Category Archives: Turkey Hunts

The Gobbler Roasts the Same

Buffalo-hide moccasins still-hunted north. Intermittent gusts dislodged snow. At the wild apple that grew on the south edge of the cedar grove, wild turkey tracks zigged and zagged in and out of the border trees. Msko-waagosh stood, his eyes unraveling … Continue reading

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“Crazy Thought Time…”

A Tad Late Tuesday Missive… Three deer matted frail grass. The largest depression rested higher up the hill than the other two—bedding not more than the night prior. “A doe and her fawns,” the hired hunter whispered, his breath drifting … Continue reading

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Maybe there…

“Urrr—ggoooo! Urrr—ggoooo!” Sandhill cranes sounded a warning, before first light, in the plowed plot behind the Waterman homestead. Damp elk moccasins whisked along the doe trail. A light drizzle pitter-patted. Tree-by-tree, footfall-by-footfall the earthen byway snaked through the young hardwoods. … Continue reading

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Delivering a Woodland Message

Darkness afforded safe passage. Slow and steady, elk moccasins still-hunted along an earthen byway. Warm fog smelled drizzly wet. Silver orbs clung to thin prairie grass. Hunt-stained buckskin leggins dashed the dew from the slender, green blades. Some droplets spattered, … Continue reading

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Careful Research Opens the Door…

Retaliation extracted a tolerated agony. Thorns poked, prodded and prickled. Mosquitoes buzzed about. The trade blanket, pulled tight as in a winter squall, offered some protection from itchy welts, but the cost was excessive heat, dripping perspiration and dehydration. In … Continue reading

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A Gobbler Dubbed “Black Bart”

Skin stung; eyes watered. The cedar bough bobbed in arrogance, celebrating its humble victory. Trail-worn elk moccasins staggered, then slowed. Thick clouds, coupled with night’s unforgiving abyss, shrouded the moon and stars. The glade demanded a heavy toll on that … Continue reading

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The Probability is Minimal

Monday, 25 April, 1763: “Ccttt…,” “To the right, by the tipped maple with emerging greenery,” Mi-ki-naak surmised. The second sharp “click” proved the first was not imaginary. The returned white captive fought the urge, did not turn, did not steal … Continue reading

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That Fine May Morn…

Bright green flesh fell. A tree frog landed on its back, splashing in the tiny puddle gathered in a cupped white oak leaf. The interloper squirmed and twitched, stretched and flexed before its left hind leg pushed it over. Rain … Continue reading

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