The approach of fall brings out another persona in me – one who doesn’t get out as much as he should. This part of me is more at home in the woods of the Adirondacks.

Posts on Facebook seem less important now than they did a week ago. Planning for hunting and trapping seasons stirs something in me. The loss of chlorophyll in the maples, aspen, beech and cherry not only change the view, but also the smell of the woods. The tannic smell of decaying leaves fills the nostrils, decipherable at this time of year more than any other time.

These are the seasons set by Man when we can harvest renewable resources.

My grandson harvested his first squirrel. One shot, one kill.

Why would I teach a youngster to kill for sport?

Not only did I teach him how to harvest as humanely as possible, but showed him how to skin and keep the most palatable parts inside, the heart and liver. I taught him respect for the animal we killed. We both ate all but the bones of that red squirrel.

When gutting the animal I explained how the anatomy of the rodent was little different than his or his brother’s.

Should I pass what I know of nature to the next generation? Even if some don’t like it, I must.

This aspect of nature is as real as quarks, black holes or physics; but tastes delicious.