One of the rules around my house is don’t bring mutton over, or cook lamb in my home. If you think I’m anti sheep I assure that’s not the case, because it might have been six months, could have been a year ago, but somebody sheered one of those critters, spun the wool and now its warmly wrapped around my feet. I love wool, it’s the rest of the critter I can do without. Now with ducks, it’s quite the opposite, love the meat, but the feathers become quite a mess once plucked. So you’re not a sheep, or perhaps you like all things baa, well not me, like how pretty much all summer I give the hives a fairly wide berth. Mine are electrically fenced to protect the honey from the bears, who don’t care for bees, and I like the bees more than the bears who compete with me for what I think is my honey, since there my hives, and my bees. Bees, by the way that no matter their sweet little honey bees, they can be nasty bees if riled on the wrong day. Well come to think of it so could I, but in any event this past weekend things were pretty crisp outside early so I went to check on just how busy a bee, or one hundred eighty thousand could be. Oh I wasn’t disappointed. I grabbed enough comb for quart and ran to the house like winne-the- pooh with a windfall, Which suddenly reminded me of the sheep- wool duck dining dichotomy of me liking the outside of sheep and detesting the insides, and how I love the duck - breasts insides but could do without all those feathers. What a quandary I was in when a deer walked up to my plum trees and noshed its way through one summer of fresh branch growth. If I had been holding a rifle, I wouldn’t have needed to wait a week to harvest mine. Which brings me to the table top of hunting, I mean dining seasons of deer. Now whitetail deer while cloven of foot much like that wooly old sheep, well my Deer, eat everything in my yard, and I eat deer, again I love a good old venison roast, so this next weekend, if all the stars in the sky align and one buck, doe, or fawn, which means if its brown its down, waltzes past where my backside is perched I’m gonna put everything I don’t understand about a lot of critters innards or outs, fur or feathers, into the oven in the form of tenderloins or back-straps and finally enjoy the deer that for eleven months and two weeks shreds all I till, nurture, fence, water, and try to protect that the MN DNR says is illegal to feed deer, I’m gonna feed me, on the deer, and I may just shoot it off my deck. The trout whisperer

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North….. Aint under your feet