Wednesday, November 11, 2009

No Fox Before Lunch

I was late getting a paddle on the lake because I had been asked to bless the opening hunt of the season for a local fox hunt club. It is lots of fun, like stepping into the pages of a British novel. The tall horses, the youngsters on sturdy ponies, the hounds milling around the hunt master’s horse, the red jackets, and in the middle of it all, Pastor Fran in alb and stole, there to pray before they loose the hounds and ride out. Then the alb got tossed in our car, and Chet and I climbed on the wagon behind the tractor to follow the hunt. We bounced across pastures and under the shadow of oaks, catching sight of one distant rider and seeing one lost hound that followed us back to the starting field. There was a hearty pot luck dinner laid out. No fox was seen, but a good ride was had by all. The fox, they explained to me, gets chased, but not killed. They ride for the fun of it and to keep alive an ancient tradition.

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