There is an account in the Old Testament about David, who became an outlaw because he lost favor with the current government. While being harassed by the king’s henchmen, he was driven to the point of near starvation as he tried to evade his pursuers. When he arrived at the Tabernacle in the course of his flight, he appropriated the shewbread, an offering on the altar that was only legal for the priests to eat. Although this was considered a mortal sin, David survived and went on to become king himself. Since that time, shewbread has become the symbol for a justified but otherwise illegal act.

During my growing-up years, my family was frequently in rather deprived circumstances. The income from a forty acre farm did not go far toward meeting the needs of a family of ten people during the depression years. We had one horse and at our best, four cows. However, one summer the weather was so dry that we couldn’t make enough hay to keep them for the winter, and we had to sell one cow with her calf for $30.00. We never recovered to the point that we had enough stock to keep things going. There would usually be one pig to butcher in the fall. The meat would be salted down in a barrel of brine. There would be a small barrel of sauerkraut made from the cabbage we raised, and a bin of potatoes in the cellar that we hoped would last until summer. Field beans were also a staple in our diet. My mother canned vegetables from the garden, and berries we picked from the briar patches in the neighborhood. In early summer we would usually get lettuce and peas from the garden, but the meat was frequently used up by that time. Frequently we would be without meat for three or more months.

Therein lies the story. I think I can safely tell it now without the risk of jail or a fine because the statute of limitations probably applies. One summer when I was in my teens, and we had been subsisting on potatoes and beans for what seemed like a long time, I provided meat for the family in an unapproved manner. It had been a long hot day, working in the hayfields for a neighbor. When evening came, we were putting things away in the barn. About four of my six younger brothers and sisters were milling about, getting in the way. I lost my temper and swatted one of them on the backside to emphasize a request. Then I was very remorseful and ashamed of such behavior, especially in front of a neighbor. He was a very close and sympathetic friend. After the work was done, he said to me, “Come on, Paul. You need to relax awhile. Take my rifle and go into the back woods and sit down awhile. You might see a deer.” Well, that is what I did after supper. There was a stretch of second growth scrub that was dotted with open spaces where former farm land was slowly returning to woods. I found a spot in front of a clump of trees that allowed a view across about a hundred yards of open meadow, and sat down. After listening to the hum of mosquitoes and other evening woods sounds for about an hour, I detected a movement off to my left. Keeping very still and quiet, I waited. The deer did not choose to come past my post. After about a half hour, as the sun sank lower, I decided to go home. When I rounded the clump of trees where I’d been sitting, there stood two deer about 100 yards away. Shaking like an aspen leaf, I slowly raised the rifle and fired one shot. I was sure that it was a miss because I was shaking so much. The deer ran, but as I walked toward were they had been, I saw only one of them looking back at me. When I got to the place where they had been, there lay an eight point buck with his horns still in the velvet.

Did you ever think about field dressing a deer with only a pocket knife? It was nearly dark when I got a rough job done, and hurried to tell my friend. With some trepidation, he came back with me and helped me carry the deer home.

My mother wasn’t at all sure that this was proper behavior, but she wasn’t going to let that meat go to waste and quickly arranged to can what we couldn’t use the next day. (We had no refrigeration.) My stepfather didn’t think that it was right to eat illegal meat. At supper the next evening we all sat down to a large platter of country fried deer steak, the first meat in months. The children and my mother helped themselves and began to eat. Finally my stepfather sighed and said, “Pass the Shewbread”.

Paul B. Campbell
1988