Grouse Season, Menu Overload, and the Sacred Exhaustion of the American Outdoorsman
There is something deeply poetic about clicking on a short column about grouse season and being greeted first by seventeen menus, three weather widgets, six social-media buttons, a Santa Fund reminder, a jobs board, a classified ads portal, and a fully operational obituary pipeline. Before you ever reach a single word about birds, woods, or quiet reflection, you must first survive the modern newspaper website—an ecosystem far more hostile than anything found north of the White Mountains. And once you make it through that digital thicket, there it is: a calm, reflective meditation on hunting fatigue. A man alone with his thoughts, his tags, his seasons, and the slow emotional deflation that follows months of earnest effort with no guarantee of success. It is understated. It is sincere. It is also accidentally hilarious when placed against the absurd scaffolding of the modern media machine that surrounds it. This is not a story about grouse. It is a story about ritual. The American N...