This is a beautiful late summer's day. I'm drinking it in! Sunbeams are snaking through the trees bringing sparkle to the dew on the grassy knoll across the way, near the pasture. A large spider spun an intricately designed thick web on the uppermost southeast corner of the porch nearby the clemantis vine that covers the post. It looks as if she has a hardy meal on the table. The catch of the day's goose is not fully cooked, because the legs are still moving.
Tiny wild canaries are flitting about the honeysuckle and hand picking weed seeds. A hummingbird is filling up with nectar and monitoring the breezes. I will miss the company of the tiny tireless travelers, when they go.
The woods are alive with the sounds of music. I think that those old tough bullying blue jays are trying to drive the fox squirrels crazy. The rodents have been hauling nuts all morning. High in the canopy, the nosy fast talking jays walk the limbs of the trees, from trunk to tip, pretending to be superintendents. I am amused! Too much fuss over nuts!
I can still hear the wild turkey hen gathering in her youngsters; the young "poults" at last counts numbered -five.
Soon mom will rejoin the main flock. Perhaps the interesting birds will winter over in the ravine farther into the deep woods at and old established roosting area that Dad and I use to visit. Yes folks, I've been talking turkey since I was knee high to a grasshopper. Dad could call them out of hiding without the help of gadgetry.
Our woodsman was as effective then; using his God given talents, as Pretty Boy (a gobbler decoy) is, in these days of the sophisticated hunter.
My mentor tried to teach me to bring the birds out of the brambles and into the clearing, but I choked up when my tonsils got in the way of progress. The belly laughs didn't help. If the bronze beauties were out there then, they flew their nature made coup and headed for the pit hill perches. Only he could lure the birds out of the ground cover.
The same thing happened when he tried to teach me how to whistle in such a manner that his well trained beagle hounds would end the chase and come running home wagging their tails behind them. How was a little gapped tooth girl like me, going to bring out a shrill whistle on bent tongue that could be heard in the next county? All I could do was spit and sputter. The perfect clucking "kut '' sound would not come out.
I watched and listened to him lure the Toms out of the bush. I protected my delicate eardrums with my paws when he aim his weapon of choice toward his targets, like I did on other days when he displayed the full strength of his voice.
Some days everything wasn't right with my world on North Elm Street. I became a mute chicken; hunting was put on the back burner and I and hid within myself. Not even a peep came out. However my eyes could produce bucketful's of tears, instantly, while I waited for more sunshine and a familiar whistle.
Maybe Paul Baby will go to Gander and purchases this forever practicing failure a nicer imitator; a "make do" turkey call.
When the time is right I could be giving thanks and spinning a hefty platter fully filled with the father of my little feathered friends. Well, maybe a distant relative will suffice.
Could be; Dad will be watching over me just as he promised before he died and maybe; he will be smiling too!
The deer are moving about. They have an abundance of food. The off- shoot of our old apple tree at the homestead is loaded with small juicy fruit. The remnants of my garden offer less. My neighbor's soybean crop offers more. What remains of the Kentucky Wonder green bean plants is still blooming, but protected from the forever hungry foragers. Almost everything else has been harvested, with exception of tomatoes and peppers; those plants do not please their palates.
I served deer steak last night. I marinated the lean meat and followed the recipe that I use to Swiss beefsteak. I served it with whipped mashed potatoes, the spuds a gift from the garden of Bob and Carolyn Alsip, a couple of caring and sharing people that I know. Salad and my "made from scratch" baked beans added additional flavor to the meal. I served freshly baked zucchini bread laced with bits of apple and finely chopped walnuts. They married well with the spices and a few California raisins and other ingredients of the mixture.
The interior of this little blue house at the end of the road filled with the aromas of a fall feast fit for a king. Paul Baby eats that kind of stuff up and more; I do as well!
Taffy the cat came to the back screen door to gain a whiff and perhaps more. I explained that any of the fare could upset her apple cart. She seemed pleased to settle for a saucer of sweet milk instead. Gray, the tamed woods cat, no doubt, was in our field watched those turkeys for me. These days he knows what side his bread is buttered on.
Tomorrow, Paul and I will begin major roof repair on the one car garage that he and I built behind the house two decades ago. The larger garage at the homestead, built by Leon and Gary Long is in good repair. No trees, to date, have compromised the integrity of the roof of the well- constructed structure.
Now don't you fret about us, we have close to 51 years experience in "DO IT YOURSELF" and keeping up with other regular folks who know how to manage. And, about the climbing, Paul has more tools to sell and I have a book and this column to write, before we're put to pasture or bite the dust. We will be careful.
I send condolence to the family of Mary Lou Coley. Today, as I held a beautiful card that Paul and I received from her on our 50th anniversary last year, I was reminded of her thoughtfulness. This grateful writer is pleased that she enjoyed reading "Brazil Buzz," especially about the elopement. More than that; I am glad that I thanked her for kind words.
I can be reached at 446-4852 or drop me a line to 613 North Elm St., Brazil IN., 47834 or by email at email@example.com.