Windfall, Twice in One Day

wind·fall noun \ˈwin(d)-ˌfȯl\

1: something (as a tree or fruit) blown down by the wind

2: an unexpected, unearned, or sudden gain or advantage

I was thinking of this word, with leaves swirling around my head, when I found I had carrots peeking out from under the dead bean plants.  I had planted them with the peas and promptly forgot them.  Harvesting them made the sad job of clearing out the dead beans a happier one.  I was so pleased with those pretty orange carrots that I took their picture.  I always forget to plant carrots.  It seems I never make room for them in my beds.  These were more of an afterthought, and now I was glad that I had planted them.  My beta carotene pallet was suddenly expanded.  If I can’t get Picky #1 to eat squash, maybe I’d have better luck with carrots.

Then Picky #1 called me, “Mom, I found a deer.  Can I keep it?”

“Say what?”

My oldest had found an injured deer on a path through the woods and called the sheriff.  The sheriff assessed the situation, a recently hit deer with a hopelessly broken leg.  He dispatched the deer (yes, he shot it) and filled out a tag for my son.  He found it, so he could keep it.

“Let me talk to that officer,” I said.

The officer told me that the deer would rot on the path until the county could come get it or we could take it home for ourselves.

The thought of eating roadkill didn’t even cross my mind.  I was just wondering where we’d put all that meat.  I had just bought 100 pounds of pastured beef and enough pastured chicken backs to make an entire season’s worth of chicken stock.

Thankfully, one of my son’s friends comes from a hunting family.  He went home and got his father, who was kind enough to field dress it for me.  He removed all of the deer’s innards, something I have never even witnessed.  Now the deer more closely resembled the ones I saw every Thanksgiving, hanging in the apple tree.  My son’s friends and I heaved that thing into the trunk of his Nissan Maxima.  Their reactions ranged from revulsion to fascination.  I can only wonder what they think of me now, standing there with blood on my Chuck Taylors, worrying about when I’ll find the time to butcher a deer while shoving roadkill into my son’s trunk.

We butchered it the next day and I processed meat for the better part of the week. 

I know it’s roadkill, but I’ll take free range, mostly organic meat any day of the week.  I grew up in a hunting family and I know the benefit of hunting deer to control the population.  Almost everyone I know has hit a deer some time in their life with minor to life taking consequences.

Just like my carrots, this dead deer was a windfall.  I didn’t do anything to deserve it or earn it.  We’ll eat it with the respect it’s due.  It was a beautiful animal who clearly went out at his prime and I was glad that my son found it and saw that he didn’t suffer any longer than necessary.   I was grateful that I could do something with it and happy that I had a family and friends to help.

I was also grateful that I lifted a copy of Outdoor Life from my dad’s house recently.  It had over a half dozen fancy ways to cook venison and at least a couple of them involved carrots.  Double windfall!