Ornoth

Yesterday I was reminded of my introduction to fishing…

Each year, my parents and I would spend a week in the back woods of Maine at a camp owned by my uncle. My father fancied himself quite a sportsman, and I must have been about five years old when he brought me out in the boat with him for the first time.

While I don’t recall the specific event, I definitely remember the emotions involved. First you had to take a worm—pretty gross in and of itself—and then jab a hook through it multiple times. I didn’t know whether members of Phylum Annelida felt pain, but the thing was clearly displeased, squirming around in what appeared to be pain. I guess I didn’t really get why causing this thing pain was such a good thing.

Then there was actually catching fish. When you think about it, it’s an awfully brutal process. The fish attempts to ingest a barbed hook, then you drag the thing back to your boat by the hook, which is embedded in its face or esophagus, while it’s fighting against it all the time. Then you drag it into the boat, where it immediately begins to suffocate. Finally, if the little bugger doesn’t suffocate quickly enough to suit you, you club the little fucker with the little miniature baseball bat you keep just for that purpose. Even as a kid, I was repelled by the barbarism of it all.

Of course, that’s not the end of the story. You’ve still gotta cut the head and tail off, rip the scales off, and take all the guts out. And then you eat it, which never made any sense to me, since I’ve never liked the taste of fish, anyways.

I don’t know whether that event set the stage for a lifetime of sensitivity, or whether it was just the first time some existing predisposition of mine was violated. But either way, I find I’ve been sensitized about harming others. I know other people are different, and that’s fine, but harming any animal seems to be a very deep violation of my base character. Not that I particularly wanted it to be that way; that’s just what I’ve observed.

All this came up yesterday while I was meditating. I’ve taken to finding a quiet place near work and sitting for half an hour at lunch. Yesterday I found a dock near where the Charles empties into Boston Harbor

While I was sitting, two guys came along, cast a line into the harbor and immediately got a strike. As they hauled the fish in, I stayed and observed it all, including his partner enthusiastically egging the fisherman on about eating his catch.

It brought up all those visceral feelings I had about hunting and fishing, and made me think about this year’s New Year’s resolution: to eat vegetarian one day a week. I’d made that decision primarily for ethical reasons, and I’ve been able to keep to it without abrogation. On the other hand, it’s been kind of inconvenient, and I had begun thinking about whether I’d continue that practice once 2007 is over.

Needless to say, yesterday’s event convinced me to continue. The question now is whether I want to get more ambitious and go for two days a week. I’m undecided on that one. As I said a year ago, I really love meat, but on the other hand I’m making a concerted effort to live according to my higher principles. Perhaps I’ll just shoot for two days a week, but forgive myself if there are weeks where I only do one. After all, the goal is gradual improvement, and as many dieters know, viewing it as a binary all-or-nothing proposition just makes it more difficult to succeed.

But for now, I just figured I’d share those thoughts, and note that after my meditation, I decided I wouldn’t go for pastrami or my favorite cajun chicken quesadilla, but had cheese tortoloni instead.