A Two Hour Diversion of Sorts

Step by step, center-seamed moccasins paralleled the path. The hired post hunter left no trace. That December’s still-hunt dropped over the ridge crest, then followed the earthen doe trail. Twenty paces to the northwest the faint, crescent-shaped curve of the right toe of a leather-soled shoe pack remained amongst the split-hoof tracks, from the looks,… Continue reading A Two Hour Diversion of Sorts

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 the humidity of that May morning, in the Year of our Lord, 1792, the woodsman… Continue reading Careful Research Opens the Door…

A Place to Be and a Place to Go

Saturday, 17, December, 1763: Eight Canada geese ke-honked, unseen and to the east. Orange, lavender and yellow marked the western horizon, beyond the Riviere aux Raisins. Snowflakes drifted all about. The air smelled stark and unforgiving. Mi-ki-naak’s nose dripped, but he gave no mind. A deer pawed at crunchy oak leaves on the next ridge… Continue reading A Place to Be and a Place to Go

A Free Man in Eden

Mosquitoes buzzed about. A trade blanket, wrapped about the shoulders, pulled over Msko-waagosh’s head, fended off the barbed beasties. A nuthatch flitted to the fallen maple at his back. The little bird searched to and fro about the stout trunk, pecking for sustenance while keeping a watchful eye on its fellow forest tenant. A sassy… Continue reading A Free Man in Eden

Such is the Mystique…

Gusty winds swirled ground fog. The air smelled of late March, not November, yet plain and ordinary. Dark clouds delayed first light. A large cedar tree, not eighty paces from Msko-waagosh’s humble wigwam, served as a temporary lair. The mist grew thick, then changed to a light sprinkle. Such was the agony of that sunrise,… Continue reading Such is the Mystique…

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 pre-dawn April morn in the Year of our Lord, 1794.   Despite the flogging, the… Continue reading A Gobbler Dubbed “Black Bart”

Chasing the Makings of Squirrel Stew

Black granules tumbled. The tarnished brass measure filled. Two taps against the Northwest gun’s inner bore freed stragglers, more habit than need. Two palm-sized maple leaves, yellowed and dry, rolled to the size of a death sphere, squeaked as the wiping stick eased them down the bore. Three hard taps pounded the wadding flat and… Continue reading Chasing the Makings of Squirrel Stew

Only a Sentence or Two…

Daylight waned. Two gray squirrels frolicked, uphill, forty paces ahead. Half-hidden by boughs, a plump fox squirrel leaped from cedar top to cedar top. The hired hunter did not glance up, but detected the movement. A blue jay perched on a twisted lower branch of a shagbark hickory, cocked its tufted head, but did not… Continue reading Only a Sentence or Two…