Sanna's Bag

“I never seem to have what I need when I need it. I’m going to make a belt-bag that’s bigger on the inside than on the outside, and just carry everything with me.”

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Sunday morning, 6 AM scattershot

This I love.

DLW gave me a great recipe for Boston Brown Bread. However, it's supposed to be baked in 6 14.5 oz cans and I didn't have any so I tried loaf pans. Not a good idea. Every loaf was perfectly done around the sides, and still doughy in the middle. So I bought a couple of cans of brown bread at the store, and I'm feasting on it. I can see how that bread would have been a real tonic in the midst of a New England winter. Lots of iron, lots of sweet, and the raisins would loosen the most hidebound Yankee. Plus, the brown bread is a perfect vehicle for butter. Yum!

I was thinking about my mom's first hunting trip because one of DH's buddies just returned from his first hunting trip. He was the first guy to get his deer, dressed it out, then called on his radio to have the other guys show up and help him pack it out. Evidently, they, "Couldn't hear" his messages, so, being the astoundingly tough little guy that he is, he loaded the carcass of the deer up on top of his back pack ("Only about 100 lbs," DH said) and carried it back to camp. It took him six hours. I am astounded at his grit! I would have built a fire, grilled the loin, and waited for the searchers to find me.

I grew up in the country where deer hunting was a given. Absenteeism at the mill always spiked during deer season. These guys were getting meat for the winter, and if the greenchain had to run slow for a couple weeks, then that was the way it was. Every year, Dad would hand a letter to the school principal, asking that his kids be excused for a week to attend their Uncle Buck's funeral. A week at deer camp was not my idea of heaven. I didn't hunt, nor did Mom, so we would spend the day freezing our buns off, huddled around the campfire, or in later years, cramped into the camper. We Read a lot and embroidered a lot of dishtowels. No mother-daughter heart to heart conversations. She had her own problems, and I spent most of my time inside my head.

But she would turn out the most astounding meals out in the boonies, even though she never knew how many to cook for. If Dad met someone out in the woods, he'd invite them in for dinner. Any total stranger with a rifle, chance met on a deer trail. I remember the night she served steaks and lobster tails to a couple of good ol' boys from Izee (a tiny ranching community in eastern Oregon) they tore into the steaks with great enthusiasm, but never did touch those big white grubs she put on their plates.

It's easy to buy a rifle in Oregon. Just go to a gun show and hand over your money. And you can buy a video tape that will tell you how to hunt deer and what to do with them when you have shot them. You get city boys with no outdoor experience and the best equipment money can buy, playing great white hunter in the outback and the accidents are legion. Dad had a friend that used to ride into the wilderness area leading a pack horse, and hunt in some pretty inaccessible country. Then one year, someone shot his pack horse, thinking it was a deer. The next year, the guy dyed sheets bright red and draped them over the horses like hunting coats. Someone shot the horse he was riding. After that, he quit hunting.

On one hunting trip, my older brothers dressed me in the brightest, most glaring reds we could find, gave me a dishpan and a spoon, and told me to climb up the ridge, beating on the pan and hollaring, driving the deer up to them. I have done stupid things in my time, but walking toward all their rifles was one of the dumbest. I survived, and they got royally chewed out for making such use of their sister. The excuse? "We thought about using one of the dogs, but we were afraid it might get shot."


  • At 7:36 AM , Blogger Heide said...

    My dad would always take off for a week to eastern Montana for hunting. My Grandma's aunt and uncle owned a huge ranch in the Powder River area and that was the destination. He stocked up on deer, rabbits and lord only knows what else while there. We rented a meat locker in the town we lived in and all of the trappings went there. It was a nice change from all of the seafood (we lived near the beach and grew tired of clams, fish and crab). The thought of "City" hunters sends chills down my spine. These must be the same people who took those stupid clam guns down to the beach during the good tides, walked on the clam holes and left mangled clams strewn about.

  • At 4:57 PM , Blogger Rose Lefebvre said...

    LOL...picturing you out there, dressed in bright red, pounding a pan with a spoon and hollaring was so funny!! Lucky someone didn't shoot you just to shut up the noise!

  • At 6:11 PM , Blogger Julie said...

    The hub's new job? One of the shop holidays is the first day of deer season. It's not so strange to me, because where I grew up, all the guys - and some of the girls - ditched the first day of deer season.

    You're making me hungry for deer jerky. Maybe next year.

  • At 8:20 PM , Blogger Willow said...

    My brother still hunts every autumn. My dad never hunted but my uncle took the bro when he was a teenager after he spent a couple of years hunting with a bow and arrow. My story: my brother wanted to practice his bow and arrow target skills, so he set me in the front garden, shot steel tipped arrows in to the air to see how close he would come to hitting me.

  • At 8:20 PM , Blogger Willow said...

    This comment has been removed by the author.

  • At 7:25 AM , Blogger Donna Lee said...

    I've never been hunting and don't know if I could (although if the zombie apocalypse comes, I might make an exception). It's hard to get a gun here in NJ. You have to fill out forms, have a background check and wait 30 days. No spur of the moment things here.

  • At 2:07 PM , Blogger KnitTech said...

    Oh yea, the hunting holiday. You can tell the guys are getting ready to go hunting around here when they start showing up with scope eye. They go out target practicing and forget how much kick the rifle has, the scope smacks them in the face.

  • At 6:20 PM , Blogger Amy Lane said...

    Yeah-- I got shot with a b-b gun once... frickin' brothers...

    Wow--good hunting stories.

  • At 1:38 AM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

    Great stories.
    Yeah, I try not to hike only in well traveled areas around town during deer season.
    My dad always hunted because we really needed the meat, but I'm guessing most people go for the delight of being outdoors, telling stories and scratching body parts with unfettered glee.


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