Wednesday, November 01, 2006


The appetizers came out of the kitchen about midnight.

I skinned and quartered the old squirrel, thick-hided and with testicles as big as a dog’s. Since the war, somehow, I don’t much like to skin them. You cut them at the wrists and make a slash or two and peel away the tough pelt, and what you have suddenly in your hands is a bug-eyed, naked, dead homunculus whose looks I do not care for.

Goodbye to a River p. 33

whatever you do.

And as if the Elk could be any fresher....

Next year we can float the Big South Fork of the Cumberland, add high powered deer rifles to the packing list, and Kirly can hunt from his camp chair. Guitar players will just have to know when to duck. The Cumberland, by the way, is one of three rivers we need to float if we're going to live out our sub-title. Because so far we've only gone down "the rest of them Rebel rivers."

1 comment:

Tuckassee said...

Kirly and the homonculus look like long lost brothers -- notice the identical look on their faces.

Mr. Pickett called to say that he's been keeping a tea-fire poked up at our site, and he thinks with just one more half cup of broth and a little covered high heat, the squirrel will be almost done.