Children, Youth and Environments 15(1), 2005 Death in the Hills Peter H. Kahn, Jr. University of Washington Citation: Kahn, Jr., Peter H. (2005). “Death in the Hills.” Children, Youth and Environments 15(1): 354-357. I relax on a sandy spot by the river’s edge. I feel the paleness of the afternoon August light. I swim gently in the pools. Yet my mind complicates as I wonder, how is it possible to unite life with death when we experience the former but only see evidence of the latter? We see people die of old age, cancer, AIDS, in battle, through suicide, people we love, people we don’t know. How many people die each year? We have squashed bugs as kids, and still slap mosquitoes as adults. Most of us eat dead meat: fish, chicken, cow, pig. Slaughterhouses hide the hideous images. Cows strung by their hind feet, throats slit, bled to death. Hannah Arendt concludes her 1958 treatise The Human Condition by saying that there’s life, affirm it. A simple line of thought after many hundreds of pages of notso -simple ideas. In Freud’s early theorizing, there was the sexual instinct, and aggression was subsumed under that. In his middle period, aggression stood alongside of sexuality as the dominant instincts in man. In his third period, sexuality was viewed as derivative of a life instinct, and aggression derivative of a death instinct. Life and Death. After more than 50 years of theorizing, it got simple for Freud, too. **************** I’m slowly reclaiming my shed after a winter’s absence. I built it around a decade ago, a small pole structure with a hefty workbench and many shelves. Early this summer, as I was picking up a gas can on the perimeter of the shed, I noticed yellow jackets flying around me. Then I was stung on my right hand. I got out fast. I saw a swarm around the spot where I had been. I had apparently stepped on the entrance to a ground nest underneath the oak round on which I stored the gas can. I don’t do so good with stings. This one swelled up my hand, wrist, and arm about half again the size of the original. The swelling eased a bit by the fourth day, which saw me back at the shed before sunrise fortified with a hornet-killing spray. With my foot I knocked over the oak round, took three steps back, and sprayed their nest fast and long. Yellow jackets kept moving and I kept spraying. I went Death in the Hills 356 through a lot of poison; my arm must have still been aching from that sting. Later my 11-year daughter Zoe and I inspected the nest. It was about a foot deep, filled with larvae and dead yellow jackets. A few days later I used fire tongs to pick up a can that was filled with another nest, and I dunked it quick into a bucket of water and let it rest like that for a day. Dead wasps floated to the surface. I could now be in the shed without immediate danger of being stung. Next up was to do something about the mess that the rats have been making. So yesterday afternoon I set a rat trap on the workbench in my shed. Set it with a peanut. This morning there was one dead rat. I let it go nearby. Just looked at it this afternoon. About a dozen wasps are gnawing at the dead rat’s eyeballs and nostrils. Not the prettiest sight. But what is pretty? Is pretty only associated with life? Ugly associated with death? Or is that the dichotomy that sets life apart from death, and so situates it apart from the whole, fragmented, where fear can work? Next morning, the rat is gone. It was there in the moonlight the night before. **************** My wife Batya, daughter, and I share this land with 12 other families, and we live here when we can, which is usually during the summer months and sometimes longer. It’s 670 acres of meadows and forests in Northern California, off the grid, an hour...