from “Bitten by the Wild”

For as far back as I can remember, I’ve never doubted that I’m an animal, just one more curious, hungry creature alongside all the others. I’ve always understood that my flesh is made from other flesh. On or farm we ate chickens that had scratched in the yard and pheasants that once lay on the kitchen counter wrapped in their shining feathers like a coat of stars. We ate potatoes we had dug from the ground like soft brown stones. We drank milk from a cow whose flanks felt warm against our cheeks in the winter barn. Because we buried rabbits and turtles and goats, I’ve known from an early age that I will die. Unlike my father, I admit to having been well and truly lost, in cities and suburbs as well as wilderness. Instead of panicking, I try to welcome those moments, give up chasing after distant voices, forget my destination, be still, and discover where I am.