Bison Butchering

For my "lithic analysis" class, I was required to butcher a bison. I was hesitant from the start. I grew up in a 'hunting' household where Dad would bring home various dead things and mom, brother, and I would end up plucking and cooking said dead things. I guess, for me, it lost its luster when I was 5.

As my classmates cheered and boasted of their enthusiasm to get bloody I sat resigned, thinking of the poor beast that would be slaughtered just so we could "prove ourselves" as "real" archaeologists by doing something that would never need to be done in the field of archaeology. The luster diminishes even more at this point.

I then got to make my own tools (the coolest part, I think). I had 15 minutes to create a tool out of a hunk of obsidian. Having never flintknapped before I think I did a pretty good job.

The day of the butchering: we drive up an the bison's head is laying a few meters from the body, eyes all cloudy. There is blood all over the grass. I take one look at the body and decide, no thank you. I've been tortured enough in grad school already. Thankyouverymuch. As if an entire childhood of hunting shows and waking up to elk calls instead of Saturday morning cartoons wasn't enough, I'm now being asked to dismember an animal whom I may get to eat at some undisclosed date.

Not only this, but the attitudes around me are appalling. I'm glad that some people were enthusiastic. Less for me to have to do. But not having enthusiasm for something you are being required to be present for that you would never have chosen to have done in the first place is perfectly rational. I didn't want to do it. It's gross. It smelled bad. and I didn't chose this.

The appalling attitudes of which I speak are this: rude comments. "You are an archaeologist, you should be excited about this". No actually, I am excited about archaeology. I am not a Great plains or paleoindian archaeologist either. I do not like hunting, or butchering.

Don't get me wrong though, I love hunters, and I wholeheartedly believe in hunter's rights and the culture that goes along with killing and processing their own food. There is incredible value in knowing where your food comes from. And more power to the person who can be involved. I admire those folks. But they are not me. and I am no butcher or hunter. If I was told I could eat nothing that I did not kill or collect I reckon I would be eating lots of grains and small game like rabbits or maybe something as large as a turkey. (I've done birds before)

But really, I practically throw up when putting ground beef in my pan when it comes from the store. I don't like the smell of raw meat, I don't like the look of raw meat. My mother the RN scared the crap out of me about germs in food. Why the hell, does being an archaeologist mean that I MUST be excited about this?

It reminds me of grade school, when all the mean and competitive girls said that I HAD to love sports. No I don't. I hate them.

Then after having to peel the cold, clumpy fat out of the bison meat with my pretty handy hunk of obsidian, The final de-lustering blow came. "Where are you from anyway?" "California" "Oh no WONDER you can't butcher". Expletives deleted. I threw down my tools and spent the rest of the day by the fire.

I'm so sick and tired of being persecuted in Utah for my Californian heritage. I REFUSE to apologize for things that I am neither ashamed of, nor at fault for. Yes, I know that I am blonde, but I AM Native Californian, no matter how little a percentage (and by the way my white relatives are Californian too). My family comes from there and let me tell you, my people have been butchering things in CA for many generations. I am just the squeamish one... and frankly, I'm ok with that.

I think it is preposterous that I am expected to be ashamed of who I am and where I come from. Utter bullshit.