who I really am.  It took a while, but I finally made it.  There’s only one problem.

I forgot what the people are like.

I really did.  I went out into the world and forgot how afraid they are of what they don’t understand.   I left a shy girl looking to see the world, and I returned as something that scares people.  Gay. 

Yeah, like this Gay.

Now, I know you don’t ‘turn’ gay.  I was born this way, and it took a long time for me to find myself (a short time comparatively in the grand scope of things), and let me tell you – the feeling of being yourself, and actually liking who you are, is indescribably amazing.  For me, it was an internal transformation.  I never really feel the need to scream “I’M GAY” from the rooftops.  I am comfortable being who I am, and that positively impacts my life.  

The people who live in rural America are apparently mystified by me.  They see my jeans and t-shirt as commonplace while I had long hair, most likely thinking me a variation of a tomboy.  However, I cut my long hair off for donation (as always was the plan), favoring a short haircut again.  This is not the first time I have cut my hair, and I didn’t think it was a huge deal.  (Okay, so it was a big deal to me, but my hair was like twelve inches long and SUPER HEAVY.  It feels nice to not have to rake it out every morning!) Cutting my hair was the only change I have made in the last week, and my goodness, you would think I turned purple and grew a third arm.

I get weird looks going into the women’s bathroom at school.  Today, two girls snickered and got quiet as I entered one of the stalls, leaving with awkward laughs and whispers.  Alone in the bathroom, I wondered what was so funny.  

Now, I have cut my hair short several times while living in urban areas, and I didn’t really get any backlash for it.  Sure, friends were stunned, and always said it looked nice.  Occasionally, while working retail a customer would call me ‘Sir’, quickly apologizing politely when they realized I was a woman.  I never minded, and I smiled, saying it was okay.  I was never treated negatively for having short hair, nor was I made to feel like I was wrong, or bad.  

It is the most ridiculous thing that this is happening.  I get significantly more looks in the past few days than I ever did while being out and living abroad.  It’s just hair!  What is everyone’s problem?  I dress exactly the same as I did before.  I eat the same things.  I use the same bathrooms (literally. Like every day).  It took me a bit of pondering to figure out what the problem was.  Do you want to know?

I look gay now.  With long hair, I was just a tomboy.  Now, with short hair, I’m a dyke.  I’m something that people just don’t understand – they fear.  And, just as you would think, they hate what they don’t understand. 

I’m not that scary.  I promise.  I have stuffed animals all over my bedroom.   Small dogs, cats, chickens, and horses are my furry family.  I play the guitar and like video games.  My favorite music frequently includes annoying synth dance music, rock, and metal.  I drive an old car.  I get a kick out of math humor and science facts.  I’ve never shot a gun, I’m afraid of using big knives in the kitchen, and I have never punched anyone.  When I am angry, many times I cry as a stress relief.  

Yeah, I’m pretty much the devil. 

Through all this, I don’t really hate them – those people who would rather live in the darkness of ignorance rather than the light of acceptance.  In reality, I pity them.  They judge me on how I look instead of who I really am.  Instead of talking to me, they laugh at me.  Instead of stepping out of their small comfort zone, they belittle.  It must be terrible to be afraid of someone because of how they look.  It makes me wonder how small their world really must be.  

I really want to show them how beautiful our differences are.  I will not allow fear to dictate my life.  I am happy being me.  Why is that scary?  

If you are reading this, I know that there are scary things in the world.  Big spiders are pretty freaky.  Heights and deep water are my phobias.  Nuclear weapons is a terrifying reality.  Genocide is unthinkable.  War, poverty, hunger, HIV/AIDS, and Cancer are unavoidably horrifying to think about.  There are a lot of things to be afraid of in the world.  A big lesbian who sleeps surrounded by cats and small dogs really shouldn’t be one of them.  

Love is Love!

 

 

Home grown potatoes!

Why U lay egg there???

My chickens are rebelling against us.

We put several nesting boxes into the chicken coup, like normal. And most of the chickens lay their eggs in the coup or in a few ‘hidden’ nests in the horse barn. That’s fine. Once we found their hiding places, we collect every day.

There’s at least one chicken who has started laying eggs in random places. Like the gravel driveway. Or in the horse paddock. Or in a different spot in the yard every time. So, we have begun finding eggs that could have been laid any time. But, wouldn’t laying an egg on gravel be uncomfortable?

The chickens say that they are free spirits and need to lay wherever they wish. I guess it’s a valid point. 🙂

My chicken friends

Things have been pretty tense around here. Explosive, really. It has been difficult to concentrate on things. I don’t want to go into details (I will save that for the book), but needless to say people are causing my Grandparents stress and emotional pain. It breaks my heart.

Yesterday things really blew up. I wanted to get away for a few minutes, so I walked out to the barns. (One thing about living in the middle of nowhere is that it’s hard to run away.) Of course, chickens come running. They do that a lot, thinking I have bread every time I go outside. When I don’t, they give me the weirdest look.

I sat down in the chair near the barn, angry and frustrated. It hurt to see my family in emotional pain. It’s worse when I can’t do anything about it.

The chickens stayed around me, all 11 of them, pecking and clucking the whole time. It was like, in their own way, they were keeping me company. It make me happy just to sit out there with them.

Of course I talked to them too. Some of them let me hold and pet them. They are wonderful little girls!

Doesn’t everyone have chicken friends?