Recently I came to a realization – not earth shattering by any means, and most people wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But, for me, it was a little jarring. At our little place in north Idaho we have a garden. We also have rabbits. And if a fellow expects to have a garden and rabbits he must, of necessity, have a fence. We’ve also got deer around the place but they don’t give us much trouble so far as the garden is concerned so our fence is a rather short affair. It’s a little less than 5 feet high I’d say – plenty to keep the lagomorphs at bay and not much of an obstacle for an agile young man like myself. I can hop right over it flat footed and that’s just what I’ve done for years since I built the thing. There is, of course, a perfectly functional gate leading into the garden but I’ve never used it much except for pushing a wheelbarrow in and out and so forth. Hopping over is just easier I guess, quicker maybe – who knows but that’s what I’ve always done.

That jarring realization I’ve come to… I’ve been taking the time to walk around and open that gate more lately. Now the average person might think, “well yea, that’s what it’s there for.” But in my slightly abstract way of thinking I came up with, “Hmm, is time finally catching up with me? I guess I’m not so young anymore but what does this really mean? If I walk through the gate instead of hopping over the fence will I soon lose that ability to hop? Will using that gate hasten the deterioration of my agility? It sure is easier to use the gate. But damn, the ramifications… what to do, what to do? ”

Ok, I concede, my way of thinking may be a little more than “slightly” abstract. But, nevertheless, the garden gate scenario got me to thinking about the decisions we make on a daily basis. We’re constantly tempted by little conveniences that are sure to make things easier, more comfortable, quicker. Next time you’re in the supermarket, take a look at what folks are putting in their buggies. You’ll most likely find that the vast majority of the contents are frozen pizzas, microwave dinners, and hamburger helper, or (insert quick and easy, just add water, microwave and viola meal here). I’d venture to guess that, presented with a full kitchen, fresh vegetables, spices, and an elk roast, most of these folks wouldn’t know where to begin. Maybe they’ve lost the ability to cook a proper meal or, more likely, they never knew how.

I was lucky enough to recently receive two fine knives in the mail. One is a “woodsman” style drop point from Chris Reade, the other a drop point skinner from Civilware. Both are of fine quality and craftsmanship. Handmade knives of carbon steel require a little maintenance. You must keep them oiled and honed and, like the model 61 Winchester 22 my grandfather gave me as a child, they’ll be around for generations to come. I’ve always been partial to a sheath knife. Maybe it’s the classic look and feel of them. And so I leaned to hone a blade freehand at a very young age, a skill that has served me well for more than 30 years; a skill that I’ll pass along to my sons.

A few months ago some friends were flipping through an outdoor catalogue when they came to a page showing a popular knife that uses disposable scalpel blades. My cousin has one and I used it to cape a bear he killed last year. It was certainly sharp and worked exceptionally well. But when it came time to touch up the blade my cousin just pulled out another foil wrapped scalpel blade, clipped it in place and threw the old one out. Well that was efficient. Easy as pie but, even though I couldn’t put it to words at the time, something just didn’t seem quite right about it.

In a recent editorial for Traditional Bowhunter Magazine, Don Thomas wrote about a policy change that recently occurred there. This issue contained an ad for GPS mapping software, something that they’d never allowed before (TBM is one of the very few magazines that maintains a high standard for advertisers). They’ve had a long standing ban on ads for high-tech gear but, as Don writes, things have changed. The change in policy had to do with the increasing difficulty of navigating the network of private/public lands and staying on the right side of the law while doing it. In this context, a GPS becomes not only an aid for navigating land, but bureaucracy as well. But what caught my eye wasn’t the justification of ads for GPS, but Don’s description of why he doesn’t use one. He recalls a story of how, while hunting with a friend in some flat, monotonous country they would stop to check their bearings every so often. Don, using nothing but dead reasoning and much to his friend’s surprise, was able to accurately indicate the distance and direction back to their point of departure. His friend was relying on a GPS. Don was able to do that because, as he explained, he didn’t carry a GPS and never has. He was relying on himself and his woodsmanship. He’d never allowed those skills to be eroded by succumbing to the easy accuracy of orbiting satellites.

We make choices every day, some are benign and some are only seemingly so. My cousin can’t sharpen a knife and his son won’t learn either. Don’s friend can’t navigate using his own internal compass. So, even seemingly benign choices have costs. Next time you’re confronted with your own garden gate take a moment and ask, “Do I really want to walk that way?”

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