Another clear day, but a band of dark clouds hangs low over the western horizon. The main weather service still insists that there will be no snow, but other forecasters hold out the prospect of real hope.
For us, snow would be an unqualified blessing now. We always make it a point to remain close to home on what the rest of the country denominates “Black Friday”; there is work to be done, and neither of us has any desire to be caught up in the commercial frenzy that dominates this day, even in the best of times.
These are nowhere near the best of times.
Here, we have our own work to do, far away from the human contact that has proven so dangerous, even deadly, in recent months. Even aside from inventory to built, art to be created and photos to be taken and words to be written before sending it out into the world, there is more fundamental work that needs doing, daily. The temperature at this moment is in the twenties, but the wind chill is fourteen; the light grows shorter by the day and still there is no rain. The wild creatures are enduring this drought and vastly changed patterns of weather and climate along with us, and they and the land need our help.
Now, as November winds down toward December, we are entering elk season. No, I don’t mean elk hunting season, although there is that, too. No, I refer to the time of year when the elk descend from their mountain habitat in search of readier food, and in so doing show themselves to us.
Nearly every year now, as autumn shifts into winter and in the early weeks of the coldest season, the wild herd makes its way down to our land. This is the most dangerous time of year for them; in seeking to ward off starvation, they come within sight of human habitation, at risk from speeding vehicles should they choose to cross the highway, always in jeopardy from a poacher’s rifle. They do know, thought, that they have sanctuary here on our land, and it seems as though that knowledge is being passed down from one generation to the next, because for ten years and more, they have [mostly] come: in search of food, yes, but also in search of a place to eat safely, of a place to rub their antlers, of a place to leave their young to sleep of a winter’s afternoon. Perhaps Eagle shares this knowledge with them, too, for they share a broader habitat up in the mountains, and if we mostly see Eagle heading upward, at this time of year, it’s not uncommon to encounter the elk heading down to our south fenceline.
And it is dangerous for them. In a place invaded by colonizers always lusting after trophies but not willing to engage in actual stewardship of the land, poaching has become a genuine problem. And it’s not just simple poaching, either; colonizers will claim fear for the excuse of shooting and killing one of our four-legged relatives, as happened a couple of years ago with a bear in Raton. Nothing happened to the shooter, of course, but the bear is dead.
Here, we have encounters, up close and deeply personal, with all sorts of such relatives. There are always the birds, including, a few nights ago, the great raptor I affectionately call Uncle F, the giant ferruginous hawk who puts in an appearance only rarely. We have had a Bald Eagle within the last week, and any number of birds out of season, from the grosbeaks known locally as chokecherry birds to tiny goldfinches here six months out of the usual time. We have had, in years past, a bear, albeit only one close-up sighting; usually they make their way through in the dark and early hours, and we only see the evidence of their passage. Coyote is always near, and so, too, is his pack, most nights; skunks and the occasional porcupine will also find refuge here.
And then there are the elk: the odd yearling, sleeping at the corner of the south fence, curious and ready to make friends with the horses; the whole herd, including one with a curving unicorn’s-horn antler emerging from the center of its forehead, at play in the south field; smaller groups from within the herd, from giant bull elk to youngsters, making their way of a night right up to our living quarters, finding sustenance in the fields, in the hay barn, and in one memorable instance, among bales stacked on the bed of the truck in the carport. I had gone out into the cold and the dark to shut the pilot off, and my flashlight picked up a gleam from just ahead; there, beneath the carport, were several pairs of glowing eyes, and limned in light of the beam, the giant rack of antlers of a bull elk. We both froze, cautiously peered at each other . . . and then, when he realized that I was telling him to continue to eat, went back to munching. I turned off the pilot and went back inside. In the morning, all that remained of the hay bales were a few loose wisps and the baling twine.
The appearance of the elk each year at the dawn of winter reminds us of traditional teachings notably absent from our world now. Among them are to be brave, to defend and protect the vulnerable and to resist those who would harm or co-opt our ways; respect for all, including earth and sky and our non-human relatives; perhaps most of all now, at the outset of this hard season, generosity — to share what we are fortunate enough to have with others, that we all may have a better chance of survival.
The last is a lesson the wild creatures know, and one they need humanity to learn, now more than ever. Today’s featured work is one that holds out the prospect of such communication. From its description in the Other Artists: Leatherwork, Antler, and Bone gallery here on the site:
Sharpen your traditional hunting skills or simply learn to communicate with the herd with this hand-made elk whistle. Carved of deer antler entirely by hand by Joseph “Joe T” Trujillo (Taos Pueblo), this vintage-style whistle is fully functional for use in the back country. The deer antler is treated with a clear stain to seal it against the elements; a hole hand-drilled through the top holds a long thong made of bright, highly-visible red leather. The whistle stands 2-1/8″ high at the highest point by 3/4″ across at the widest point; thong is 26″ long, excluding knot (dimensions approximate). Other views shown below.
Sealed deer antler; leather thong
$75 + shipping, handling, and insurance
Yes, elk is food to us — and clothing, and shelter, and medicine too. As with the buffalo, the taking of a life for sustenance is sacred, and requires us to use every part of the animal; nothing can be permitted to go to waste. And it is an act for precisely that: sustenance, not trophy hunting. In return, it is our obligation to keep the herd safe and healthy from poaching, starvation, and the ravages of climate change. It is our task to learn to communicate with them, to understand their needs and to ensure that we help fulfill them as far as possible.
And so, every autumn, Wings assembles all the old hay unsuitable for the horses (but perfectly digestible and sustaining to ruminants) and hauls it down to the south field, where he carefully spreads it out to keep it from moldering. This will feed the herd periodically, when they come down from the mountain in search of food. They are also permitted to wander, unmolested, throughout the land if the choose, rubbing the itchy velvet growth on their antlers against the hard bark of the aspens, sampling what they find in the hay barn or elsewhere. Even the dogs have always known that they are to be left alone, and aside from the occasional sharp bark to let us know of their arrival, they leave the elk to the own devices.
Under ordinary circumstances, we would not put out food for them; there would be no reason, because they would have enough to sustain them naturally. But these are not ordinary circumstances, and climate change and drought have reduced their food supply sufficiently to put the herd’s very existence at risk now. It is a change such as one we have made for migratory birds, long since driven off-path and off-schedule, ensuring that they can feed sufficiently to survive another season. We would not, it’s safe to say, use this whistle for hunting purposes, but to be able to communicate with those with whom share this land? That’s a gift beyond price.
And communication, whether via the whistle, words in tongues old and new, or even simple silence is key. For we need their survival, their thriving, as much as they need ours now. We need an open exchange of brave hearts and generous spirits if this world is to survive, and us — all of us — with it.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2020; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
