Heather's blog

Stewing Over a Moose

When I showed a friend a picture of the last pile of white packages on my table, and said that our moose is now all wrapped and the freezer, he deadpanned that it didn’t look like a wrapped moose. Chip and the kids did most the work—trimming meat off the bone, and fat, tendons, and stringy fascia from the roasts. The weather was so nice that the bulk of the butchering was done outside, on a table made from sawhorses and  a recycled sheet of plywood in the driveway and truck tailgates. 

Sunday's Thought

"The search is the meaning, the search for beauty, love, kindness and restoration in this difficult, wired and messy era of ours. The miracle is that we are here, no matter how undone we've been the night before, we wake up every morning and are still here. It is phenomenal just to be."

---  Anne Lamott from her book, "Stitches"

Moose Hunting 101

Think of this as field notes from our moose camp-- or at least how the Lendes got our moose. I imagine there are as many different ways as there are hunters. 

Walkin' and Talkin' Ramble

This is what my friend and I talked about walking the dogs this morning, in the long shadows of the equinox sun and yellow leaves and snow on the mountains and north wind blowing down the river as the tide came in beginning with the Pope's talk: 

Moose Hunting Postcard

My dad used to say the best thing about going away was coming home again. It was so nice to take a hot bath and get into clean clothes that were made from materials I can pronounce. Like cotton. Chip and I swung by Fish and Game and checked the white board in the window with the moose count on it on our way home. "Fifteen!" he said. "And not one of them ours ?" The moose we saw will live to father children.

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