I grew up in southern West Virginia, where the hunting culture is deeply embedded in our psyche. In my own family, my uncles never missed a deer season. In fact, all my guy friends skipped school on the first day of it to be with their fathers. My stepfather, a former sniper in the Army, shot more than his fair share of deer. Then in his old age, he picked off squirrels to feed a pair of nesting hawks in our backyard.
All of us knew how to shoot a .22. Gun safety was paramount. Everyone knew how to clean their guns, unload and store them. My uncle’s guns and compound bows were in a safe harder to crack than Fort Knox. And my grandmother had a clear rule that if you killed it, you cleaned it. So after my cousin killed a squirrel at the fine age of 8, my grandmother stood over him until he finished the job. After seeing those tiny bones, guts, and gore, he didn’t hunt them anymore.
West Virginia, like many of the southern states, also has a high rate of poverty. More than 16 percent of its population experience hunger. Wild game is sometimes the only meat in families’ freezers because they can’t afford store-bought beef. In fact, since 1992, hunters have donated over one million pounds of venison to the hungry back home.
So yes, I believe Americans can go hunting legally. It’s our culture in the South.
