On Connection

Owls, rabbits; kids, trees; burgers.

Finally have gotten around to reading Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire. In “Cowboys and Indians Part II,” Abbey describes the relationship between the owl and the rabbit:

The horned owl may be the natural enemy of the rabbit but surely the rabbit is the natural friend of the horned owl. The rabbit feeds the owl. One can imagine easily the fondness, the sympathy, the genuine affection with which the owl regards the rabbit before rendering it into edible portions.

Is the affection reciprocated? In that moment of truce, of utter surrender, when the rabbit still alive offers no resistance but only waits, is it possible that the rabbit also loves the owl… Is it love? Or only teamwork again — good sportsmanship?

Fear betrays the rabbit to the great horned owl. Fear does the hard work, making the owl’s job easy. After a lifetime of dread it is more than likely the rabbit yields to the owl during the last moment with a sense of gratitude, as pleased to be eaten—finally!—as the owl is to eat. For one a consummation for the other fulfilment. How can we speak of natural enemies in such a well-organized system of operations and procedures. All the time, everywhere, someone or something is dying to please.

I read this and I stopped. Staring at the page, dumbstruck. Seeing not words but the glint in each deer’s eye before I released an arrow. A dizzying confluence of time and space and experience. Exhaled. Thank you — but whom and what?

Abbey, a hunter, wrote later that “[hunting] is one of the hardest things even to think about. Such a storm of conflicting emotions!” Pride, sadness, gratitude, enthusiasm, sorrow, adrenaline and cortisol — all mixing, blurring, melding with you and the animal and the earth; a reminder of how we are all connected.

I turned thirty-five last week and feel more than ever that connection. How it has been compounding and growing, spreading from the roots. Kiddo asked me the other day how trees talked. How do you explain to a four-year-old the interconnectedness of pines and oaks and maples and elms, the rhizosphere and mycorrhiza, all of their stories?

If I were clever, I would have told her it’s the same way that we do: vividly, messily; complexly, beautifully. Instead, though, I just told her all things are connected through their roots.

Another clever thing to do would be to present a recipe for radishes here — or at least root vegetables — but I’ve already told you my favorite preparation is to saute them in butter and

Julia Watson

gave a delicious one last week. So instead, I’ll give you what we cooked for my birthday: big ol’ smoked burgers.

Dollop roughly two pounds of ground beef¹ in a bowl. Season with salt and pepper or your favorite seasoning mix. If you’re feeling up for it, you can also add an egg yolk —if your eggs are fresh and vibrant. Mix loosely, not overly so, and shape into six to eight hockey pucks, depending on appetite and preference.

If you have a smoker, smoke these at 250(F) or so until cooked through to your desired temp, layering the sharpest cheddar cheese you have on top for the last dozen or so minutes. If you didn’t make your own buns², use the best ones you can find at the store, toasting them before serving.

Top with whatever condiments you’d like. We served with smacked radishes and greens from our garden.

So there you go folks — burgers. I was pleased to discover this year — though I’m not sure how I never learned this — that my birthday does indeed coincide with National Burger Day — so this may become more than just one-off.³

With that, I’ll leave you to your weekends. On the ranch we’ll be hopefully taking advantage of any breaks in the weather, getting and staying outside, and making connections. I hope you attempt the same.

We’ll see you back here next week.

1. Venison or a blend would also work here.

2.

John Gonter

can provide a recipe. Personally, we make a variation on this one using milk instead of water, butter instead of oil, and include a heaping spoonful of sourdough discard in the wet mix.

3. As I’ve often said: the universe is always sending transmissions… we just need to listen.