Acadian Kitchen Confessional

Granny's wooden spoon
A pint-sized pirogue paddle
Churns the sauce piquant
Rowing across the generations
With backs turned to the bayou

Rules for the Meat Hunter

On a bitter cold Sunday morning this past November I was blessed to harvest a young whitetail doe for the larder. In most situations, I am quick on the trigger when such an animal presents itself. My hunting philosophy is founded upon enjoyment of the outdoors and a strong preference for wild meat. Thus, when a mature animal presents itself there is little dithering when it comes to whether or not to shoot. In truth, I have probably missed out on shooting some trophy animals over the years because of my haste to put meat in the freezer. However, this gives me little pause. My family is well-fed and I am able to bring a taste of wilderness into our homes. Just this year my cousin Michael recollected a bit of advice that my Uncle Wayne had given him in his youth: “Boy, if you want to shoot a deer you’ve got about three seconds to do it when you see one.” I’m probably loosely paraphrasing there but the gist is that in high-pressure hunting environments deer often don’t stick around to be evaluated. Many a whitetail has lived to see another day because a hunter is indecisive in his actions. I am not afflicted with such a problem. In part, my wingshooting background has instilled a quasi-reflexive approach to shooting. Of course, sight alignment and trigger pull are paramount with a rifle. But, as in the defense world, good fast shots are better than slow perfect shots.

When I have an unfilled antlerless tag in my pocket, the first doe that presents itself is going into the freezer. Such was the case that Sunday when my .338 Winchester thundered across the icy prairie and a 93 lb (dressed) doe provided nourishment for the upcoming year. Thus far, the doe has made a delicious pot roast, a hearty Shooter’s Sandwich, and much-welcomed gifts for some of my friends and neighbors. When an animal provides so much value to my life, I don’t worry about shooting big bucks. Though I am far from an expert hunter, I have practiced the art long enough to learn a few lessons. I’d like to catalog them here for my personal use and for others to consider as well. I don’t pretend to be an authority, but these are worthy of contemplation for anyone who similarly enjoys wild game on the table.

RULES FOR THE MEAT HUNTER

1.       Respect the animal from the minute you see it until the minute it is plated. This ensures legal behavior, respect from others, and fine eats. The life of an animal has been taken so that yours may continue. You had better darn well act like it.

2.       Don’t pass on an animal on the first day of season that you would shoot on the last day of season. You will regret it if you don’t fill a tag. You’ll never regret having meat in the winter.

3.       Don’t hesitate. The hesitant go hungry.

4.       Hold tight behind the leg. On broadside shots no usable meat will be damaged. Shoulder shots, while effective, ruin a lot of meat. Head and neck shots are unreliable and may cause undue suffering to the animal.

5.       Use enough gun. Larger calibers offer more angles for effective shots. Heavy bullets at moderate velocities perform well and don’t lead to blood-shot meat. The .45/70, .444 Marlin, .405 Winchester, .35 Remington, .358 Winchester and other so-called “woods” calibers have remained popular for good reason.

6.       Field dress and skin post-haste. The longer the internal organs remain in the body and the longer the skin remains on the carcass, the higher chance of spoilage.

7.       Butcher your own game. You’ll save money, control what you end up with, and ensure that everything is done correctly.  Better yet, you’ll learn a useful skill and take pride in your work.

8.       Keep and maintain a stable of knives. You’ll need them for gutting the animal, skinning, and butchery. Do some research and understand what blade profile is needed for each task.

9.       Learn to sharpen your own knives. A dull knife is not only ineffective, but dangerous.

10.   Hunt small game. Rifle season for deer often lasts no more than two weeks in many states. Hunting small game keeps your skills keen, offers a diversity of meat, and provides you with an opportunity to learn the land.

11.   Buy a gambrel and pulley. An elevated carcass is easier to inspect and process. Better yet, you’ll be able to hoist the animal out of reach of other predators which would gladly take it off of your hands.

12.   Age your meat. In cold weather (under 40-45 F daily high) you can hang an animal from days to weeks. This tenderizes the final product and improves the flavor.

13.   Share with others. Wild game is a truly exceptional gift. People will look upon you as a provider and will relish the delicacies that you share. However, wild game meat is not a commodity to be sold for both ethical and legal reasons.

14.   Become a wild game chef. It doesn’t take much to develop a repertoire of techniques and recipes that will delight the palate. Explore the historical literature and current trends. Even something as simple as cooking the perfect venison steak or duck breast in a cast iron skillet will wow your diners.

15.   Convert the non-believers. Many people think of wild game with disdain. It is the greatest of victories to convince them otherwise. Feeding 12 skeptical people Brunswick Stew made with squirrel was one of the highlights of 2016 for me.

16.   Go outside your comfort zone. In many animals, heart and liver are excellent fare. Likewise, non-traditional recipes may surprise you. I made a mincemeat pie from a practically medieval recipe that left me hungering for more this year.

17.   Think beyond burger. Many hunters gladly grind most of their harvest. There is nothing wrong with that, but whole muscle cuts offer better texture, less chance for contamination, and more culinary preparations.

18.   Be an advocate. Many people oppose hunting. Do your best to represent the way of life well, to conserve the resources, and to share your knowledge.

19.   Learn your herbs and spices. It is amazing what a dash of this and a dash of that can do to a cut. I personally adore freshly ground black pepper, rosemary, and juniper berries.

20.   Don’t get greedy. Wildlife are limited, though renewable resources. Big game hunting often becomes a bragging game and we should avoid that at all costs.

November Was Always the Best

Every day spent in the November woods is a gift. This is the essential truth of hunting in North America. Through most of the continent, November is the fullest realization of our sporting hopes and dreams. The whitetail rut comes on during this time and the tremble-inducing buck of a lifetime makes the rare decision to expose himself to mere mortals like myself. The fall migration of waterfowl also begins in earnest during this season and those endless V’s of Canada geese trumpet their way through the moonlit sky. Squirrels, sensing the imminent onslaught of winter, scurry hastily to put up the required store. There is no finer time to be alive. Robert Ruark, a man of inestimable literary talents far surpassing the humble sentiments that I jot down, put it succinctly with a chapter title in The Old Man and the Boy: November was Always the Best.

In Ruark’s exchange between the Old Man and the Boy, the Old man favors November because it reminds him of himself: slightly aged, but sensible enough, experienced, and not quite at the end of his rope. The Boy has more pragmatic sentiments about November:

“What’s your idea of November?”, he asked, his eyes half-closed. I wanted to tell him that it was mostly the opening of bird season, the Thanksgiving holidays, the persimmons wrinkled and ripe on the trees, when the weather was real nice, and it was hog-killing time in the country, and the punkins  looked yellow and jolly in the fields, and the sun set good and red, and a lot of other things; but I couldn’t manage to squeeze it all out because I had no way with words.   

Like the Boy, I can muster no better justification than to say it is the best because it is the season of the hunter. Yet, the profundity of November is much deeper than that. If I might, let me offer you a brief story about how November began for me this year.

Saturday, 5 November 2016. My wife was away to a distant friend’s baby shower and that left me alone at home with nothing but my own inclinations. If you have known me for any amount of time, you might guess these inclinations would involve boot-leather and a shotgun. You would be right. I splurged for breakfast, knowing that I would make a day of rambling, and anxiously waited in line for a Chick-fil-A spicy chicken biscuit. This is the proper way to start any adventure. I then buzzed over to a local public hunting area where I had been so many times before. Yet, I was disappointed to find that a truck was parked in the lot when I arrived. Undeterred, I decided to check a large oak where I had found a Hen of the Woods mushroom a few weeks past. Since I knew where the other hunter’s stand was (and his salt piles—tsk tsk!) I knew that the path to the oak would prevent any confrontations.

The tree had previously produced a 3 lb 11 oz hen. These mushrooms (Grifola frondosa) are the ultimate fungal delicacy. Thus, I was overjoyed to find not one—not two—but three hens on the same tree! I harvested the larger two and left the third to propagate more of the enticing gray-brown pored clusters. Another hour of hiking was essentially fruitless. I found neither mushroom nor quarry and decided to relocate.

A few miles down the road I had returned to a spot not visited since fall of 2015. Like the first location, I knew there were large oaks abounding on the property. Yet, despite the prime hen habitat I did not find a single tree that was dying or injured. This is essential for hen flushes. Disappointingly, I also noted the particular absence of game of any kind. Other than a few crows I had seen no animal activity. At this point, I had been walking for about three hours and had covered some serious ground. I stopped near the bend of a creekbed and rested on the grassy bank above. It was here that I decided to lay out my gear for some glamour shots. If I didn’t harvest any game at least I could look cool!

I watched small fishes surface in the creek for 20 minutes or more and then recalled that a green, grassy field border had held turkeys the year before. So, I once again grabbed my trusty 870 and made my way across the remaining soybean stubble. This was going to be my last hoorah before returning home for a nice cup of black tea. Little did I know that I minute I stepped upon the grassy veranda I would begin to hear footfalls in the timber to my right. I immediately went prone into the grass and listened. The sound very well could have been a squirrel, scuttling around in the carpet of oak leaves. But, there was a heaviness and a cadence to the shuffling that suggested something else. I fished a diaphragm call from the front pocket of my red-green Christmas flannel shirt and made three soft yelps: yawp, yawp, yawp. This was met by more leaf shuffling and then a calculated reply: yawp, yawp.

I couldn’t believe it. The perfect scenario, incalculably rare, had presented itself. I retreated ten yards back to the welcoming arms of an oversized cedar and wedged myself tight against the base. Yawp, yawp, yawp. This series of yelps was answered by not one bird, but many—I had stumbled onto an entire flock. We made small talk for five minutes or so when the sound of footsteps started to fade. This was a bad omen. Was the bird simply uninterested or had a made a calling error? I promised to slow my pace. Two minutes later I called again and the woods came alive with yelping to my right and purring from my left. I was surrounded by turkeys! The bird to my left sounded very close but despite my straining I just could not make it out. I yelped once more and saw a group of birds break cover on my right and enter into the green field. I clicked off my 12 gauge’s safety and began to mount the gun when I glanced left and saw that the lone bird had entered the field too.

My mental triage didn’t take long. The bird to the left was bulkier, full-plumaged, and appeared to be more mature. I could not discern any jakes or toms to the right and they all appeared to be smaller-bodied. I aligned the rifle-sights on my cylinder-bored barrel and let loose with 1 5/8 oz of No. 5 shot. The result was instantaneous and the bird was immediately grounded some 30 yards away.

All of sudden, my legs didn’t hurt and my lips didn’t feel quite as dry as they had. I leaped to the bird, made a quick coupe de grace, and rejoiced in knowing exactly what I was going to have for Thanksgiving dinner: roast eastern turkey with wild mushroom dressing! November was always the best.

Franklin's 13 Virtues: Timeless Wisdom Rediscovered

When we think about historical figures that were wise, there are a number of standouts. However, if we restrict this to only Americans, one man stands apart. Benjamin Franklin was a man of wit and common-sense. He remains the archetype of the Renaissance Man, someone multi-talented and multi-faceted.  His annual publication, Poor Richard’s Almanack served as a wealth of wisdom for 25 years, starting in 1732.

If much of Franklin’s wisdom sounds familiar, it is because it has permeated American society. In examining Franklin’s writings (especially the 13 Virtues elucidated in his biography) we find that his wisdom is based on scripture.  Franklin’s virtues, as writ, are God’s virtues. This doesn’t discredit Franklin in any way, but rather serves to lend credence to his claims. Christians know that God is the source of wisdom (Proverbs 2:6) and that all scripture has a purpose related to our education (II Timothy 3:16). Knowing this, we can place our faith in the value of the Word. This also gives us a fuller appreciation of Franklin’s virtues, included below with appropriate references to scripture:

1. Temperance. Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation.

Scriptural basis – Proverbs 23:20-21
 Be not among winebibbers; among riotous eaters of flesh: For the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty: and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags

2. Silence. Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.

Scriptural Basis – Proverbs 10:19

In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin: but he that refraineth his lips is wise.

3. Order. Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.

Scriptural Basis – I Corinthians 14:33

For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace, as in all churches of the saints.

4. Resolution. Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve.

Scriptural Basis – I Corinthians 15:58

Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.

5. Frugality. Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing.

Scriptural Basis – John 6:11-12

And Jesus took the loaves; and when he had given thanks, he distributed to the disciples, and the disciples to them that were set down; and likewise of the fishes as much as they would. When they were filled, he said unto his disciples, Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost.

6. Industry. Lose no time; be always employ'd in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.

Scriptural Basis – Colossians 3:23-24

And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; Knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.

7. Sincerity. Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly.

Scriptural Basis – Philippians 4:8
Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

8. Justice. Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty.

Scriptural Basis – Leviticus 25:17

Ye shall not therefore oppress one another; but thou shalt fear thy God: for I am the Lord your God.


9. Moderation. Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.

Scriptural Basis – I Corinthians 6:12
All things are lawful unto me, but all things are not expedient: all things are lawful for me, but I will not be brought under the power of any.

10. Cleanliness. Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, cloaths, or habitation.

Scriptural Basis – Leviticus 15 (Entire Chapter)

11. Tranquillity. Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.

Scriptural Basis – John 14:1-2

Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.

12. Chastity. Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation.

Scriptural Basis – I Corinthians 6:18
Flee fornication. Every sin that a man doeth is without the body; but he that committeth fornication sinneth against his own body.

13. Humility. Imitate Jesus and Socrates.

Scriptural Basis – Ephesians 5:1-2
Be ye therefore followers of God, as dear children; And walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweetsmelling savour.

A Brand Plucked from the Fire

While camping last weekend I sat next to this towering fire and listened to a pack of not-so-distant coyotes wail in the stillness. Since this was a hunting trip I was heeled the whole time, but I nonetheless thought about how our ancestors would have dealt with coyotes—or larger canids—during a tense nighttime encounter. No doubt they wouldn’t have had the benefit of the glossy .44 revolver that I had strapped to my chest. No, I decided that they would have plucked a brand from the fire. In that moment I imagined it all as clear as day: man, tense with fear, wielding a flickering, smoldering haft of cottonwood against the moonlit sky.  Then, it struck me. Why did I immediately go to those words? Plucked a brand from the fire.

I brought this up to my hunting partner and remarked on the curiousness of how certain phrases from literature permanently burn themselves into our subconscious. I couldn’t recall where I had read plucked a brand from the fire, but I knew that it was poetic, evocative, and meaningful. He was loosely familiar with the phrase and managed to trace it to a verse of scripture:

Zechariah 3:2-3

And he shewed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the Lord, and Satan standing at his right hand to resist him.

And the Lord said unto Satan, The Lord rebuke thee, O Satan; even the Lord that hath chosen Jerusalem rebuke thee: is not this a brand plucked out of the fire?

It was at that point that I knew that this was more than a mere poetic phrase excerpted from some bygone piece of literature, but rather a piece of the prophetic vision given to Zechariah and recorded somewhere between 520 – 518 B.C. Zechariah had several such prophetic visions and used these gifts to encourage the people of Israel to reinstate the priesthood and its traditions abandoned for over 70 years. Perhaps more relevant to us today, Zechariah also foretold the coming of, life of, crucifixion of, and return of the Messiah, Jesus Christ.

This is particularly apropos because just as Joshua was a brand plucked from the fire (i.e. a man saved from damnation by God and chosen for a purpose), today’s Christians share the same status. Jesus saved us from sin (Ephesians 2), prevented us from suffering eternal damnation in hellfire (Revelation 20:15), and allowed God’s purpose to be worked in us (Philippians 2:13). Even if we view our lives as failures or inevitably doomed because of our previous sins, the reality is that the acceptance of Jesus Christ as your Savior is tantamount to literally being pulled from an all-consuming fire.

Just as Jesus overcame the grave (snatching victory from the jaws of death), He also overcame our deaths by his sacrifice. Let me be the first to tell you, I was a brand plucked from the fire. If you are not, you can be too. Nothing that you have done in your life is too much for Jesus to overcome (I Corinthians 15).

An Earth-Shattering Dove Hunt

Dove hunters afield in Oklahoma during the season’s opening weekend got more than they bargained for—

Few hunting experiences can match the frantic fervor of wingshooting mourning dove on opening weekend. The sportsman goes from composed to desperately shoving shells into an empty gun in just a matter of seconds. On a good day, this continues until the bag is filled and it is time to gather around the tailgate to pluck birds. Such was the case this year as I welcomed the coming of fall with the celebratory dove hunt with my parents.

In typical fashion we hunted a small combined cornfield where the doves would feed in the morning and early evening. Early season scouting had revealed a good number of doves loafing on the power-lines adjacent to the field and the county road. These doves would fly down to the field to feed and to drink from the small pond on the premises. It was the perfect setup. When we arrived early on Saturday, September 3^rd 2016 it was plain that the day would be bountiful. Barely had the sun risen when the birds started filtering into the field. I situated myself against a large oak that stood stalwart as the only major tree in the field. Fortunately, the tree was also positioned by the property’s watering hole. The birds were buzzing by and my dad had already taken a brace by 7:02 A.M. It was at this point that I looked over my shoulder to see his shotgunnery when I noted a pair of doves on the power-lines spanning the uncut corn. While watching these birds perch mockingly, I was suddenly made aware of the rumble of a distant locomotive.

This was peculiar. Although I often heard trains passing through the nearest town in dead quiet nights I had never noted the sound during the day. What sounded initially like a coal engine was quickly identified once my oak tree backdrop began creaking and my stool suddenly felt unstable. An earthquake! The event had me partially dumbstruck. I could hear my dad yelling in increasing tenor from across the field. “Can you feel it? Can you feel it!?” as the  earth pitched and rolled like a galley on dangerous seas. Though there was no real danger (at least not for us), the experience was quite disconcerting. What struck me most, though, was the little pond. Although I was unable to put together the facts of the situation at the time, the earthquake was causing some minor phenomena in the water.  Glancing at its surface I was puzzled to see a steady stream of bubbles gurgling up to the top. Near the center there was a 2 ft. diameter circle where the disturbance was marked.

The whole shaking episode seemed to last at least two minutes. Yet, who can trust their own perception in a time like that? I didn’t keep track of time but it was definitely one of the longest earthquakes that I have felt and there have been a lot of them in Oklahoma in recent years. We finished out the hunt without further drama. Despite my lack of practice, I managed to down and recover 13 birds. This was a great opportunity to try out a recipe that I had been eyeing, Doves a la Mancha. I got plenty of odd looks at home when I insisted that we fully pluck the birds instead of just removing the breasts. However, once I grilled them per Chef Hank Shaw’s recommendation, those reservations completely disappeared. Our family now agrees that Doves a la Mancha is the go-to recipe whenever we harvest a member of the Columbidae family.

Although all dove openers are memorable, this year’s story stands out. The mental Polaroids of perfect shots and the taste of fine dishes will fade. Can we say the same about the earthquakes? As sportsmen-conservationists (those two are inseparable) we are called to be stewards of the land. Each one of us knows that we should pick up our shotshells, to abide the law, and to protect the landscapes that provide us with cherished recreation and sustenance. Yet, it seems like many of us are all-too-willing to disavow the accepted science and insist that potentially dangerous wastewater disposal practices are continued. In Oklahoma, the petroleum industry is the economy. Sure, we have a strong and respected tradition of agriculture. Yet, the threshold for entry into agricultural practices gets higher every year. Folks that can’t afford arable acreages and expensive farm equipment become agricultural laborers (for low pay) or they go to the oil field (for increasingly low pay).

What we don’t do is bite the hand that feeds us.  The petroleum industry in Oklahoma puts food on the table and is undoubtedly a major political powerhouse. How then, do we promote environmental stewardship and public safety? More bluntly, how do end the fracking earthquakes (as one of my old emergency management professors calls them)? The first step has to be education. Oklahomans are intrinsically skeptical of regulation. They will not abide restrictions on wastewater injection any more than they would abide restrictions on firearms ownership.  Yet, wastewater injection wells will not be voluntarily relinquished. The only way for any regulation to be viable is for it to be sufficiently limited in scope (i.e. limitation of injection well depth, not a blanket ban) and for its value to be understood by the public.

 

In order such changes to be publically viable the issue has to be salient. Given that the September 3^rd 2016 Pawnee earthquake was the largest in recorded history in Oklahoma (5.8 MM) then it is likely that the issue is salient. This salience creates a policy window or mitigation window when the public is willing to accept change. This means that policymakers have to act rapidly to involve stakeholders, communicate messages, and garner support. Otherwise, they may have to wait until the next man-made earthquake strikes Oklahoma. How large will that one be?

An Encounter with Cantharellus

The ills of social media are far too numerous to list. We over-share, under-communicate, and generally forget that the nodes that we interact with are in fact humans. I’m as guilty as the next person when it comes to being fiercely opinionated and I have to watch myself that I don’t needlessly offend those that I maintain e-relationships with. Yet, despite the fact that social media is the great time-waster of our age, there are substantial benefits to having an account.

Over the past year I have increasingly dedicated my spare time to deepening my knowledge regarding the Fungi Kingdom. Naturally, this has led me to join numerous Facebook groups focused on the identification, gathering, and in many cases eating of fungi. The states that I frequent all have their respective forums where mycophiles share, discuss, and argue about their finds. These include: The Kaw Valley Mycological Society, The Missouri Mycological Society, and Oklahoma Mushroom Enthusiasts. There is even an Oklahoma group especially dedicated to morels! I find myself visiting these group weekly. This provides the opportunity to not only grow as a budding amateur mycologist, but also to get a feel for the emerging of choice edibles. When I can’t get out to see what fungal personalities are thriving in my local woods, I can always consult one of these resources and instantly obtain a fair survey of what exactly is thriving in the current season. It is a wonderful tool. In fact, properly approached, this trove of information could probably give a very reliable picture of the seasonality of select mushrooms throughout the region.

Last week I spent entirely too much time poring over the Missouri Mycological Society’s page. Glued to the screen, I note that prodigious amounts of stunning golden chanterelles* were being harvested after a recent rainfall—the very same storm system that had drenched my own parcel of God’s green earth. Inspired, I eagerly asked for information about the habitats, tendencies and peculiarities of these beautiful, trumpet-shaped fungi. As it turns out, hillsides near bodies of water in forested areas were being productive. The very same day I took this bit of intelligence and drove to the area that I had decided was most promising.

The generous rains meant that the heat index had soared throughout the day, reaching 113 F at its peak. Even at 7 P.M., the temperature exceeded 93 F and the humidity in the bottomland was absolutely unbelievable. The dead still of the depression was only disrupted by the near-constant buzzing of hundreds of pairs of wings: a veritable Luftwaffe of mosquitoes. Knowing this, I quickly made a series of deadly-serious, half-breathing ablutions with a can of Deep Woods OFF! before venturing from my truck. Little use! Dissuasion was beyond the grasping of the cloud of Culex as I constantly waved my walking staff to ward off those who dove too close to my unshielded ears. On the upside, the constant harassment forced me not to linger in the widespread patches of hip-high poison ivy. Unfortunately, the same constant motion denies the forager the opportunity to carefully scrutinize the ground (for chanterelles) and the trees (for Chicken of the Woods). Thus, I beat feet to the creek crossing where I had a week before found a cluster of dried Wood Ear. The gambit paid handsomely; the Wood Ear were regenerated by the rains and I was able to cut a double-handful from a downed tree just off the creek bed.

Looking up the ridgeline I noticed a very large tree that had been downed by heavy winds. I cut a vector for this tree (ideal mushroom habitat) when I caught movement in the canopy above. Just 40 yards away, a mature gray squirrel bounded from branch-to-branch. By keeping the larger trees between us I was able to close the distance to 20 yards and just as the squirrel paused on an adjacent limb I brought my .22 LR target pistol to bear. One hasty shot sent the squirrel tumbling through the layers of vegetation and I knew that wild game would be in the larder this week. After recovering the squirrel I cut westward across the ridgeline and practically stumbled on a cluster of shining goldenrod fungi. Could it be? I had in fact found my first chanterelles! The find was bittersweet. The only two specimens large enough to pick were plainly riddled with insects. The remainder were too small and I feared that the forecasted days of dry heat meant that they would not have the opportunity to mature. Nonetheless, I had accomplished my mission.

The trudge back to the truck was less rewarding. The heat and humidity had really begun to take their toll. I swatted mosquitoes and cleared spiderwebs the entire way back. Upon arriving at the parking lot I promptly dropped by pack and began guzzling a giant Nalgene bottle of water. I was on the verge of heat exhaustion, having walked at least a half-mile through unforgiving country in the lamentable conditions of July. I felt the tickle of spiderwebs on the nape of my neck and itched the bites on my arms. Laying out my trophies for examination, I also noted that I had collected a very large Brown Recluse on my backpack. In my stupor, I wandered round the gravel parking lot, sipping water. Having meandered about 15 ft from my truck I noticed something interesting in the grass perimeter and parted the ground-cover to reveal not one but three more chanterelles! I could not believe it. Prophetically, I had written about finding morels in bar ditches back in 2015. No doubt this was a testament to the unpredictability of fungi! I also took it as a blessing.

The next day I was determined to cook a meal befitting of both the squirrel and chanterelles. My browsing stopped when I reached a recipe for Swabian “Pockets” (Schwabishe Maultaschen) in Mimi Sheraton’s The German Cookbook. These pockets were really little dumplings filled with minced meat, grated onion, spinach, eggs, and breadcrumbs—and flavored with classic German spices like nutmeg and allspice. I’ll be honest, I had never made this sort of dumplings before. I broke out the KitchenAid and proceeded to coat our kitchen with a fine layer of all-purpose flour. The dough actually did work though—I cut out 3” scalloped rounds and stuffed them with a mixture of minced squirrel meat (that had been parboiled in chicken stock), spinach, grated onion, rehydrated wild oyster mushrooms* and the fresh chanterelles. I then cooked these dumplings in the reserved stock and mushroom broth with juniper berries, black pepper, and more allspice. Despite my complete absence of dumpling-making skills, the result was sublime. I’d love to share the recipe with you but the fact is that I don’t have one. I eyeball a lot of my ingredients while cooking and this dish was no different. If you want to approximate it, pick up a copy of The German Cookbook.

*The chanterelles that I found belong to the Cantharellus cibarius clade, but this nomenclature is no longer accepted for all of the golden chanterelles in the United States. Rather, Cantharellus cibarius is likely only found in Europe and the U.S. has several closely related species.

*The oyster mushrooms were Pleurotus ostreatus, or the Fall Oyster.

Wild Beers and the Evolution of Religion

Today I was reading in Hank Shaw’s always entertaining Hunt Gather Cook Facebook group and came across a post where Hank himself described his wild homebrew saison wort as the wee yeasties. Now, if there is a more Scottish description of the requisite organisms for fermentation I dinnae ken what that would be. As such, I had to compose a short poem there on the spot:

Wee Yeasty Beasties
Fermenting a' tha day
Serenaded by the Pibroch
While the leal folk
Think on their deadly thirst
And labor on the hay

It is pretty evocative for such a short and unpolished piece. So much so, that I was brought back to the imagery of the hayfield. Now, I’m not talking about the Oklahoma hayfield where the sun crisps you like a pork rind, but rather those romantic hayfields captured in so much fine artwork. What, you don’t believe me? Have a look for yourself. The depictions of country life don’t fall short on the harsh reality of agricultural employment, but they do soften the edges. I wouldn’t mind working in many of those fields, given that it was September or October and I could quit after about 30 minutes.

Though not Scottish, Ralph McTell’s The Girl from the Hiring Fair is also appropriate here. It is a work of poetry itself: enchanting, pastoral, and evocative of those blessed summer nights when the back-breaking labor is done and there is time for the craic. McTell’s word-smithing is genius throughout the song, but to me it is at its finest here:

And I swung harder with my scythe, few words between us passed,
And I cursed my tongue-tied youthfulness and I hoped that she'd hear my heart.

Luckily for McTell’s strapping mower, his subdued romantic inclinations do not go unnoticed.

She was safely gathered in my arms when from the barn
Drifted the sound of a violin and we hurried back to the farm,
And all were dancing in the lantern light and music filled the air,
And I thanked my stars for the harvest moon and the girl from the hiring fair.

Here we have the full circle. The laborer’s toils end with dancing and most certainly (though implicitly) a celebratory brew. It seems unimportant, but that act was been repeated through generation-upon-generation. So much in fact, that alcoholic beverages and the grains that they were made from (embodied by Robert Burns’ John Barleycorn) became central elements in the rituals of numerous religions as symbols of life and fertility. In his master-work, The Golden Bough, Sir James Frazier documents the widespread worship various of deities (Virbius, Jupiter, Dianus, Janus, Adonis, Attis, Osiris, Dionysus, Bacchus, Persephone) as the embodiment of agricultural fertility. Oversimplified, The Golden Bough connects the founding of nearly all world religions to three basic functions: (1) ensure that the vegetation and crops regrow every year, (2) ensure that the livestock multiplies, and (3) ensure that the rains fall.

That’s something heady to think about the next time you enjoy your favorite craft brew. Perhaps you’ll even decide to try your hand seeing what magic lies in the plants, yeasts, and world around us.

Mid-Year Goal Status

Remember my post 10 Outdoor Goals for Simple, Fulfilled Living in 2016? Time for an update!

• Pick a wild fruit and make something homemade out of it: a jam, jelly, pie, syrup, or liqueur. DONE! Check out this amazing Blackberry Liqueur starter kit and the final product mixed with some sweet tea.

• Gather and leach enough acorns to eat, whether they be as acorn flour or simply roasted. NOT DONE. Check back this fall.

• Shoot my longbow more and make it a point to spend more time with my wife in archery. PARTIALLY DONE. We've been out shooting a few times, but not really enough to satisfy this.

• Add two more species of fish to my catalog of species caught on the tenkara rod. PARTIALLY DONE. I have one new species added to the list: Channel Catfish. It was a good one too! My sweetie also caught a Warmouth, but that doesn't count for this purpose.
  
  
  

• Improve my butchery skills and teach someone else the dying art. PARTIALLY DONE. Although I haven't taught anyone butchery at this point, I have been perfecting my fish cleaning. I was really poor at it before, but am getting better. I even filleted this Smallmouth Buffalo before learning about Haff Disease. Sadly I relegated him to the garden.

• Visit a National Park or National Wildlife Refuge and celebrate such a unique American gift. DONE! We had a great time exploring Hot Springs National Park on our annual vacation.

• Cook a wild game meal outdoors using cast iron. NOT DONE. I'll tackle this one when it cools off. Hopefully I'll get to do it during the Small Game Road-Trip I'm planning.

• Journal a vivid description of an outdoor scene with deep appreciation (like John Muir). DONE!

• Change someone’s mind regarding the culinary value of small game or waterfowl. DONE! This one has been my absolute favorite. I spent 6.5 hours cooking a giant pot of Squirrel Brunswick Stew a couple weeks ago and fed 10 people with it. No complaints and a lot of empty bowls. Best of all, my sweetheart ate squirrel for the first time!
  
  
  

• Locate and harvest a bounty of Sulfur Shelf Mushrooms (Laetiporus sulphureus). NOT DONE. Sadly, I haven't been able to find any of these Chicken of the Woods. It isn't for trying. I did however, manage to find Morels, Oysters, and Wood Ear this spring. We ate the Wood Ears for the first time ever and despite the bland flavor, there were a great texture addition to stir fry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

The Perils and Pleasures of Leaving the Rod Behind

What started out as an ill-fated squirrel hunt ended up with me reclining on a lake shore, journaling and writing poetry. I was perturbed that I did not throw my rod in the truck before I left. Yet, after a while sitting under the shade of a huge cottonwood I appreciated the opportunity to just exist. Nonetheless, I will be returning with fish on my mind sometime in the near future. That's the wonderful thing about exploring--your discoveries are always able to be revisited (whether physically or through reminiscence). I'm not actually sure how long I spent at that spot (several hours?) but it was enjoyable. Included below are snapshots from today and a short poem composed on virgin ground.

Tenkara

Deer hair snowflake
Drifting down
Amidst the dancing cottonwood seeds
An infant's kiss (From Heaven: テンカラ)
Upon the water

One gyration
One frantic twitch
An inky shadow
Menacing, imposing
Drags the charlatan beneath the olive plain

Then pandemonium
Predator now prey
Two hunters
Connected by tapered braid
Two worlds apart

Upon Reviving the Spirit, Ouachita Mountains, April 10th 2016

Lobed leaves like mittens¹

Impart imprudent incense

I shudder, deer-like

Never before a pilgrim

Yet here I am Sainte Terrer²

Grasping fennel wood³

I heave earth up to daylight

Balm of Winding Stair⁴

Tea steeping in the Ouachitas

Lord, where do I go from here?
 

10 Outdoor Goals for Simple, Fulfilled Living in 2016

An Excellent Bluegill Caught on a Tenkara Rod

Back in 2013 I jotted down a quick list of outdoor goals for the season. Typically, I am not a goal-oriented person. This may make me sound like an underachiever but that is quite untrue. Rather, I prefer to be open-minded and to capitalize on opportunities as they develop. Now, this doesn’t mean that I don’t have a general sense of direction—just that my daily task focus becomes a burden when it is wedded to long-term goals. However, the outdoor goals of 2013 proved a joy rather than a burden. With them I pushed past my recreational comfort zone and explored the novel, the eccentric, and the off-color.

10"+ Oyster Mushrooms Found in Late December

I’d like to revisit this process in 2016. Despite not having these goals set for 2015, it too was a year of exploration. Primarily, I dedicated most of fishing time to the Japanese tenkara style of fly-fishing. In addition, I spent less time single-mindedly pursuing game and more time smelling the flowers..errr….mushrooms. Between tenkara (which is done without the use of a reel) and mushroom gathering I found myself learning more and dealing with less frustration. In both of these pastimes I realized that their intrinsic simplicity was a reward in and of itself. While my current residence doesn’t allow me to heft trophy largemouths, it does allow me to stalk city parks with teeny pheasant tail nymphs for bluegill. Likewise, my freezer may not always be full of big game—but it does have a few Hen of the Woods (Grifola frondosa), Oysters Mushrooms (Pleurotus ostreatus), and squirrels tucked away. Isn’t that a more Transcendentalist approach? Thoreau goes so far as to say this: “As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness.”

Hen of the Woods Hides So Well You Could Easily Walk Past It

Thus, in the spirit of simplicity I propose the following humble goals for 2016:

• Pick a wild fruit and make something homemade out of it: a jam, jelly, pie, syrup, or liqueur.

Sand Plums Make the Best Jelly on Earth

• Gather and leach enough acorns to eat, whether they be as acorn flour or simply roasted.

• Shoot my longbow more and make it a point to spend more time with my wife in archery.

• Add two more species of fish to my catalog of species caught on the tenkara rod.

Golden Shiners Aren't Your Typical Fly-Fishing Quarry

• Improve my butchery skills and teach someone else the dying art.

• Visit a National Park or National Wildlife Refuge and celebrate such a unique American gift.

Home to Selenite Crystals, Verdant Marshes, and All Manner of Birds 

• Cook a wild game meal outdoors using cast iron.

• Journal a vivid description of an outdoor scene with deep appreciation (like John Muir).

• Change someone’s mind regarding the culinary value of small game or waterfowl.

• Locate and harvest a bounty of Sulfur Shelf Mushrooms (Laetiporus sulphureus).