The Weak are Meat

Last year, hunting was a failure…if you judge success by quantity of vanquished quarry, that is.  Flesh is only one of the reasons to go hunting, granted, but the other reasons are mere condolences one gives himself upon the lack of dinner, when no flesh hath been gotten.  But not this year!  This year, we eat!

Following last year’s events, I let the season sneak up on me, until Joe, unexpectedly, called me on a promise/threat that I would take him hunting.  And not one to dishonor a prior arrangement, I agreed.  We would hunt flesh this year after all–Joe for the first time.

I prepared.

  • Mucks
  • Mora
  • Wigwams
  • 7/2 Federals
  • First Aid
  • Tourniquets

The first aid kit and tourniquets were new acquisitions.  After last year, when the woods were awash with 20-somthings sporting camo-skinned shotguns, I considered that I might need something to treat trauma.  Fortunately, that turned out to be a mere precaution.

And so, properly geared up, we were off to that little plot of woods in which I’ve only ever been successful hunting squirrel on public land: Clark Lake.  I cast a judgmental eye upon Joe’s loadout: a tactical 12 ga. and an army bag packed with who knows what.  But points for enthusiasm, as evidenced by this photo:

Two squirrels, in the end.  Joe did make an effective spotter despite his lack of experience with the sport–his eyes must be better than mine.  And while he was slow with the draw, he did clean one.

And to maximize the manliness factor, we cooked then in a dutch oven in an open fire while getting some target practice in with the longbow.

It was a good day.

–Simon

Misery

I love sweating.  Really, few sensations top that of standing in the sun and feeling that stream of sweat run down my back and into my pants, or the deodorant in my armpits failing and causing a sticky feeling whenever I move.  In the final death-throws of heatstroke, victims tear of their clothing in a state of agonized delirium, fatalistically surrendering to the elements.  I understand why.

We went to the Ohio State Fair.

Not my thing, granted, but educational for the kid.

 

–Simon

Forced Childhood

Every artist has their medium.  Snow is not my daughter’s.  My theory (based on the current state of her basement art studio), is that snow is too monochrome (#FFFFFF is sooo pedestrian).

Yet this irritates me, probably due to my own childhood memories.  Texas didn’t offer much in the way of snow, and as our culture as a whole is heavily influenced by the Midwest and New England and their associated images of holiday blizzards, Christmas time always carried with it a bit of melancholy as I peered out the window across a wind-swept and barren Dust Bowl landscape.  I never once rode a sled in my childhood, and on only one notable occasion do I remember building a snowman (to which my dad added breasts, followed by mom administering a mastectomy via garden trowel).

I am NOT having fun

But the joke’s on this youngest generation.  Climate change will either warm the region beyond the point of regular snow, or cool it to the point that it destroys us.  Either way, those quaint Rockwellian scenes will vanish alongside the planet’s biodiversity.  And I, Dad, will mock my child for her youthful indifference.

–Simon

Sometimes the Strong Don’t Eat

Or maybe we’re weak.

This year’s squirrel hunting wasn’t so successful, so I have no epic tales of glorious battle to recount.

I’m guessing Calvatia gigantea

But we did spot an epic mushroom.  And I just so happened to remember seeing one of these before on a hunting trip.

Looks like it’s later in its lifecycle

That was 6 years ago.  Apparently it made an impression on me.  Mushrooms are cool.  and creepy.

–Simon

Reunion

We went up to the Biggs’ Family Reunion this last week (Dad’s Mother’s side).  As expected, there were a lot of people I didn’t know, and just as many I only vaguely remembered.  I guess I’m bad at networking, even when it’s my own extended family.  Then again, I’m currently hiding from my nuclear family in the basement, so judge if you must.

I suppose that, when the world ends, we should know our kin, so that our collective clan can band together against violent wasteland raiders.  Blood ties!

Amusingly, few of my photos involved this extended family, but rather the activities, so I present to you a montage summary:

The rainbow was a sign…that it would be really hot and humid while we all posed for that group photo
A goby–apparently an invasive species that have to be euthanized upon catching (killed with the Mora)
Dad’s fish–I don’t remember what it was
One of Leigh’s many catfish, which we cleaned and tried to eat, but they tasted like the bottom of the channel in which they were caught. Pity.
My cousin, Jonathan. We give his family a lot of grief for disliking the outdoors, but here’s proof that he had fun anyway.
A catfish of my own
A trip to the Toledo Zoo
More fishing
I caught a nice bass
Wildlife
Look at that packed Honda. That’s a commercial-worthy photo there.

–Simon