Crushed Soda Cans Slip By…

Black powder overflowed a brass charger. The precious granules trickled down the Northwest gun’s muzzle. Wadding squeaked, resisted, then seated firm with a hickory wiping stick. Lead shot rattled to the breech, secured with thinner wadding, tamped tight. The fowl cackled again. “Kort-kok,” it called, loud and strong, walking closer. Drying prairie grass with a… Continue reading Crushed Soda Cans Slip By…

Not Much Changes…

Muffled wing beats rumbled. A reddish-brown blur rose in the grey soup of morning vapor. The fowl dropped into a thick patch of sedge grass, thirty or so paces east of its night roost. Overnight dew drenched each slender, tawny blade of prairie grass. Silver droplets splashed and scattered as trail-worn buckskin leggins crept along.… Continue reading Not Much Changes…

Big sigh…guilty as sinned…

A chilly breeze held mosquitoes at bay. Light dew glistened on greening grass. The autumn olives’ pungent perfume filled the glade with expectation. Damp elk moccasins pressed north, angled west, then crested a flat-topped knoll. That May, in the Year of our Lord, 1794, was colder than normal but pleasant for chasing wild turkeys. “Whit,… Continue reading Big sigh…guilty as sinned…

Transforming an Offending Transgression

Treetops swayed. Gusts whooshed in the barren branches. Winter moccasins, made of buffalo hide and lined with trade blanket pieces, stepped cautious. Red blanket tails, encrusted with snow, flapped against deerskin leggins. Wolf tracks wove in and around the hardwoods, headed to the River Raisin’s bottomlands and protection from the frigid west wind on that… Continue reading Transforming an Offending Transgression

No red, no snood, no gobbler…

Silvery dew drops splashed. Wool leggins whisked north. Elk moccasins whispered along an earthen doe trail. That course led to an overgrown wash and a skinny box elder tree that afforded a commanding view of a tiny break between the cedar trees and open prairie grass. “Gob-obl-obl-obl-obl-obl!” Msko-waagosh, the returned white captive who learned his… Continue reading No red, no snood, no gobbler…

Toss them into the evening fire!

Oak leaves rustled. A fox squirrel bounded to a powder-keg-sized red oak. Dirt and duff flew as the forest tenant dug unaware danger lurked so close. Its bushy tail twitched and flicked, but alas, if found nothing. Next, the squirrel hopped to a dead cedar tree that curved to the earth. The squirrel scampered to… Continue reading Toss them into the evening fire!

Mini-Mondays

“This is interesting,” I said to Tami as I looked through several weeks’ worth of web-site visitor data. It seems the site views spike on Monday and Tuesday and, of course again on Friday. That Monday/Tuesday trend is new, perhaps driven by stay-at-home cabin fever, perhaps just happenstance. At any rate, Miss Tami stated the… Continue reading Mini-Mondays

Time to move on…

Ten paces grew to thirty. Cedar tree after cedar tree met rejection. A wild turkey scratching bowl came into view, ahead, to the right of the earthen doe trail. “Three, maybe four days old,” the post hunter muttered in a gravely whisper. White-tipped droppings, not a lot just a few, all curled on one end,… Continue reading Time to move on…