Christmas column – Thierry Baudet
Every year at Christmas, my father used to prepare hare: marinated legs from the poulterer. The preparation easily took half a day – a period of time in which the whole house began to smell of earth and wine, of pencil shavings and cinnamon, of pepper and saffron – and when the time finally came to serve the legs, my father warned in an exaggerated serious tone: ‘Be careful, there may be bullets in them!’
You ate extra carefully, extra attentively – not only because of those bullets, but also because it had been standing for so long and because you knew: this is a wild animal that really lived, that ran and shot through the forest. The meal was a sacrifice, the daily things disappeared into the background: we shared together in something higher.
That feeling is also strong among hunters in the field. I was able to experience it last time when I walked along with a hare hunt in North Groningen. We first drank coffee and ate gingerbread that the wife of the oldest hunter, Eelke de Jong, had baked the night before. Then the ten of us set off. We split up into floats and shooters, waded through ditches, hid behind bushes, let the dogs retrieve the shot game. At noon we went back to De Jong’s barn for a plate of pea soup.
All day long I felt part of nature – the environment had become a ‘lived space’, not a mere stage, and certainly not completely subject to our power – on the contrary, the hunter cannot force anything but must operate in conjunction with the elements. In addition, the thought occurred to me that this group of hunters was pre-eminently a little platoon – a community that, according to Edmund Burke, forms the basis of a free society (because civil society stems from it). People do not come together just to get together, and when they come together purely to satisfy a certain need (for example, hunger), it is not a social interweaving that arises, but a business transaction (with all the distrust and competition that entails). It is precisely because of this complex confluence of utility and pleasure, of power and impotence, of pride and humility that hunting leads to the formation of traditions and deep connections – and I realized that this used to happen in our home when the hare was served and that typical devotion descended upon us.
Every year at Christmas, my father used to prepare hare: marinated legs from the poulterer. The preparation easily took half a day – a period of time in which the whole house began to smell of earth and wine, of pencil shavings and cinnamon, of pepper and saffron – and when the time finally came to serve the legs, my father warned in an exaggerated serious tone: ‘Be careful, there may be bullets in them!’
You ate extra carefully, extra attentively – not only because of those bullets, but also because it had been standing for so long and because you knew: this is a wild animal that really lived, that ran and shot through the forest. The meal was a sacrifice, the daily things disappeared into the background: we shared together in something higher.
That feeling is also strong among hunters in the field. I was able to experience it last time when I walked along with a hare hunt in North Groningen. We first drank coffee and ate gingerbread that the wife of the oldest hunter, Eelke de Jong, had baked the night before. Then the ten of us set off. We split up into floats and shooters, waded through ditches, hid behind bushes, let the dogs retrieve the shot game. At noon we went back to De Jong’s barn for a plate of pea soup.
All day long I felt part of nature – the environment had become a ‘lived space’, not a mere stage, and certainly not completely subject to our power – on the contrary, the hunter cannot force anything but must operate in conjunction with the elements. In addition, the thought occurred to me that this group of hunters was pre-eminently a little platoon – a community that, according to Edmund Burke, forms the basis of a free society (because civil society stems from it). People do not come together just to get together, and when they come together purely to satisfy a certain need (for example, hunger), it is not a social interweaving that arises, but a business transaction (with all the distrust and competition that entails). It is precisely because of this complex confluence of utility and pleasure, of power and impotence, of pride and humility that hunting leads to the formation of traditions and deep connections – and I realized that this used to happen in our home when the hare was served and that typical devotion descended upon us.
Publication rights – Thierry Baudet
Thierry Baudet is a doctor of law and columnist for the prestigious NRC Handelsblad.