A 'tail's tale in the tracks

This morning we slogged out to take a close look at the tracks that had us scratching our heads yesterday. The snow was deeper and more slippery than we anticipated. Upon closer examination, we believe the tracks that had puzzled us were made by a buck whitetail deer dragging his hooves at the tired end of rutting and hunting seasons. In fact, we think something spooked him as he was starting across the field and caused him to bolt back into the woods (third photo). The tracks suddenly head off at 90° from his line of travel and show leaps, not steps.

closeup of individual tracks

Photo by J. Harrington

hooves dragging through snow between tracks

Photo by J. Harrington

tracks stop, pivot, leap toward woods

Photo by J. Harrington

We are enjoying a second consecutive, and rare, day of sunshine. Last night's fog brought another morning of hoar-frost covered trees, sparkling against the blue sky. One of the amaryllis should be in full bloom sometime during the next few days. Meanwhile, we're slowly picking our way through the heritage beans cookbook we were given for Christmas, finding some recipes that look good for Spring and others that will hit the spot this Winter. For some of the bean varieties that came with the cookbook, we needed to go to the Ranch Gordo web site for recipes. In the process, we learned some things that warmed the cockles of our Black Irish heart, such as one recipe that came from the family of a bluegrass singer who was born in our home town just a few years ahead of us. That's the kind of coincidence that makes us feel right at home in the midst of a new adventure of heritage cooking to go with our artisan sourdough bread and our emphasis on local and/or authentic foods. We're going to keep our fingers crossed that the rest of this year goes as well as the first couple of days.

be careful

By Ed Roberson

i must be careful about such things as these.

the thin-grained oak.    the quiet grizzlies scared

into the hills by the constant tracks squeezing

in behind them closer in the snow.    the snared

rigidity of the winter lake.    deer after deer

crossing on the spines of fish who look up and stare

with their eyes pressed to the ice.   in a sleep.  hearing

the thin taps leading away to collapse like the bear

in the high quiet.   i must be careful not to shake

anything in too wild an elation.    not to jar

the fragile mountains against the paper far-

ness.   nor avalanche the fog or the eagle from the air.

of the gentle wilderness i must set the precarious

words.   like rocks.   without one snowcapped mistake.

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