Editor’s Letter
“Never throughout history has a man lived a life of ease and left a name worth remembering.”
Dear Modern Huntsman,
It was a perfectly placed shot, well within range, but he didn’t fall. While the antelope herd bounded away across the muted plains, the buck stood still. Legs splayed, he wobbled and swayed, nimble hooves firmly planted on the line between this life and the next. Another rifle report granted him peace. I marveled with shaky hands at the resilience of that tough old relic, determined to die on his feet, hoping I too could live with such tenacity.
This year has demanded a great deal of us all, and sometimes when life feels at its darkest we need someone to throw open the window and let in the light — that has been our collective aim for Volume Six. Our hope is that each page rekindles a sense of wonder for wild places; that the collective words and images allow you to marvel at the resilience of the human spirit, and find guiding purpose from the woven complexity of biodiversity. Despite everything, 2020 forced people to rediscover their need for the great outdoors, valuing wide open places and wildlife like never before. As grocery stores emptied, consumers turned to locally sourced food, protein and veggies planted right down the street. Sourdough loaves were rising in stoves across the globe as people learned to feed themselves by the work of their hands again. When convenience was stricken from our vocabulary, it left room for self-sufficiency to bloom.
Over the years, my family has teased my sister for being a ‘cork.’ Regardless of the circumstances thrown her way, she always manages to come out on top. Bobbing to the surface, in the face of stormy seas, has little do with our environment and everything to do with what we’re made of. We’re capable of enduring far more than we’ve allowed ourselves to believe. Resilience isn’t weakened by use, or tripped up by obstacles — it grows stronger with each blow, allowing us to rise with increasing ease, brushing the dust from our jeans.
My hope for you, in the days and pages to come, is that you find renewed hope and your burdens lightened in the knowledge that you’re not alone. May you find merit in the foreign and familiar, and may the honest words of a stranger spark a whispered “me too.”
I hope you look for the good, and for the green shoots that follow the prune. I hope you’re brave enough to believe that people are far more than they seem, and that the only dangerous territory is silencing those with whom you disagree. You have been uniquely placed with a purpose; it matters not whether it has been witnessed by the masses or the mountains. Thank you for sharing your stories, from Cameroon to Idaho, Alaska to the Azores. We’ve been bolstered by you, and come what may, we will remain.
With resilience and grace,
