Crumbs

There's a new post up over at Good Light Comfortable Chair. It's been very quiet over there for a while, but the barefoot brunette librarian has deigned to show up again and at least turn on the lights in the place.  The post is The Stacks in My Study.

And by the way, when our friend Harold came in from the woods yesterday morning, he told me he saw ten deer, all does, yearlings and a couple of spikes, but he said the deer were very skittish, either because of a big buck or coyotes nearby. He expressed the thought that it was the presence of a big buck. 

"I knowed he was there, cause I saw them big tracks on the way to the hut." (Deja vu, all over again.)

When Buck came in, he reported seeing no deer at all, but did see four wild turkey hens.

Harold didn't hunt yesterday afternoon. Buck went out with a new paperback book in his pocket, but showed back up before dark. "Too hot to hunt," he said. Mosquitoes had come out in the humid evening air. The lure of air conditioning, feminine companionship, and a Manhattan cocktail, followed by a dish of collard greens, turnip roots, stone ground yellow cornbread and a cup of pot likker was too much.

This morning, early, while Buck was still dreaming, a gunshot so loud I think it came from the side yard causes me to spill the coffee beans I was about to grind. "What the hell is that?" I say, and unlock and open the door nearest to the sound. About 15 seconds later, my fillings are rattled again. I do not like it. I do not like it, at all.

The wind will fool you with distances. I know that sometimes a rifle shot two miles away will sound like it was from a gun fired right out in the clearing in front of the house. I mutter to myself, pick up the beans and brew coffee. About twenty minutes later, from the study, I hear two more loud shots, each about 20 seconds apart. I go out the front door and stand there in the damp, coolish breeze for about 5 minutes. No more shots. I don't see anything, not even a bird or a squirrel.

There are other property owners on one side. And there are poachers. Poaches are usually meat hunters. Some of them need food for their families. Others are near-criminal brutes who kill for fun and don't consider the ethics of size, age, quantity or method. The hunting season has just begun, and while I don't begrudge Harold and Buck their time in the woods,  I won't be sorry when the season ends.

One thought on “Crumbs

  1. To live in the woods is to have mixed feelings about hunting season, for sure. We are fortunate in having a great, small group of approved hunters who keep everyone else (except for hikers) the hell out.

    Like

Thanks for stopping by. What are you writing about today?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.