As I write this, hunting season has begun. Bird hunters are traipsing through the woods looking for partridge or the elusive woodcock. Young boys and girls in the 10 to 15-year-old range have already had a gorgeous Saturday to try their luck and skill in pursuit of the white-tail deer. On Nov. 1, Maine residents get their one-day jump-start on the regular firearms season, to be followed into the fields and forests on Monday by those folks from away.

Whether you are a hunter or not, fall is the season of tradition here in the state of Maine. Hunting is about so much more than stalking an animal and contributing to its demise. It's about honing skills and ability; it's about learning as much as possible about your environment, your prey's habits and habitat. It's about being responsible, being respectful of nature and your neighbors; it's about the careful management of wildlife and of providing food for your family.

I'll bet if you asked a seasoned hunter about his or her favorite hunting memory, the story told would be more about the people they were with, the conditions they encountered in the woods, and the relaxation and fun back at camp, than it would be about the moment they fired any fatal shot. In a state where we are still a lucky enough to have more wild land than we have development, hunting is a part of our heritage.

I've never been much of a hunter, though I did venture into the forest with a shotgun once or twice in my youth. It was something my parents had always done, and their parents, and their parents before them. Some members of my family used to take their guns to school and prop them in the corner of the classroom, so that they could obey their mother's wishes and bag something for supper on the way home. Of course, those are REALLY OLD members of my family, for that kind of thing certainly isn't allowed anymore!

My daughter Josie hates the idea of hunting, and claims she NEVER WILL. Josie also loves meat. Bacon, fried chicken, pot roast… you name it, Josie loves it.

My son Eli can't wait to go hunting. And Eli hates meat. Unless it comes disguised like a chicken nugget or a hot dog, Eli won't eat meat, although he might drown a bite in ketchup and gag it down if he thinks there's dessert in the offering after the meal.

And oldest son Guy… well, he's a combination of the two. He likes to hunt, but doesn't go foolish at the thought, and he'll eat meat just as easily as he'll eat a vegetable.

Go figure. Back when I was a teen, a hunter safety course was not a requirement in order to obtain a hunting license. Today, it is -—and so, I signed up Josie, Eli and myself for a course being held at the high school in Salem. Since I had to accompany Eli anyway, as he's under the age of 13, I figured I might as well pay the extra $10 and get my certificate, too.

Lord, it's been a long time since I had homework, and this class had plenty of it with which to refresh my memory! A textbook, a workbook, a magazine, three booklets, a license law book -— the stack seemed huge. Ask a landowner for permission to hunt and have them sign your permission form. Prepare a survival kit. Read a compass. Load a rifle, load a shotgun. Know the anatomy of a deer, a bear, a turkey. Learn how to field dress large game. What are the different kinds of tree stands? How do you build a fire without a match? What animals fall under federal law, and which ones come under state? Compound bow? Cross bow? What kind of powder do you use in a muzzle loader? What are the definitions of "limiting factors," "edge" and "carrying capacity?"

Of course Josie, who NEVER wants to hunt, balked at taking the class. I pointed out the fact that the course was not designed to teach a person to hunt, but designed to teach safety and survival, responsibility and respect. It is up to our family to teach her how to hunt, if she ever changes her mind. And if she chooses not to, that'll save me a lot of time, work and worry. I applaud her desire to do no animal harm.

And yet, I draw the line at hypocrisy. When we helped my brother slaughter, pluck and clean 100 broilers this spring, Josie didn't want to help. In fact, she wanted to make signs and set up a picket line out at the road. I admire her conviction, and would be content if she decided to become a vegetarian. But if she's going to eat meat, she's got no right to denigrate those who put that meat on the table. Sorry, babe—no signs, no chants. You are only 13 and someday, you'll understand the old dragon who is your loving mother.

Eli commenced to be enthused about the course, but that was before learning about the "homework aspect." He is convinced that as a sixth grader, he has enough homework without the addition of any more! And as the mom who hovers nightly, waiting for the magic words, "I'm done my homework!" I can understand where he's coming from.

And so I, the woman who knows what's best (and therefore the woman who remains least popular), am "making" them finish the hunter safety course. I don't know if Josie and Eli will hunt, or whether they will enjoy it, if they do. I don't know if they'll move to the city, or stay here, where their roots grow strong. I don't know if they'll own land, and if they do, whether or not they will post it. Those are all questions that will be answered in time.

What I do know is that my children were born and raised here in the woods of Lexington Township. Their parents were born in Maine, as well as their grandparents and great-grandparents. Their family has a legacy in these woods, a legacy that includes, but is not exclusive to, hunting. And it's my job, and occasionally my privilege, to give them the tools that will help them appreciate and respectfully utilize what they have, right outside their back door.

The definition of "edge?" I'm pretty sure it's something over which my children are constantly driving me. We'll see how well that plays on my final exam.