In my dream, I go to the front door and someone has left me a gift basket of assorted meats, from pig to pheasant. It hasn’t happened yet—although a friend did pay me in two pounds of bacon and a tin of duck cracklings for doing a pittance of an errand the other day. Will Work for Food. Mmm. (Thanks, Mike!) And my parents did send me a deer sausage for my birthday. (Thanks, Mom!) The dream is alive. Usually I stick more to the vegetables, but times have been meaty lately. On the foraging front, of course, there’s little but critters to collect at this time of year. I do miss mushrooms.Still, the maw yawns for more, and in this case I’m talking about the maw of my brand new smoker. I’ve waited a long time for this bad boy. W. and I are hoping to go cold-camping up north this weekend and come back with grouse or hare or both. And to catch a bunch of bluegills from Lake Monona to smoke whole. And smoked sausages, once I get my sausage grinder. Etc. I have also been curious about the taste of the Canada geese at Lake Monona that so studiously ignore me, though with an attitude like that they’re probably protected and know it.
We now also have a turkey fryer! W. has plans to boil down maple syrup in it. Friends, Madisonites, lend us your trees. (And I have plans to co-opt it and use it to fry a turkey. Not a Canada goose. I would never.)