We are 7 days into October and I am still soul searching. No signs of depression today.
Of course, the men went into town and trimmed trees and such for cash money. We did have to pay rent you know. Also, they liked to drink and that costs money. It was the only recreation they had, so who was I to complain? One night we actually had a Rattle Snake on the back porch right outside the screen door. One of the workers killed it with a ball bat. Scared hell out of me.
Back to business. When there are a lot of families living in a small area, I think it is called a commune. Of course everyone contributes something to the needs of the commune. (Oh, shit! I just realized, I WAS a HIPPIE! I always thought I was, but now I see it for what it was!) The men folk fished the Solomon River which had lots of species of fish and they were big. They also brought home game in the form or rabbits, squirrels, pheasants, quails and wild honey from the trunk of an old tree. Of course we bought potatoes, onions, rice and staples from the local store. Occasionally, I could pick up an old hen or two from the feed store for fifty cents. Life was good.
Then they met a man and his wife in nearby Delphos. This old man had 'coon dogs. In case you do not know, those are the dogs bred and raised to hunt for racoons down on the river. That was a sport in and of itself. The idea was to take a pack of dogs ('coon dogs) and go down to the river at night and turn the dogs loose and let them find a raccoon which they then chased down the river until they "treed the 'coon." At this point all the dogs would try to climb the tree and get the coon down. If the 'coon actually fell from the tree all the dogs attacked it and ripped it to shreds. (My God! That sounds barbaric!) But if the hunters were good they could call off the dogs, shoot the Racoon between the eyes and have supper the next night {more about that later). Sometimes the dogs would not come when called and the next day was spent finding them because they had followed a racoon off to God only knows where. I used to lay in bed at night and listen to the baying of the dogs and I could tell how close they were by the tremolo of the barking. My commune (I just love that word now that I know I lived in one!) had 5 dogs. 2 Black and tans, 1 Blue Tick, 1 Blood hound, and a small mixed breed terrier that was actually Delvin's little dog that thought he was big and wanted to hunt so they let him.
So let me tell you about the first Raccoon I ever cooked. I still have nightmares about that. The menfolk always cleaned the game. They were hunter/gatherers, you know. So they brought in this cleaned Raccoon on a pan. I immediately thought of my friendly little house cat that I had left at home. I salted and peppered it, put a little water in the bottom of the pan, covered it with foil and put it in the oven. It smelled really good as it was baking. I made a pot of mashed potatoes and fixed some green beans. When the time came that it was done I put everything on the table and called the 4 men I was feeding that night. They oohed and aahed and I ran outside and threw up. I was still thinking of Fluffy my cat back in Hutch. (I learned later that I was pregnant again which may have had some bearing on my mental state at the time.)
As time went by we cooked and ate many wild animals. I must say my favorite was Pheasant which was much like chicken except the breast meat was darker and the legs had leaders which made eating a leg a challenge and wings were impossible. That, coupled with the fact that they were shot with a shotgun and you just might bite into a piece of lead wrapped in feathers made the eating a challenge. Quail made a great pot pie. Wild Turkey (not to be confused with the whiskey kind) was actually very good, but therein again you have wild game that is tough and a real challenge to fix, but there was always potatoes and I could make gravy out of a gnat if I had too. Squirrels live every where and a good marksman could bring one down with a 22 rifle shell through the head. They were good eating, but I have since learned they belong to the rodent family, which means they are a big mouse!
Damn! I miss the commune days and wish I had known then that I was in a commune. I am going to relive my hippie days, because I did not know I was one. I guess the only thing I missed was Woodstock!
And with that I bid you adieu and remind myself what my mother always said, "Life is 20/20 looking back!
