FOOTPRINTS ON ICE

Everyday, sometime after 7pm I buckle the belt that holds the holster for my 357 Magnum, and head out on to the tundra to walk my dog. I noticed one day, that there is only one set of footprints where I walk. Mine. Frozen solid onto the thick ice of the lake. At first the solitary gray prints molded onto ice and snow made me feel lonely, longing for a human companion to accompany me. But, I've come to realize those are the prints of an adventurer, a woman of inner strength, a loner.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Ptarmigan roast

Ate my first Ptarmigan. Roasted. The 'chef' said he'd soaked it in baking soda for two days. This was suppose to remove the 'gamey flavor.' The meat was dark, sort of the color of that deep red brown of a turkey leg. The taste..well...livery? gamey? Not bad though, just different. It tasted healthy, after all, what does the bird live on but fresh veggies and berries? What the heck do Ptarmigan eat? Anyway, I ate one, or part of one.