The Great Power Outage and Blackberry Jam (Blog Ninety-three)

Last Friday night, winds of over 80 mph whipped through our Botetourt Land, knocking out our power for 46 hours until around 7:30 Sunday evening.  When the power was restored, Elaine and I were playing scrabble in the fading light that reached our den.  We both spontaneously emitted squeals of delight.

We were fortunate to have our power restored so soon, as even as I write this on Thursday, many folks in Southwest Virginia are without electricity.  We were also fortunate that a neighbor loaned us his generator for about four hours a day so that we did not lose any of our venison and wild turkey.  We had the meat from 7 1/2 deer in our freezer, and it would have been a disaster if the venison had been lost.

This whole affair has caused us to do some planning for the possibility of future outages.  We have long had a wood stove which serves as a backup heat source in the wintertime.  But we realized that we need to have more bottled water on the premises and a charcoal grill to cook with.  Elaine has already purchased a grill and obtained water.

We also have decided to buy a generator and Elaine, who is in charge of researching things in our family, is doing the groundwork for a generator.  If readers of our blog have some recommendations in this area, we would appreciate them.

Finally, we have decided to do more canning.  Tuesday, I picked two gallons of blackberries and Elaine made jam from them.  She also has decided that canning the meat from one deer was not sufficient last year and hopes to can the meat from two whitetails this fall. 

Hopefully we will be better prepared next time.

Can Women Outfish Men? (Blog Ninety-two)

The last three summers, I have gone fishing once each summer with Jay and Betty Honse, friends from Fincastle, Virginia.  Two of those times were for crappie, the other time was for bluegills.  Each time, the trip was part of a magazine article.

The most recent time was this past Tuesday evening at Smith Mountain Lake.  On that occasion, as was true on the other two outings, Betty clearly out fished both Jay and me. 

It isn't so much that she caught more crappie or bluegills than Jay and I did, it is that she also caught the biggest fish on all three of the trips.

The trend has become so clear that on the Smith Mountain excursion, I found myself, camera in hand, watching what Betty was doing fishing wise, so that I could be prepared when, not if, she caught a nice crappie.

One of the most admirable things about Jay is that he truly enjoys watching his spouse catch big fish.  Not many males would be so understanding.

Jay and Betty have invited me to go striper fishing with them sometime.  If I have that opportunity, I will be sure to keep my camera ready and trained on Betty.  I am betting she won't disappoint.  Here's a picture of me admiring a fine Smith Mountain crappie that Betty caught.

Simple Country Joys on a Summer Day (Blog Ninety-one)

My high school English teaching job finished two weeks ago, and this is the first day I have not been swamped with magazine assignments.  Today, although I have written a little, I have had time to enjoy those little simple summer joys that living out in the country bring.

First, I went out to gather eggs.  However, the chicken Elaine named Little Spotty Hen was on the nest and did not care to be disturbed from her primary duty in life.  Then I went to our garden, which is adjacent to the chicken run, and gathered some chives and a sweet white onion for lunch.  I am cooking baked potatoes and venison burgers (from a doe I killed last October with my bow) and the chives will go great with the former and the onion with the latter. For dessert, we have the option of cherry preserves (from our North Star cherry tree) or wineberry jam (from vines growing on our land).

This afternoon, Elaine and I will let the chickens roam in the yard for an hour or so and pick berries.  The raspberries are about finished for the year but the wineberries and blackberries are starting to come in.  Can I prevail upon Elaine to make a pie or a cobbler? If  no pie or cobbler is forthcoming, we will freeze the berries for next summer's desserts.

Nothing of great importance is happening today and that is a really good thing.  We love living out in the country.

The Wood Pile (Blog Ninety)

I now begin my second week of the summer off school, and the first week could not have been any more hectic. I wrote two magazine stories for the Izaak Walton League, worked on a story for Virginia Game & Fish, one for the Quality Deer Management Association, and Elaine and I wrote our Celebrating Venison cooking column for Whitetail Times. 

Many people say that I must be fortunate to have a second job that is all about going fishing and hunting, and I am fortunate.  But all week, I was too busy sitting in front of the computer to even think about fishing.

Meanwhile, out our kitchen window resides a wood pile that is not nearly as long and as tall as it should be.  For months, a black locust tree has been lying on the ground near the wood pile, and the locust needs to join its fellow hardwoods.  Some shagbark hickories down at the food plot also have been resting on the ground for too long, and they too need to evolve into firewood.

Also on our 38 acres, several oaks are crying out for Timber Stand Improvement around them, two black locusts, some red maples, and redbuds need to be cut along the drive way in order for the oaks and dogwoods to prosper, and the garden desperately requires mulching.  And the wild raspberries are ripe and have to be picked today. Oh, and the chicken coop needs to be cleaned.  I have to escape this computer screen today.

New River Land Trust and the Friths (Blog Eighty-nine)

Last autumn, the New River Land Trust (NRLT), as part of a fund raiser, auctioned off a canoe trip with me on the New River.  For those unfamiliar with land trusts, they seek to preserve America's open spaces through having landowners voluntarily place their rural properties under conservation easements.

I am a member of the NRLT and the Western Virginia Land Trust and am a great admirer of what they are accomplishing.  Elaine and I have also placed 412 acres of the land we own under easement as a way of protecting wildlife habitat for the future.  The high bidders for a trip were Jackie and Earl Frith of Floyd County, Virginia, and today I met the Friths for the first time when we gathered with fellow river enthusiast Brett Moss for a float below Claytor Lake Dam.  Like Elaine and me, the Friths have placed many acres under easement and, also like my wife and me, are very glad they have done so.

Earl and I floated together while Brett and Jackie did the same, and a delightful time was had by all.  We bird watched, drifted through some mild riffles, and caught a few smallmouth bass.  The high point, for me, of the day was watching two male Eastern kingbirds fighting for dominance  out in the middle of the river.  The aerial battle was short and decisive, as one kingbird left in ignominious retreat.

Whether you live in Southwest Virginia like I do or in any state in the country, chances are that you have local, regional, or state-wide land trusts nearby.  For more information on the NRLT: www.newriverlandtrust.org.

Poults Are Hatching (Blog Eighty-eight)

Last night, friend Jerry Paitsel, who operates Struttinbird Turkey Calls, called.  The main topic of conversation was the status of the turkey hatch.

For those who enjoy hunting, photographing, or viewing these majestic creatures, the main reason why we will have turkeys to do so is the success or failure of the hatch.  Across Virginia and West Virginia, as well as the general Mid-Atlantic, the poults hatch for the most part in late May and early June.

Of course, not all turkeys are born now.  Every year there are reports of birds hatching in early to mid May and even late April.  And sometimes turkey hens lose their first clutch of eggs and renest in July.  But, again, for the most part, now is the time when the young poults hatch.

And the main reason whether the hatch is successful now is the weather.  The reason Jerry brought up the topic was that a cold rain fell Friday and the air temperature dipped into the 40s in the Alleghany Mountains of the two Virginias.  Newly born turkeys are very susceptible to hypothermia, and many of them may not have survived Friday night.

It will be very interesting to observe how many poults are accompanying hens in the next few weeks.  Hopefully, more birds will have hatched out after this past Friday than before.

Casting for Recovery Story (Blog Eighty-seven)

Although I have not seen the story yet, I have been told that my latest magazine article on Casting for Recovery (CFR) is out now in the June issue of Virginia Wildlife, the official publication of the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries.  I have done, I think, five magazine articles now on CFR.

Although I had heard of the organization, I had never considered doing a story on it until friend Anthony Hipps of North Carolina suggested that I do so in 2008.  I received an assignment shortly afterwards from Wildlife in North Carolina to do a story, and, ironically, shortly after that Elaine was diagnosed with breast cancer.

For those unfamiliar with CFR, it offers 2 ½ day retreats in venues around the country where women recovering from breast cancer can receive the latest information on breast cancer, healthy living, networking, making new friends, gaining self-esteem, and to be part of a forum to broaden understanding about breast cancer treatment and enable sharing among participants.  Of course, a big part of the getaways is the participants learning how to fly fish.

Elaine attended the 2010 May retreat in Virginia and last May we both went to the May Old Dominion retreat as part of my doing the story for Virginia Wildlife.  In short, Elaine's and my experiences with CFR have been overwhelmingly positive and I hope in the years to come I can do many more stories on this marvelous organization. I know CFR aided greatly in my sweet wife's recovery.

For more information: www.castingforrecovery.org

Cherry Picking -and Pitting - Time (Blog Eighty-six)

In our nearly 34 years of marriage, Elaine's and my marriage has evolved to a certain way of doing things.  She handles most of the inside-related decisions, most of the outside ones fall to me and so on to a variety of other tasks.

And so it is with our annual May task of picking and pitting cherries.  Elaine holds the step ladder while I pick the cherries from our North Star tree while later she pits the berries.

Today for a magazine article we went fly fishing on the Smith River with two local anglers: Al Kittredge and Lisa Hall. Upon arriving home, Elaine told me that she would not be able to pit today because of a sore wrist incurred while fishing.  Thus, the cherry picking and pitting fell to me.

It did not take long into the pitting process before I discovered what a rotten job this is.  Juice frequently went into my eyes, shirt, and pants as well as into the wall.  Some 20 minutes transpired while I was picking a quart of cherries, another 30 went by while I was pitting them.

After a particularly juicy sour cherry sprayed me, Elaine quipped: "Welcome to my world."

Despite the time and effort that goes into picking and pitting cherries, the effort is worth it.  Last year our tree produced 5 3/4 gallons of sour cherries, enough for lots of pies, cobblers, and preserves.  This year we have picked one gallon so far and it is a little hard to estimate how many more gallons will be picked - though obviously because of environmental factors (a high wind event earlier this month) we will have far fewer quarts than last year.

Chickens in Clothes? (Blog Eighty-five)

If someone had told us one year ago that our “girls” would be wearing clothes, I would have laughed.  Today as they roam about the yard, one has on camo, one is in denim, and two are in bright pink.  They have begun wearing chicken aprons, or saddles, to protect them from the clawing of the rooster Jerry who has been the cause of their feather loss….. his repeated mountings each day have taken a toll on the girls.  We did not buy an apron yet for Little Spotty, for she alone is still in full feather – Bruce thinks it is because she runs from Jerry and spends large parts of each day inside the hen house.

In the matters of chicken health, we also have had some illnesses.  Dot began sneezing and coughing one Friday, something I would have thought chickens incapable of.  We watched her over the weekend, and aside from that she seemed fine.  Over a matter of about ten days she became “cured,” just like humans having to wait the seven to ten days for a cold to leave. 

More concerning was Violet’s 24-hour bug.  Her first symptom was the poop covering her rear feathers.  Then she spent the afternoon and evening quite listless, not walking to food as the others did, even barely pecking at the special treat of berry-covered pie crust. We had decided that if she did not put herself in the hen house that evening, there was a reason and we would leave her be.  However, at the last moment she went inside.   She seemed so lethargic that we were sure she would be a cold, dead body when we opened the hen house in the morning.

Morning?  Surprise – the same old Violet, running, frolicking, eating just as well as everyone else.   

Where Are the Whip-poor-wills? (Blog Eighty-four)

When Elaine and I first moved into our Botetourt County, Virginia home in August of 1989, we regularly heard whip-poor-wills on late spring and summer evenings.  As someone who has a passion for spring gobbler hunting, I often enjoyed hearing these birds, which along with chuck-wills-widows are members of the nightjar family, during trips as I waited for the first gobble of the morning.

This spring, I have hunted in Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee and have only heard whip-poor-wills once and chuck-wills-widows only at two places.  It's true, of course, that one rarely hears both species of nightjars in the same place, as chucks, at 12 inches in length, are two inches longer than whips - and size does matter in the wild world.

Thus chucks often out compete their smaller relatives and when chucks move in, whips move out.  For example, one of the two places that I have heard chucks is behind our house as when that species showed up in the late 1990s, it was not long until the whip-poor-wills disappeared.  Yet, we only have heard one singing chuck-wills-widow behind our house, as that species' numbers are likewise in decline.

A variety of reasons have been offered for the decline in whip-poor-wills as their numbers have dropped throughout the Eastern United States. Pesticides, habitat change, and lack of logging in many places have been a few of the reasons listed.  Whip-poor-wills require early successional habitat to thrive and a lack of timber cutting has become the norm in the East's national forests.

Whip-poor-wills winter from the Gulf States south to Honduras, so wintering habitat loss could also be an issue.  Whatever the reason for the population decline, the whips and chucks are integral parts of the East's ecosystem as they do yeoman's work at keeping down insect populations, and if we lose these species nature and humans will be much the poorer.

The Joy of Turkey Hunting (Blog Eighty-three)

Today, I called in and killed a mature gobbler while afield in Franklin County, Virginia.  For people who don't turkey hunt, they may not know how hard it is to tag a tom.  This was the eleventh time I have been out this spring in Virginia, including many times before I go to teach English, and the first time I actually had a chance to take a gobbler.

Nothing I do in the outdoors has such a low success rate, and nothing compares to that scintillating moment when a mature gobbler is within range and one knows that the hunt will end in an exhilarating fashion or in inglorious misery.

My one-shot kill resulted in a quick and merciful death to the old longbeard, and when I reached him and saw that my prize was secured, I screamed not once, twice, or three times but four.  I thought I was done screaming after the third yell, but one more had to escape.

Later, I went by the landowners and thanked them for letting me hunt.  I am now tagged out in Virginia and will head for West Virginia soon.  Also, I plan on taking several novice turkey hunters here in Virginia.  It is fun to tutor others and not to have to carry a gun.

And today's turkey will soon become grilled breast and the legs will become a delicious soup.

Elaine and Tallulah (Blog Eighty-two)

Elaine has a new best friend, Tallulah, one of our five hens.  Elaine has always enjoyed talking to our chickens since they arrived last May as day-old chicks.  Of course, in the summer we purchased Tallulah, Dot, and Violet from the local Southern States because six of our eight chicks turned out to be cockerels.

The three new girls, as Elaine called them, had a little difficulty being accepted by our resident birds.  But now, I think, Tallulah has become Elaine's favorite chicken.  About a month ago, Tallulah started visiting Elaine when the chickens were let out into our front yard every afternoon to forage.  Little by little, Tallulah became bolder and bolder as she first would feed close to Elaine, then come to her and whine for food, then finally Tallulah began hopping up the steps to stand besides Elaine as she sat on our stoop.

But Tallulah was not done yet with her overtures.  Eventually, she learned to hop up and sit on Elaine's lap and whine for food.  Now, every time Elaine sits on the stoop, Tallulah comes running to Elaine, hops up on her lap, begs for food, and allows Elaine to stroke her chest.

Our alpha hen, Ruby, one of our two original hens, is also our smartest and most athletic hen.  Once Ruby saw that Tallulah was receiving food from Elaine (and all she had to do was sit on my wife's lap), Ruby likewise began sitting on Elaine's lap.  Ruby, though, seems mostly interested in the food, not visiting.  Tallulah seems to actually like to linger awhile with Elaine.

The three other hens, Violet, Dot, and Little Spotty Hen, are below Ruby and Tallulah on the pecking order.  It will be interesting to see if they start the lap sitting gambit.

Opening Day Turkey Hunting Blues (Blog Eighty-one)

Several months ago, I told Elaine that I had a feeling that I would call in and kill a gobbler on opening day of Virginia's turkey season - today.  Whenever I have that particular feeling that I will do well fishing and hunting, it is almost always accurate.  Today, though, it was not.

Not only did I not kill a gobbler today, I was never in the "game" with one.  I heard a few longbeards on the roost, but by 6:30 A.M., the birds were done for the day - and so was I, though I did not know it.

I trekked up and down hillsides on the Franklin County farm I was on, went through a box, slate, and every mouth call I brought with me, peformed my best yelps, clucks, purrs, cutts and even did hen, jenny, and jake kee-kees.  And not one bird responded to me all day.

To strike out is one thing but to go down in the proverbial flames in something else altogether.  The only good thing is that it was only day one of the Virginia season, and I will be back at it on day two behind our Botetourt County home.

More Fun than a Barrel of Chickens (Blog Eighty)

It is not a news flash that men and women often approach things differently.  And every day in our chicken run Elaine and I are testament to that tendency.

For example, every day we give our five hens and Little Jerry a slice of bread or two, as this is one of our flock's favorite treats.  When it is Elaine's turn to feed our birds, she tears and divides the bread so that each chicken will have a chance to eat a bit or two.  She says this is the polite, civilized way to conduct matters.

I, on the other hand, delight in tossing an entire slice into the run and watching the whole flock compete for the prize.  Invariably, one hen picks up the slice and tries to run away from the other hens to a corner of the run.  Also, invariably, before that first hen reaches a corner, several of the other ladies have swiped bits and pieces from the hen's mouth. Then Little Jerry picks up some sliver of a slice, gives the food cluck, and expects the hens to come to him for their reward - which they do not do.

The result is mass chaos, hens chasing each other all over the run, Little Jerry giving off non-stop food clucks with no hen paying any attention to him.  And me? I am doubled over with laughter at the Keystone Cops hilarity of the entire affair.  Meanwhile, Elaine is reprimanding me for my actions.

The Sky is Carolina Blue (Blog Seventy-nine)

For the past 46 years, or since I was 14, I have been a University of North Carolina basketball fan.  During 42 of those years, the season ended badly, that is without the Heels winning a national championship.

The four years where Carolina captured the title are the biggest thrills I have had in sports.  Last Sunday when the season ended with UNC's loss to Kansas, I was moody and gloomy as always, though, in reality, the season likely ended for all intents and purposes the Sunday before when Kendall Marshall broke his wrist.

Nevertheless, UNC has given me much over the years, especially Coach Dean Smith.  I have read his books and the wisdom he imparted on how to treat people in general and young people specifically greatly influenced how I teach high school students.  In fact, I often tell people I have two roll models: Coach Smith and my late grandfather Willie.  Both talked about the importance of hard work, treating people with respect, and having high expectations for yourself.

Yes, the last loss is always a bitter blow, but, proverbially, there is always next year.  And without a doubt the "Carolina Way" that Coach Smith instituted is a marvelous way to approach life.

Gobbling and Crowing (Blog Seventy-eight)

This week, the intensity of the gobbling behind our house took a quantum leap forward.  Elaine and I have been hearing toms irregularly sound off since late February, but beginning Monday and continuing through Friday (which is when I write this) the booming sounds of male turkeys reached new levels.

Tuesday was the most intense morning.  While I was walking my daily three miles in the dark before school, I heard one particularly boisterous monarch gobbling a good 45 minutes before sunrise.  When I arrived home, I ascertained that he was only about a 100 yards away from our chicken coop.  Our rooster, Little Jerry, was crowing inside the coop and when I let him out into the run, the cockerel matched the gobbler in their respective species' versions of "I'm in charge here. All males beware."

Finally, Jerry and the tom subsided, but then another gobbler began, just 75 yards below our house and yet another chimed in on the creek ridge 75 yards in the other direction.  This set off Little Jerry and the first gobbler and everybody had to go through another round of who the macho male was.

I can hardly wait until Virginia's turkey season starts.

Reasons to Arise (Blog Seventy-seven)

As is usual, this morning, I  arose, ate Bob's Red Mill oatmeal with bananas and other fruit and went walking and birding in the dark.  Even an hour before sunrise, the songbirds, especially this time of year when attracting a mate and establishing territory is vital, are exceptionally active.

The first avian I heard was a mockingbird, belting out his song in a field off our rural road.  Soon two male cardinals began dueling by song, each, in effect, warning the other to stay away from his little patch of turf.

Two weeks ago, we had woodcocks doing their mating dance high in the air, but they have flown north.  But we had another transient visitor a few days ago, a hermit thrush.  He has been singing his flute-like melody - an incredibly beautiful one.

Like the woodcock, the hermit thrush will not be here for long.  Soon he will wend his way north and our breeding season wood thrushes will return.  As melodic as the hermit thrush is, I feel that the wood thrush sports the most sublime song of all our songbirds.

Of course, the song I enjoy hearing the most is not often thought of as a song, but it truly is - the booming gobble of a male turkey.  Which reminds me, I should go outside right now and see if I can hear any toms sounding off.  Turkeys have been behind the house for five straight mornings - will today be number six?

No Power, No Problem (Blog Seventy-six)

Wednesday evening our electricity went off just after Elaine finished cooking dinner.  Living in a rural area, we are used to periodically losing power, especially in the wintertime.  Our wood stove was already well-stoked so there was no problem with heat.

Nor was there any problem with light or the evening's entertainment.  While Elaine went to retrieve our Scrabble set and several candles for ambiance, I went to find our Coleman lantern and flashlights.
Elaine set up our scrabble game near the stove and placed two candles on the brick hearth.

We used our Coleman LED flashlights to make our way around the house, and my wife arranged the Coleman lantern behind the game board.  Then the match began.

Elaine and I are currently involved in a Scrabble brouhaha that has lasted about four years.  We have best of 11 matches and so far there have been over 20 of those matches.  The previous match she won 6-0, and on Wednesday evening I won the latest one, also 6-0.  Most of our matches, though, see scores of 6-5 or 6-4 and the deciding game is often settled by just a few points.

Any activity with Elaine indoors or out is always a joy.  And so when the power went off, it was no problem at all.

Transition Time (Blog Seventy-five)

In this time of not quite spring, but not still winter, Elaine and I are definitely in a transition stage.  We are still enjoying the fruits of our labor from last spring and summer, as today she ate strawberry jam (made from berries from our garden last June) on toast while I enjoyed wineberry cobbler (made from berries gathered on our land).

But we are also busily doing habitat improvement projects.  Wednesday after school and Friday before school, we planted white pine seedlings in two clearcuts behind our house and earlier in the week we planted three sawtooth oak seedlings in our food plot.  I had planned to go to our Sinking Creek land to plant eight other sawtooth oaks but the heavy rain the past few days has made that trip unlikely.

The birds are also in a transitional phase.  A woodcock showed up Monday and has remained on our land all week.  Every morning and evening we hear him emitting his diagnostic "peenk" sound and doing his aerial mating flight.  The turkeys have been talking behind the house all week and it is clear that the gobblers are ready for romance.

I also have firmed up turkey hunting trips to North Carolina and Tennessee in the past fortnight and will, as always, pursue toms in Virginia and West Virginia.  And I have trout and smallmouth bass fishing excursions planned.  This is a busy time of the year.

Chickens in the Snow (Blog Seventy-four)

We often refer to our chickens, which were hatched last spring, as teenage chickens because of their relative youth and how they react to new things.  Their newness to the world was on display last Sunday when our birds experienced their first snow.

In short, they were both terrified and befuddled of the white stuff falling.  Around 3:30 when the snowfall was at its peak, Little Jerry and his five hens stopped moving and feeding altogether.  They huddled near one corner of their run and did not move for over 2 1/2 hours.

As darkness was approaching, we began to fear that they would not have enough sense to walk the few feet to their house and the warmth to be found there.  It is also a fair question to ask that as the birds were all cold and miserable and were not drinking or eating anything, why had they huddled in abject terror for such a long period of time?  Had they not enough sense to come in out of the snow?

Finally at 6:10, one of the hens moved out from the pod and began making her way to the hen house door and the rest followed in single file.  The next morning their behavior was also puzzling - they refused to leave the hen house even though the snow had stopped and was just a few inches deep.

Around 8:00 A.M, we placed food inside the hen house and periodically added more.  Around 9:30, we placed a slice of bread on the gang plank and brave Ruby and Tallulah, our two alpha hens, ventured out to nibble.  But when the bread fell off the gang plank, neither had moxie enough to walk  the few inches to the slice that was lying in the snow.

At last around 11:00, the flock worked up enough courage to come outside.  "The Sunday it Snowed" was not our birds' finest moment.

Waiting for the First Gobble of Spring (Blog Seventy-three)

This morning after conducting my daily routine of filling the feeder and waterer for our chickens, I lingered outside in the early light hoping to hear the first gobble of spring.  The sound was not forthcoming; nevertheless, it is nearly time for an annual rite of spring to commence.

Already, a number of other birds have begun singing their mating tunes.  Last month, the great-horned owls were in full vocal outcry and the mourning doves also began pairing off.  This month, the robins, cardinals, and Carolina wrens, among others, have voiced their desires for spring to hurry up and arrive.

Yesterday another sign of the upcoming season was on display.  Two male robins were chest bumping each other on a little postage stamp of a neighbor's front yard, determined that each would become master of this piece of turf.  The loser, no doubt, would be forced out while the winner was safe - until some other upstart comes along.

This spring, as always, I plan to spring gobbler hunt in my two home states of Virginia and West Virginia and aim also to go to Tennessee and North Carolina.  Last spring, I had my best turkey season, but this year could easily be my worst - or another banner year.  There's rarely any logic concerning how a year unfolds in the region's turkey woods.

Sinking Creek Conservation Easement (Blog Seventy-two)

This week we basically finished the process of putting another conservation easement on the rural land that we own.  In April of 2006, we bought 120 acres on Sinking Creek in Craig County, Virginia and immediately after purchasing the land contacted the Virginia Outdoors Foundation (VOF) to put an easement on the land.

In November of that year, we purchased a 20-acre tract that adjoins the 120 acres, so that the viewshed would be protected and the 20 acres would not be developed.  The purchase was also part of our "good fences make good neighbors policy," meaning, in this case, no neighbors no need for fences.

For the past few years we have talked about the need to place those 20 acres under easement and this year we finally did so.  As usual, working with the VOF and the Western Virginia Land Trust was a pleasurable experience.

As a couple who enjoys the outdoor experience, we strongly recommend conservation easements as a way to protect rural America from development.  Land trusts exist in every state on the local, regional, and statewide levels.

Here are some helpful sites.
www.landtrustalliance.org
www.virginiaoutdoorsfoundation.org
www.westernvirginialandtrust.org

A Buck, a Bushytail, a Bear, and a Bunny (Blog Seventy-one)

This past Wednesday was the last day of Virginia's squirrel season, so after leaving school and arriving home, I went out the backdoor to squirrel hunt.  We have a seeded, logging road that runs from one end of our 38 acres to the other, so I walked to our food plot, where one end of the travel way begins or ends depending on where one starts.

No sooner had I left the food plot and entered the road that I spooked the young buck that has taken up residence on our property.  The smallish two pointer, an obvious 1 1/2-year-old male, has been spotted by me a dozen or so times this hunting season.  I was glad to see that he had survived the various deer seasons.

Immediately afterwards, I encountered a gray squirrel, but it was spooky and soon scampered away when I began to slink toward it.  About a half hour later, I heard something rambling through the undergrowth.  The animal turned out to be a black bear, perhaps not having denned somewhere because of the warm weather.

Moving on, and with darkness descending, I jumped a rabbit that likewise was moving along the logging road.  The cottontail was moving so fast that a shot was impossible.

Indeed, I spent the last hour of squirrel season not killing or shooting at anything.  No matter, it was a great evening to ramble through the woods.



Sunday Mornings with Elaine and Mad Men (Blog Seventy)

For the past few months, one of Elaine's and my Sunday morning pleasures has been to sit by the wood stove and watch Mad Men from 6:00 to 9:00 A.M. This morning I arose early to start the fire, so the living room was warm and cozy before she came downstairs for her morning oatmeal and Sunday dose of Don Draper, Peggy Olson, Roger Sterling, and the gang.

Elaine likes to analyze the characters and I enjoy listening to her commentary. She can't stand Pete Campbell, is ambivalent about Ken Cosgrove, and disapproves of Betty Draper.

As for myself, I relish just being in the presence of Elaine's warm personality.  She did so many nice things for me today from fixing lunch (venison burgers, baked sweet potatoes, and wineberry pie) to watching the chickens as they wandered around the yard to planning a Scrabble contest for tonight before the North Carolina basketball game tonight (I'm an avid UNC basketball fan).

Every day, Sunday or not, with her is a joy.

Chickens in the Straw (Blog Sixty-nine)

Several blogs ago, I wrote about how Elaine and I placed a bale of straw in our chicken run.  The chickens have relished destroying the bale, scratching and pecking their way through it.

In about two weeks, the hard-packed bale was reduced to scattered straw.  Elaine then spread the straw evenly around the fenced in run.  And then the chickens had more fun, delightedly scratching through the duff every day.

Every time we bring the birds a treat (their favorites include scratch corn, Cheerios, Total Cereal, and bread of any kind) they enthusiastically scratch for hours looking for the last morsel.

We have decided not to free range the birds, knowing that they would last less than a week in our wooded 38 acres.  At least 13 different predators would make short work of them.  What we have done instead is let the birds out of the run in the evening and under our supervision, the chickens scratch their way across our yard.

The five hens are still producing well, providing us with three to five eggs daily.  However, they are moulting now and we expect egg production to suffer.

My Day as a Squirrel Hunting Guide (Blog Sixty-eight)

I spent all day Saturday taking youngsters and their parents squirrel hunting on the 38 acres behind our house.  I was working on several articles about young hunters, and our place is usually overrun with squirrels.

Not yesterday, though.  In the morning, I took a father and son hunting.  The wind howled, the trees shook, and the squirrels hunkered in their dens.  We only saw two squirrels all day, and they were in the process of fleeing from us.

That evening, Elaine and I hosted two parents and their daughter and son.  The dad and daughter went to one end of the property, the mom, son, and I went to the other.  Results similar to the morning were the result.

The whole, misbegotten day set me thinking about the vagaries of hunting.  I once went squirrel hunting with a wildlife biologist in the Jefferson National Forest.  The gentleman had picked the locale because of its bountiful supply of bushytails.  We never saw one all day.

Two things are certain after yesterday.  One, my career as a squirrel guide is seriously in jeopardy. And two, I expect to see hordes of bushytails every time I walk out the door today to tend to the chickens today.

Deer Season Over (Blog Sixty-seven)

Yesterday, deer season concluded and I was fortunate to kill a doe during the last half hour of the late muzzleloader season.  I started the season in September by bowhunting in Alleghany County, North Carolina and finished it yesterday in Franklin County, Virginia.  I ended up killing 10 deer, 9 in Virginia and 1 in West Virginia.

Elaine and I don't buy any meat from a store, so freezing a good supply of venison is essential for our 2012 food supply.  We easily eat 8 or 9 deer every year, plus share some with family and friends. 

It is always sad when deer season ends, as it has been such a big part of my life outdoors for the past 3 1/2 months.  On the other hand, I am going squirrel hunting next Saturday and am looking forward to the change of pace.  I also have to give two smallmouth bass seminars this month and that too will be a nice change.

Meanwhile, today, I have to clean much of my deer hunting gear, much of it has been piled onto my work room bed - and that is a real mess.  Today, for lunch Elaine and I are dining on venison tenderloin and wineberry pie - celebrating the bounty of the season.  Then it will be time to clean the chicken coop and let our birds free range in the yard for several hours.

Best Christmas Present Ever (Blog Sixty-six)

Last Sunday, Elaine gave me the best Christmas present I have ever received - a fly that she tied herself and that came from a feather from a turkey I called in and killed.  I am not ashamed to admit that my eyes became misty when I found her creation in my Christmas stocking.

A little over  three years ago, Elaine was diagnosed with breast cancer.  As part of her recovery, she attended a Casting for Recovery (www.castingforrecovery.org) retreat in 2010.  CFR is a national organization that offers retreats for women with or recovering from breast cancer. Those retreats combine fly fishing, counseling, medical expertise, and breast cancer recovery.  It was at a CFR retreat that my wife learned how to fly fish and tie patterns.

The joy of having Elaine healthy again and with me during Christmas is something that is hard to express.  The joy of her taking the time to hand tie something for me, especially combining two activities that I enjoy - river smallmouth bass fishing and turkey hunting - is equally inexpressible.

What a wonderful person and wife.

Christmas Eve at Home (Blog Sixty-five)

Yesterday, Friday, was my first day off school for the holidays, and I eagerly went to muzzleload hunt for deer in Bedford County.  Arriving around 10:00 A.M, I went with the landowner as he showed me the best places to hunt on his property as this was the first time I had been there to pursue whitetails.

After taking a stand, I proceeded to fall asleep three different times in the first two hours I was there, which made me realize how exhausted I was from teaching school, writing, and going hunting every chance I had for the past three-plus months.  So at 2:30, I decided to go home and by 6:30, I had gone to bed.

Today, Saturday and Christmas Eve, I spent part of the day cleaning the chicken coop, putting wood in the garage for the winter, and cutting up a downed ash tree.  But mostly I just rested.  Sometimes that is what I need to do instead of pushing myself all the time.

Tomorrow, Elaine's and my son and daughter and her husband will gather for Christmas brunch and presents.  And per Sarah's wishes, I will have a fire going in the stove.

Thanks for reading this year.

Chicken Delight (Blog Sixty-four)

It was almost a year ago that I broached the subject to Elaine that we should try to raise chickens.  Understandably, in our then 32 1/2 years of marriage, she felt that my suggestion was made in jest as we had never even had pets let alone farm animals.

Now we are the proud owners of five egg bearing Rhode Island Red hens and their guardian Little Jerry.  Recently we have begun discussing how to make the sextet's lives more interesting, as they have consumed all the grass in their run.  This morning, Elaine had the idea of depositing a bale of straw inside the run.

So after I gathered the morning's eggs and cast about their daily treat of Cheerios, I hauled the straw inside the run.  The chickens immediately left their cereal and raced toward the bale. Predictably, Ruby, who will hop up or fly onto anything, first flew up to the bale and soon all members of our flock were busily pulling and scratching at the bale.

We expect the entire mass of straw to be levelled in a day or two.

The Magic of Morning (Blog Sixty-three)

I have been mentoring beginning hunters this season and have really enjoyed not carrying a gun.  This morning friend Doak Harbison and I arrived at a Franklin County winter rye field and watched the sun come up and the night creatures be replaced by those of the day - with some overlapping.

From before sunrise until 7:40, we listened as two great horned owls belted out their "hoo, hoo-hoo," continuing their contest concerning which was the most dominant until well over 30 minutes past sunrise.  I found the verbal battle fascinating as I have infrequently heard the great horned continue so long past sunrise.

Of course, the reason for this duel is that the mating season is in full swing for this species.  Egg laying can begin sometime in January, and the males obviously have to settle issues about mates and territories long before then.

Joining the owls in a cacophony of sound was a mob of crows which chose sunrise as the time to harass a hawk of an indeterminate species.  The outcome was as  it usually is in such matters, that is, more and more crows rushing to the hubbub, more and more raucous cawing, ended finally by the raptor taking wing for a quieter neighborhood.  Of course, the hawk will likely be back tomorrow and the whole issue will have to be discussed anew, but not likely settled.

We went home without a deer, but the morning was a glorious and memorable one.

 

Two State Strike Out (Blog Sixty-two)

Every autumn, I seem to end up going afield in two states in the same day, and today was one of those days - indeed this was the second time this season it has taken place.  Back in October, I went turkey hunting in West Virginia in the morning and bowhunting in Virginia in the evening.  This act was fairly easy in that I went turkey hunting in Monroe County which borders Craig County where I went bowhunting.

That two-state adventure actually worked out quite well, as though I failed to kill a turkey in West Virginia, my friends and I did work a flock of jakes.  And that evening, I killed a Craig County deer while bowhunting.  So my success rate was an acceptable 50 percent.  I have this dream of killing big game animals in two different states in the same day, but that accomplishment still eludes me - and today was no exception.

During my morning hunt in Carolina, I did not even see a deer.  I then arrived home to see my favorite basketball teach, North Carolina, suffer a one-point defeat to Kentucky.  Then I took my son Mark hunting with the hope that he would kill a deer.  But as was the case in North Carolina, we did not even see a deer.

So my favorite basketball team lost and I drove several hundred miles through two states and never saw a deer - not a good day.

Great Thanksgiving Hunting (Blog Sixty-one)

The hunting for my family and me could not have been any better on Thanksgiving Day.  That morning, my son-in-law David found a deer that he had shot late Wednesday evening.  Meanwhile I went fall turkey hunting on a Botetourt County farm where the landowner had assured me that I would be the only one afield.  Normally, I don't like to turkey hunt on Thanksgiving Day given the fact that so many others will be deer hunting.

But since I had the farm to myself, I went out after turkeys and at 7:35 A.M., I called in and killed a jenny.  Later that day my son Mark drove to a nearby Botetourt County farm, where the plan/hope was for only Mark to be hunting and for him to kill his first ever deer.  At 4:55 that evening, Mark did just that, a very satisfying event for the both of us.

Elaine even was involved with the day's events.  As she was assisting me in the cleaning of the turkey, I asked her if she would make me a river smallmouth-type fly out of one of the feathers - and that she include the fly in my Christmas stocking.

Who knows, maybe I will catch a smallmouth next summer with a fly made from a feather from a turkey killed on Thanksgiving morning.  Again, what a memorable day.

Don't Hire Me as a Guide (Blog Sixty)

Every year, several individuals ask me if I can take them on a guided fishing or hunting trip.  I think there are several reasons this happens.  The first is that three of my four books on river smallmouth fishing have the word guide in them, and the second is that because I am an outdoor writer, I guess some people assume that I am a guide or that I can guide them to success.

Neither assumption is true.  In fact, I have a terrible record as an informal guide on hunting trips with friends and family.  Today, opening day of Virginia's firearms season, was a good example of why this is true.

This morning I took friend Doak Harbison on his first deer hunt.  The outing was at a Franklin County farm where I typically see more deer and have more success than any other farm that I have permission to be afield on.  Before sunrise, I brought Doak to a stand site that I had hunted twice last year and had killed deer there both times.  Also, my son-in-law David had hunted there three times this year and last and had tagged does  on two of those occasions.

Thus, I had taken Doak to a place where 80 percent of the time it had been hunted, a hunter had gone home successfully and 100 percent of the time deer had been spotted.  Furthermore, the landowner had told me that locale was a hot one this year.

The result: Doak and I stayed on stand from before sunrise until around noon - a solid 5 1/2 hours - and never saw a deer...or a squirrel...or a game animal of any kind.

Again, don't hire me as a guide.

Deer Hunting Doldrums (Blog Fifty-nine)

My son-in-law David and I spent the entire Saturday muzzleload hunting for deer on family land in Craig County - and had nothing to show for it.  At least David had an excuse, he saw no whitetails the entire day.  I, on the other hand, saw two.

The first doe came by at 7:40 A.M., and quite simply, I blew the shot.  I am still not sure what I did wrong, but the last David and I saw the doe that I shot at, she was walking calmly up the mountain.

Once while at a fishing event, a crowd member came up to me, introduced himself, and told me the thing he liked best about reading my magazine stories  was my writing about the blunders I make while afield either fishing or hunting.  "You sure seem to make a lot," the guy chuckled as he left.

Well, now, sometimes it surely feels that I do make more than my share of snafus.  The second and final doe sighting of the day was at 12:45, not the typical time one expects to observe whitetails.  The doe was within range, but I never had a killing shot, so I never fired.

The high point for the rest of the day was observing a fox squirrel feeding nearby, interesting because it featured a black face and black feet. 

I can't wait to hunt before school on Monday.

Turkey Eggs (Blog Fifty-eight)

We are enjoying the bounty of eggs, finding five in the next box on most days.

However, this week we were able to try out something a bit different.  A co-teacher of Bruce’s has both chickens and turkeys, and the turkeys seem to be seasonally confused at the present, laying in abundance.  So Bruce came home one day with four turkey eggs for us to sample.

They were quite attractive- larger than our hens’ eggs and barely fitting in the egg carton niches, and a lovely cream color speckled with dark brown – reminding me of the spatter painting I did as a child using a toothbrush and screen wire.  I wanted to keep the eggs as a display, so I pierced each end with a knitting needle, then blew the contents into a bowl for scrambled eggs…. a good way also to do a taste comparison.

The yolks were a paler yellow than our girls’, and the scrambled eggs had what I would describe as a creamy taste, almost as if cream cheese had been added.  Four eggs made three sandwiches, a bit larger amount than four hen eggs would have provided.

And now the empty shells have been added to our “Poultry Museum” of household décor.

Best Wife Ever (Blog Fifty-seven)

There are so many reasons I love Elaine, and several of them manifested themselves today.  October 29 was opening day of Virginia's fall turkey season, and I asked Elaine to do my morning chicken rituals (bringing food and water to Little Jerry and his hens) so that I could go hunting.  Of course, she did so willingly.

Later while she was at a Tupperware party, or whatever those things are called that ladies go to where one lady hosts a function and other ladies buy things from her, I called her to come home and take pictures of me with the turkey I had called in and killed.  Of course, she did so willingly.

But it is not just Elaine's sweet nature that is so appealing about her; she also has a delightful sense of humor.  When we walked out to the backyard and woods to take pictures of the turkey and me, Violet, our most vocal hen, began squawking at me.

"Relax, Violet," quipped Elaine.  "That turkey is nobody you know.

Tomorrow, Sunday, Elaine will spend several hours cooking for me...on the menu is venison tenderloin and cherry cobbler (from our organic cherry tree - the berries which I picked and Elaine pitted - she had the much harder job).  And, of course, as always her lunch will be sublime.

Four Egg Days (Blog Fifty-six)

While Bruce went hunting on Saturday, I spent a great deal of time with the chickens.  Our five hens are developing a four-a-day habit, since Ruby and Little Spotty Hen are laying.

The first time we found a fourth egg in the nest we became quite excited and discoursed long and hard on who was responsible, Little Spotty or Ruby?  A week went by before a fourth egg appeared again.   And again we wondered.  Now another week has passed, and almost every day we find a fourth egg, distinctly different in size and color from the other three.  Number four is quite a bit smaller and paler in color, and is often more speckled compared to the jumbo sized rich brown eggs of the “big girls,”  Tallulah, Dot, and Violet.

Bruce is convinced Little Spotty is the responsible party, but unless we catch them in the act we might never be sure.  And if we go out too soon to the coop and disturb a chicky sitting in a nesting box, we feel quite guilty as they chastise us severely with lots of squawking and feather flapping.  Once we have a “Five Egg Day” all doubts about who is doing what will be cleared up for good.   

Ruby or Little Spotty Hen? (Blog Fifty-five)

Last May 4, Elaine and I began our chicken rearing career when we received 10 straight run chicks from the local Southern States.  As is common, two chicks perished within five days, and we raised the remaining eight chicks to maturity, along the way learning that six of the eight were roosters.

To supplement the female contingent, consisting of just Ruby and Little Spotty Hen, we purchased chickens that Elaine (she names all of our chickens) named Tallulah, Dot, and Violet.  Elaine said Tallulah received her moniker because of her big, white tail, Dot hers because of a white dot on her back, and Violet her appellation because "she's no shrinking violet." In short, Violet is constantly whining, clucking, or yapping about something being almost as vocal as our sole remaining rooster, Little Jerry.

On August 18, our new trio of hens began laying, depositing two eggs in one of the nesting boxes, and have been doing a great job ever since.  In fact, most days we find three eggs there, indicating that every one of the trio is doing her share.

This past Thursday was like every other day, as three medium size dark brown eggs were laid in the nesting box before noon.  But around 5:30 that evening, I found a small, light brown egg at the upper corner of our chicken run near the solar powered station.

Apparently, either Ruby or Little Spotty Hen has produced her first egg.  As of today, neither has taken credit nor has one or the other produced another egg.  Elaine and I are all anticipation about how many eggs will be found on Sunday.

A Long - and Fascinating Day - of Bowhunting (Blog Fifty-four)

Saturday, I spent almost an entire day in a Craig County black oak, bowhunting for deer.  The only time I debarked from the tree was between 1 and 3:00 P.M. when I went to my vehicle to rest, eat, and call Elaine.

And during that time aloft, I never loosed an arrow, although between 4:30 and 6:40, I had nine different deer around me.  There's an old saying that "close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," and close certainly doesn't count in bowhunting.  The deer just wouldn't come within the self-restricted 20-yard range that I have with my Matthews Switchback compound.  They stayed on the opposite side of the logging road that I was set up along (picture below) and just wouldn't cross to my side.

And, yes, I was frustrated and exhausted at the end of the day from being constantly ready to prepare to shoot but never doing so.  But the day was not a bad one.  Before the deer arrived, I observed a number of fascinating events.  Two mature turkey hens and I engaged in chatter, the three of us purring, clucking, and yelping at each other, but they never came within bow range either.

Later, a raven came flying in and perched right above, until it became alarmed at the blob, me, below it.  Several hours later a red-tailed hawk did the same thing, terrorizing the chipmunk population before the raptor, too, became alarmed at my outline.

I didn't sleep well thinking about the missed opportunities.  This afternoon, I am returning to that Craig County property and moving my treestand to the opposite side of the logging road.

Bowhunting Blunders (Blog Fifty-three)

Yesterday was the first day of Virginia's bow season for deer, and I committed a series of blunders, making me think that I wasn't quite ready for prime time.  My first snafu started around 5:25 A.M. when I had one last task to complete before hopping in the Xterra and leaving to hunt in Craig County.  All I had to do was put on my safety harness.

 I don't like putting on a harness in the dark at the base of a tree because I always seem to become entangled in all the various belts.  I struggled for a good five minutes trying to put on the harness before giving up and waking up Elaine.  She was not amused at my incompetence at such an early hour, but as always she sweetly helped me put on the device.  I am so fortunate to be married to her.

My next mishap took place at the base of the red oak where I wanted to position my treestand in the dark.  While I was putting on my headlamp in preparation for ascending, somehow the battery compartment opened and spilled its contents onto the forest duff.  I spent several precious minutes groping along the ground for the batteries, before giving up the search.

I didn't have a spare headlamp so I was forced to put my flashlight in my mouth and put up the stand with the aid of that light. I began to fear that the outing was going to be one of those proverbial bad days.

With all of those blunders and time loss, I was not secured in my treestand until 7:11 A.M., a good half hour later than I had intended.  But at 7:18, a mature doe ambled by, I loosed an arrow, the shot was good, and I was home for lunch.  Sometimes it truly is better to be lucky than good.

First Deer of Season (Blog Fifty-two)

Saturday while hunting the last day of West Virginia's early muzzleloader season, I killed my first deer of the season - a mature and very hefty Mason County doe.  Normally when I kill a deer, it is because I have done extensive scouting and pondered where and when to take a stand.

This time, however, I must give thanks to Chris Walls of Cross Lanes and his dad Morris who lives near Beckley.  Chris, director of public relations for the Warner Law Offices in Charleston and who also operates Beyond the Backyard, a popular program for youth interested in the outdoors, made the initial contact of the Mason County landowner who owned the property.  And then Morris scouted out the property before I arrived and instructed me where to set up.

Next month, I hope to repay the favor to the father and son team when I take them turkey hunting in Monroe County on opening day of the fall season.  When folks go out of the way to help a fellow hunter be successful, it is the least that we can do to repay that kindness.  I'll let you know next month how we did.

Meanwhile, Elaine and I spent much of Saturday night and Sunday afternoon turning the whitetail into packages of venison for the winter.  For the first time, Elaine canned some venison (picture below) which we have heard makes for great soups.  And tomorrow, I will have venison heart sandwiches (whole wheat bread, hard cheddar cheese, brown bread) for my school day lunch.

For more information: www.beyondthebackyard.org.

Wild Black Walnuts (Blog Fifty-one)

This afternoon I gathered wild black walnuts from a tree that grows in our woods.  Last September and October, I neglected to forage for these nuts and spent the rest of the fall and winter regretting it.

Walnuts, especially the ones that grow wild, have a taste like no other nut.  To be sure, I enjoy eating domestic walnuts, often having them in my morning oatmeal.  But the nutmeat of the wild variety has an intensity all its own.  Indeed, it is almost as if one wild black walnut has twice the, well, nuttiness, the heartiness of flavor, jammed into it that two domestic walnuts would.

In a month or two, after the walnuts season for a while, I will remove the outer husks (while wearing gloves of course) taking care not to let them stain my clothes or hands.  Then I will wait another week or two, then remove the shells.

The remaining nutmeat will be used to season persimmon bread, paw paw pudding, and of course my oatmeal.  Elaine will also use the nutmeat for her other homemade breads.

Other wild nuts taste great, for example the ones from mockernut and shagbark hickories especially, but none can compare to the black walnut.

In Praise of the Western Virginia Land Trust (Blog Fifty)

Next Sunday, Elaine and I will be at the annual September meeting of the Western Virginia Land Trust where I will be doing a benefit book signing, donating $2.50 off every book sold to the WVLT.  A canoe trip on the James River with me will also be auctioned as part of a fundraiser.

It always makes me nervous to be "auctioned off," as my fear is that no one will bid for my services.  Of course, nothing, I would guess, could be worse, auction-wise, than to be a male or female being auctioned off as a date and have no one bid on an evening with you. 

Still, I am always relieved when, after the bidding concludes, someone comes up to me and informs that they are the lucky winners of a canoe outing with me.  We exchange phone numbers and e-mails and tentatively plan an excursion for the following summer.

The WVLT is an outstanding organization that does wonderful work  by saving rural land through conservation easements.  Elaine and I have placed 392 acres in Craig County under conservation easements and we are very glad that we have done so. 

For more information on the WVLT and the benefits of conservation easements: www.westernvirginialandtrust.org.

Preparing for Bow Season(Blog Forty-nine)

September is the month when the impending arrival of bow season for deer takes on a sense of urgency.  I begin practicing with my Matthews Switchback every year on or around July 4.  But in the ninth month, other preparatory acts begin as well.

Yesterday, I went to a Botetourt County cattle farm where I have permission to bowhunt and placed stand steps in a hardwood.  That particular tree grows in a place where deer activity is heavy every October when Virginia's season begins.  The spot is both a natural funnel and where a grove of white and red oaks have been thinned so that only the best mast producers still stand.

I should see plenty of whitetails there next month.  Whether I kill one or not is really up to my skills and whether a deer happens to come into range.

This morning I practiced with broadheads on my arrows, saving the ones that flew accurately and culling one that did not.  Later this week, I will check tree stands, safety harnesses, and do some more scouting in places where I have permission to be afield.

I will also make a list of every item that I will be taking afield on my first bowhunt.  One can't start too soon to be ready for opening day.

Elaine on Eggs (Blog Forty-eight)

We have begun reaping the results of our chicken raising efforts as within the past week, the girls, at least the older ones, have begun laying.  Two, two, one, two, THREE EGGS!  Each day holds a surprise in the hen house.

The first egg was of such importance that we had to take a picture of it “on location.”  Not until we were inside our house and examining the photo did we realize a second egg was partially hidden in the straw.  We checked the nesting box later in the day, and there were two more eggs waiting.  How convenient for us that all hens choose to lay in the same box. 

Since we have not yet discovered the daily laying timetable of our girls, we have been checking numerous times to see what we can find.  8:45, no eggs.  9:45, “hot off the press” – the egg that day still warm from  hen's body.  Holding this roundish object in my hand makes me reflect on the miraculous aspect of the event.   Eating them is another small miracle – dark yellow yolks with a rich eggy taste.  Thank goodness current nutritional thinking says an egg or two a day is usually fine. 

Of course on the days of three eggs we heap praises on our bigger hens.  And on the days of two eggs or one, we discuss between ourselves who is sloughing off on the job: Violet, Dot, or Tallulah.  Ruby and Little Spotty have not yet begun laying, as they are about four weeks younger than the big girls.  Violet in particular clucks and squawks with great vehemence.  I would like to think once the egg for the day is done with that she would calm down, but so far her loudness is impossible to categorize. 

Meanwhile, Little Jerry patrols back and forth, seemingly very proud of his girls and himself.

End of the Season (Blog Forty-seven)

The rhythm that is the seasons is very much much in evidence right now.  Last Monday, I returned to my high school English job as the first work day had arrived and this coming Wednesday is the first day of school with students.  The previous Saturday I went on my last summertime fishing trip, as Elaine and I traveled to the South Fork of the Shenandoah in the Front Royal area.

Earlier this month, we picked wild blackberries for the last time this year, just gathering enough for blackberry pancakes (picture below).  That blackberry harvest ended a long sequence of berries that has ripened with strawberries in May, cherries in May and June, raspberries and wineberries in July, and dewberries and blackberries in July and August.

Next month, we will be able to pick a few summer grapes, as well as gather some mockernut and shagbark hickory nuts, plus some paw paws.  The main nut, though, will be the wild black walnut harvest in early October, and the trees on our Botetourt County land are heavily laden.  Good for us, and good for the gray and fox squirrels that also live here.

Sometime in late October and early November, we will gather some persimmons and that will conclude our various harvests for the year.  But it is a comfort knowing that our freezer will be full of quart berry "bags," and our pantry filled with jams and preserves.

Up a River without a Paddle (Blog Forty-six)

My son Mark and I are both high school English teachers, and we both go back to school in a few days. So this past Monday we decided to take our Dagger Legend canoe on a fishing excursion down the James River which flows near our Botetourt County, Virginia homes.

 Elaine kindly did the shuttle, dropped Mark and me off at the put-in near the community of Glen Wilton, and we then arranged our lunches, water, rods, and tackleboxes, and prepared to debark.

"Dad, where are the paddles?" Mark asked.

If two people are going on a canoe fishing trip, there are three essentials: a canoe, fishing gear, and, well, paddles.  I had managed to leave one-third of the essentials in the backseat of my vehicle.

Of course, I know better.  I have written four books on river fishing.  The following day I was scheduled to give a talk to the Buchanan Rotary Club on river fishing for goodness sakes.  It was also abundantly clear that I had royally messed up in the trip planning category.

There were only two options.  First, I told Mark to see if he could find some sticks that might serve as makeshift paddles (picture below).  Second, because Mark had left his cell phone in the car, I would walk into Glen Wilton and see if someone would let me use a phone and call Elaine on her cell.

Fortunately, the local post office was open and the kindly post mistress let me use her phone.  As the line from Streetcar Named Desire goes, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers."

Elaine, who has long sweetly endured my forgetfulness, drove back to the access point and dropped off the paddles.

The fishing was poor as I never could figure out what the smallmouths were feeding on, but Mark and I enjoyed our day together, witnessed an osprey, a turkey hen with poults, and a fawn along the shoreline.  I also broke my flyrod, which like the paddle episode was entirely my fault.  All in all, it was a day when my incompetence seemed to be as glaring as the August sun.

Six Roosters, Two Hens (Blog Forty-five)

Recently we wrote about our fear that we might have six roosters and two hens in our backyard chicken run.  Well, about two weeks ago, friends Jack and Marylynn Leffel came over for dinner and the former confirmed that we do, indeed, have a half dozen young males. 

What to do? Given the fact that two hens would not provide us with enough eggs, we purchased some16-week-old hens.  We were able to swap our alpha male, Third Man, and two of those newly bought hens to a farm family in Franklin County.  In exchange, we received seven dozen farm fresh eggs. 

In spite of our best efforts to find good homes for several of the other roosters, we have had to dispatch two of them, which, we must admit, was a very hard thing to do, given the fact that we had raised them from chicks. 

The good news is that the three remaining roosters, Little Jerry and two nameless males, are quite tolerant of each other...for now.  And our now five hens, Ruby and Little Spotty Hen, which we raised from chicks and the three newbies, which Elaine has named Tallulah, Dot, and Violet, seem to be happier that several of the roosters, specifically the aggressive Russell, have, well, become the dear departed.

This leaves Little Jerry in charge of the backyard, and we believe he will be up to the task.