I’ve come up with a sexy corollary: the sexier the energy going in, the sexier the energy coming out.
I had this epiphany when my man and I were processing an elk and I was up to my elbows in blood-red burger meat.
Elk meat is sexy.
There are the obvious reasons. It’s lean, wild, free-range, and free of pesticides and hormones.
But consider this: Hunting season is in the fall, during the rut, the time of year when bull elk are fired up to mate. They bugle and snort and throw their racks around challenging other bulls to a duel to see who gets to impregnate an awaiting herd of cow elk in estrous.
That’s a lot of primal sexual energy simmering in our elk fajitas.
If you are what you eat, and we eat a lot of elk meat, it’s no wonder I write erotica. It’s no wonder my man and I crave wildness and felt claustrophobic living in a close-quarters neighborhood in Northeast Oregon.
Our lives suddenly make sense! This past year, we’ve often questioned why we we’ve been so compelled to leave sweet Oregon and my man’s job with a steady paycheck and benefits.
It’s the elk.
And gratefully, the freezer is full again.
As I made my final exit from Northeast Oregon last week, plums and peaches were hanging ripe and luscious from the trees. All you gardeners, fisherman, berry collectors, farmer’s market aficionados… tell me about your sexy harvest.