Country Killing

There are many differences between country and city life—some of them we expected when we moved out to these woods, and some were a surprise. In the latter category is the fact that when you kill a critter out here, you often have to look it in the eye, as you take its life. That can be very unsettling.

I don’t like to kill any creature, but to live on this planet means that one regularly terminates other beings—intentionally or not. Death is a constant in nature. Many creatures’ food comes at the loss of another creature’s life. Some critters we consider pests and we willingly do away with. Others we accidentally or unintentionally dispatch.

I’m now more aware that when we lived in the city we usually hired others to do our killing. The butcher killed my meat, the farmer killed pests to bring me crops. More insidiously, multi-national corporations harm and kill people for me on the other side of the globe, so I can buy affordable running shoes and electronic gadgets. Worse yet, soldiers kill for me, to bring me plentiful, low-cost gasoline at the local pump. These and other vicarious types of killing are a part of modern life. Many of us who live in a modern urban environment have our attention consumed with various forms of activity, and are literally ignorant of the killing that occurs on our behalf. Country life has given me more time to ponder the killing-by-proxy issue.

While I attempt to live a life—out here in the country—that minimizes harm and killing, I frequently fall short. It’s a huge challenge. I still do far more killing than I’d like, and still allow some killing to be done for me. However, one big change, living out here, is that while fewer killings are now done for us, more are done by us. For example, we intentionally kill many garden bugs (although not with chemicals). However, we try to repel them when we can and even allow a small proportion of vegetables to be claimed by invaders. But some garden bugs we have to look squarely in the eye (or eyes) and squish in our fingers.

Other invaders—ants, termites, mice—will move into your comfortable home and take over, if given half a chance. We’ve found ways to deter some of them, but now and then a determined invasion is met with mass death.

Some questions I try to keep in mind are: Do I need to kill (in a given situation)? Is there a way to cut back on my carnage? Can I learn to live with the intruders? If I kill, can I do so with respect and regret?

The ideal would be to be free of killing, but that’s impossible. I can’t walk across the yard without crushing an ant. In the end, I’m thankful that country living brings the killing up close and personal. It is disturbing, but it makes me more conscious of the cycle of life… and death.