I hopped on the back of Johan’s ATV before breakfast to go
harvest some apples in an old abandoned orchard down the road. We picked about 6 or 7 pounds thanks in
part to the picker I brought along on this trip. Riding around the forest, up and down hills and over bumps,
I realized why those pesky kids back at my mushroom spot in Colorado seemed to
be having so much fun merely going back and forth on the dirt road along which
Andre and I were camped out.
Riding on an ATV is fun, but so is hiking.
On our drive in to town, we spotted a dead fox in the
road. It wasn’t there last night,
so it was probably fairly fresh.
The curvy road must be a real hazard for many animals. After catching up on phone calls,
emails, and the news in Jacksonville, Andre and I decided to check out the
dumpster at the new Trader Joe’s in Medford. As usual, it was full of goodies. We hauled out organic chickens worth nearly $20 each,
bratwursts, heaps of vegetables including 4 avocados, which I haven’t had since
leaving LA, 6 pounds of rice, and on and on and on.
On the drive home, Andre said he wanted to keep an eye out for the fox. He wanted to bring it back to Johan’s to take a look at it, but it was already gone by the time we had to make our last turn onto the forest road that leads to his house. We jokingly said that Johan probably snatched it up; in fact, when we arrived back to his place he was not so patiently waiting for us hippies to arrive. We were late as usual, and he was ready to skin it and cook it up for us for dinner. Yes, you heard me. Fox was on the menu tonight. Roadkill fox, that is. It took about an hour to skin, mostly because he was being careful not to tear the pelt, which he intended to stretch, salt, and dry for its beauty. Afterwards, he quartered it, removed the parts that had been traumatized by the impact to its leg, and cooked up the heart and the loin. The rest went in his freezer for later use. We had a 6 pound organic dumpster chicken to cook, after all.
Why was it so easy for me to play with the chicken, wrapped in plastic, under a running faucet like I’d play with a baby when giving it a bath? I washed its belly, held its legs and moved it as if it were dancing, then quartered it with ease before tossing it in a big pot to cook on the wood-fired oven. I could barely manage to take pictures of the dead fox being prepared in the kitchen sink, much less touch it or play with it. Why is it that packaged meat, dumpster meat even, is so easy for me to cope with, but salvaged meat killed by a motorist—perfectly fresh and good looking meat, was so difficult to contemplate eating. I don’t eat body parts, hearts, gizzards, livers, tongues, unless I’m in a third world country and its expected of me. Tonight, Johan sliced a bit of fox heart, fried it up and stabbed it with a fork, then handed it to me to taste. Holding the fork for a few seconds, pondering what it was and where it had come from, I was reluctant to put the fork to my mouth. Finally, it went in and I began chewing, rapidly, like I chew raw garlic because I know its good for me even though it burns going down. Hmm… it was actually pretty tasty, chewy but tasty--it was a heart, after all. I took a bite of loin that had been charred ever so slightly on the wood fired oven. Much to my surprise, it was also quite tasty - I mean, WOW. I took several bites, being mindful to share with the others. Would I eat it again... YES, but only IF it were served to me. I can’t honestly say I’d pick up an animal from the side of the road, skin it and consume it with the same ease (and it wasn’t easy) as I did with Johan that evening. I can say that I was happy the animal didn’t go to waste. I was thankful for the nourishment that the animal gave me. I was thankful that I didn’t have to kill that animal, that it didn’t come wrapped in plastic, that there was no waste, and that I’d get to see that animal again next time I visit Johan’s place, at least it's beautiful exterior. Maybe there'd even be a little fox-chop left.
On the drive home, Andre said he wanted to keep an eye out for the fox. He wanted to bring it back to Johan’s to take a look at it, but it was already gone by the time we had to make our last turn onto the forest road that leads to his house. We jokingly said that Johan probably snatched it up; in fact, when we arrived back to his place he was not so patiently waiting for us hippies to arrive. We were late as usual, and he was ready to skin it and cook it up for us for dinner. Yes, you heard me. Fox was on the menu tonight. Roadkill fox, that is. It took about an hour to skin, mostly because he was being careful not to tear the pelt, which he intended to stretch, salt, and dry for its beauty. Afterwards, he quartered it, removed the parts that had been traumatized by the impact to its leg, and cooked up the heart and the loin. The rest went in his freezer for later use. We had a 6 pound organic dumpster chicken to cook, after all.
Why was it so easy for me to play with the chicken, wrapped in plastic, under a running faucet like I’d play with a baby when giving it a bath? I washed its belly, held its legs and moved it as if it were dancing, then quartered it with ease before tossing it in a big pot to cook on the wood-fired oven. I could barely manage to take pictures of the dead fox being prepared in the kitchen sink, much less touch it or play with it. Why is it that packaged meat, dumpster meat even, is so easy for me to cope with, but salvaged meat killed by a motorist—perfectly fresh and good looking meat, was so difficult to contemplate eating. I don’t eat body parts, hearts, gizzards, livers, tongues, unless I’m in a third world country and its expected of me. Tonight, Johan sliced a bit of fox heart, fried it up and stabbed it with a fork, then handed it to me to taste. Holding the fork for a few seconds, pondering what it was and where it had come from, I was reluctant to put the fork to my mouth. Finally, it went in and I began chewing, rapidly, like I chew raw garlic because I know its good for me even though it burns going down. Hmm… it was actually pretty tasty, chewy but tasty--it was a heart, after all. I took a bite of loin that had been charred ever so slightly on the wood fired oven. Much to my surprise, it was also quite tasty - I mean, WOW. I took several bites, being mindful to share with the others. Would I eat it again... YES, but only IF it were served to me. I can’t honestly say I’d pick up an animal from the side of the road, skin it and consume it with the same ease (and it wasn’t easy) as I did with Johan that evening. I can say that I was happy the animal didn’t go to waste. I was thankful for the nourishment that the animal gave me. I was thankful that I didn’t have to kill that animal, that it didn’t come wrapped in plastic, that there was no waste, and that I’d get to see that animal again next time I visit Johan’s place, at least it's beautiful exterior. Maybe there'd even be a little fox-chop left.
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