Thoughts from a Country Gent

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

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).

Friday, September 9, 2016

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?

Thursday, July 7, 2016

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.

Monday, June 27, 2016

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.

Sunday, June 26, 2016

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.