Bong Recreation Area

We arrived as wood scavengers, too cheap to buy anything pre-cut. We traipsed deep into the isolated tree stands in search of larger scale logs, the meat of a fire. Most were wet, but we found enough big logs to fuel a fire to cook over and enjoy some drinks around. Kielbasa and Morning Star faux chicken patties hit the grate and food was crafted with sticks and minced garlic. Hours passed and bottles were emptied so we listened for the wolves. The pups cried for their mother, calling her back to the territory from her nighttime hunting excursion. The juvenile yelps rotated with the maternal howl and music was created. We tried to join in but, as we should have known, they did not welcome our intrusion of their evening orchestra. We retreated to the fire defeated, but Sarah didn't make. The picnic table reached out and tripped her, and Liz went with her. A graceful pile of giggles resulted and the bruises were laughed off and forgotten until the morning. Gun shots woke us and with each pow the birds scattered in flight. We struck a conversation about hunting for food and if we would be able to kill an animal. I couldn't help but think that some don't have the option to make this choice. I think I will kill an animal and eat it someday. Part of me hopes it's something like a squirrell to work against the convention. Although I recently read an article about our kindly rural counterparts who have resorted to eating small game such as squirrells and rabbits in the face of economic defeat. It's not but resourceful.