Front Porch Musings
It's been a mighty hot wait for your date to appear on my calendar but it's almost here. I have cleaned my bucket of mulch and fish scales in preparation for ice and feathers. The rotating seat now grinds a little harder from the built up grit and the duct tape field repair of the cushion might need to be replaced. The trusty Remmington 1187, propped up in the closet since last year’s last shoot, has gotten a little rusty and so have I.
A life in the Carolina piedmont can lend to an unconscious sense of the borderline, abruptly pronouncing itself in the asphalt of backroads, the trees, the terroir: a different Southern accent. Aside from the birth of a child, it takes a compelling reason to wake me before the sun. Heading to a boat marina, a blind, or a hunt camp qualifies on that list. A day in the quail woods tops it.