Fall 1989
Now you might think, since I am an advanced nimrodian adventurer, that this is a story about shooting birds. Well, it is, but the other kind, not the kind you thought. (You did think this piece was about bird hunting didn't you? If you did, bless you; there is innocence left in America yet. If you didn't, pay attention; this story may be about you.)
As many of you know, I hunt and fish a lot. I spend a lot of time going and coming on the front and back roads of this and many other counties. I go whenever I can, but especially on the weekends. And, of course, on the weekends many more people are out and I see a lot of them. Now being of a basically civil, not to say friendly disposition, and wanting always to maintain good nimrod (or flyrod) relations to the locals--particularly the farmers, who--at least until recently--owned most of the woods and fields where it is best to do the sorts of things I like to do with my nimrod and flyrod, I generally wave as I pass them, and if it is appropriate and can be done without frightening them, I may even stop to pass the time of day. Usually this behavior of mine accomplishes a lot: the wave is a basic, non-intimidating signal of friendliness. Stopping to chat goes much further. Names are exchanged; where are you from is answered along with what are you doing down here, and often good information follows: "You ought to go up there behind Joe Martin's on Dixon Creek. There's a good hole up there." And every now and then the rare happens: "Just pull in here behind the house and go 'cross my back field." Or: "I'd be happy to have you hunt; just stop at the house and tell Mary when you go in."
Now this is the way it's s'posed to be--not that I get to hunt or fish every time I wave my hand, but that people can wave, greet each other, and get on with preserving a bit of civility and neighborliness in the world. And hunters, fishermen, and farmers can accept a mutuality of commitment to uses of the natural world not in inherent conflict with each other. It doesn't happen like this much anymore though. Seems like the world has changed a lot since more of us started moving to the country. Last Sunday morning I was driving down one of these roads--in a place where there is nothing of interest to hunt or fish, so I was not being self-serving--and I saw a man coming down the road, out for his morning walk. So, as I passed him, I waved. Kawliga face. Buddha face. Stone Mountain face. Just your basic, older, middle-class, non-farming, recently-moved-out-to-our-place-in-the-country, what-are-you-doing-in-my-world, defensive, haughty, SOB. Probably a nice guy too.
I read his body language immediately. He did not have to not wave to tell me what was going on. He was not out walking for the sake of his heart.
Then it occurred to me as I drove on: I would have gotten more of a reaction from him if I had shot him a bird than I did by waving. (It is not that he is obligated to respond to me in any way--but why is it that people will respond to a bird when they won't respond to a wave? What has happened to the forms of civility in our society?) If I had shot this man a bird, I can, without doubt, see in my mind how he would have responded: he would have glared at me, moved his lips, and as I passed, would probably have shaken his walking stick at me. Later at the house, Gwen would have asked him what he was so upset about; and he would mention the incident to the men while they smoked just before they went into church; and it probably would have come up again about mid-afternoon.
Now, if he had been a bit younger--say 35 to 45-- and a non-waver (almost all of them in this age group in the country are non-wavers: nobody this age farms; the farmers don't need to walk for their health; so therefore they are all yuppies), the response would have been different but probably more predictable: I steal the advantage and shoot a bird. He replies in kind immediately. This ritual is his birthright; he doesn't even have to think about it. If I go for a double, he escalates and gives me an in-your-brain or an up-to-the-elbow. Here is a man with a sense of place, priviledge, status. Good potential middle-class stock. "I know what's mine and I'll challenge anything that threatens it." Basic property rights mentality.
Actually a redneck would have responded this way too, but for better reasons: the redneck would see the bird as a challenge to honor (which is why you don't shoot rednecks birds to begin with) and the issue would immediately have become a matter of principle. But our yuppie-gone-to-the-country does not think in terms of honor: he thinks in cash values. Shooting him a bird is like scratching his Saab, staring at his significant other, or bumping your buggy into his at the produce bins in the grocery: his honor is not offended. (He is not a man of honor.) It is far more practical for this property-conscious man: his image has been tarnished, his hair mussed: he is polluted. Ah, but it is a pollution soon transformed into self-righteousness: it gives him like the other man the occasion to declaim against lesser people and to feel good in having agreed in himself once again that, after all, the world really was made for people like him.
So then it occurred to me that instead of waving, I would really be doing these people a favor if I shot them a bird in the first place. That way I immediately provoke their reaction, give them the doubly enjoyable occasion to hate and abhor me and to feel self-righteous in doing so. Thus at the end of the day they can sit in their chairs, smug and secure, knowing that they have defended good things against the unclean. I see now that shooting birds can be like a kind of charity for the up-tight or missionary work to the willfully aloof: my selfless service of others to give them the chance to feel good about themselves. This way nearly everybody wins: I--instead of experiencing rejection from an asymmetric, still-born wave--can now feel the elation at giving others the occasion to feel elation at rejecting me. This way nobody loses.
Well, then, here's to you: a bird. Up yours. Now, don't you feel better? I sure do. So as I drive down your roads smiling, laughing, if you see me coming and I shoot you a bird, try to remember I am doing this for your benefit so you won't have to wave and so you can feel good later. This way, if enough of us get into the spirit of shooting birds, soon everyone will begin to feel good and start smiling and grinning and will begin to shoot birds first for the same reason. Then we will vie with each other to see who can shoot birds first to see who can make the other feel better firster. Then maybe we can all be neighbors again and get back to the good ol' days when bird hunting and shooting birds were the same thing. Or just go fishing and not shoot any birds at all.