The beginning of each season of deer hunting begins with the end of antlers.
The bucks endure the annual shed as their calcified headress falls to the earth to be consumed by the elements of nature.
After a time, the process begins anew with the emergence of new horn growth signifying the initiation of the new season.
The Tin Star Ranch bucks have traveled this well worn trail yet again as evidenced by the sprouting of "bumps" on their foreheads as precursors to their "crowns".
And so begins another year of patient observation of what may be, the trophy that could allow collection in a moment of fortunate circumstance, or simply the heart-felt appreciation of another opportunity to enjoy the wonder of God's creations.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
HOT COFFEE
Dad spent his life brewing his morning cup o' joe on the natural gas kitchen stove top using an aluminum percolator pot. It had a glass "bubble" on the top and when the lava hot liquid spittin' into the "bubble" was the right color..... it was ready.
The "catch" was.....Dad liked his coffee hot as molten lead...straight from the blazing hot stove into his mouth and throat.
The ranch hand figgers years of that routine must have created some kind of "callous" because he could do it every morn with a contented look of satisfaction.
On occasion, his only (naive) son would share the morning ritual and like Dad, take that first cup of mud and down it.....followed by more spittin and sputterin than a spark plug fouled model T running on white gas?
We are talkin hair burning, blister scalding, melt your ears off HOT coffee.
Never figgered why Dad liked it, how he could do it, or whatever....but it is a great memory of my Wright City papacita that I will always hold dear.
The "catch" was.....Dad liked his coffee hot as molten lead...straight from the blazing hot stove into his mouth and throat.
The ranch hand figgers years of that routine must have created some kind of "callous" because he could do it every morn with a contented look of satisfaction.
On occasion, his only (naive) son would share the morning ritual and like Dad, take that first cup of mud and down it.....followed by more spittin and sputterin than a spark plug fouled model T running on white gas?
We are talkin hair burning, blister scalding, melt your ears off HOT coffee.
Never figgered why Dad liked it, how he could do it, or whatever....but it is a great memory of my Wright City papacita that I will always hold dear.
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