By Jeff Moyer
I was sitting in my tree stand early one morning when I noticed that my arrow made a loud scraping noise against the stand frame if it came in contact. A piece of water pipe insulation and a couple of zip ties later and all was quiet again. I looked at it and thought to myself, sometimes it’s all about the little things and simple tastes. I’ve had a lot of treasured moments sitting some 20′ up in a tree stand, as I watch the animals go about their day, think over a lot of things and discuss them with my Savior, and enjoy His gift of creation.
I’ve lived my entire life here on our home place and have probably made thousands of trips back thru the hayfields and ridges behind my home, hunting or trapping, working food plots, looking for mushrooms, cutting fire wood, checking game cameras, or just for no real purpose other than the enjoyment of the moment, and somehow I enjoy each trip tremendously and never tire of just walking or riding around and looking at the place. Now I have grandchildren who want to go along and seem to enjoy it as much as I do.
Over the years I’ve been in a couple of very nice restaurants here and there, most of which I felt terribly out of place in and really, the food sometimes wasn’t all that impressive either. To me, nothing beats a traditional Thanksgiving supper of turkey and all the trimmings at home with my family or my favorite spring meal of fresh dandelion greens, fried potatoes, brown beans, bacon, pickled eggs, and Nancy’s pickled ramps. When I was still working, one spring I mentioned that I was looking forward to a mess of fresh dandelion greens and my more suburban co-workers looked at me like I had horns or something. A couple of months later the same thing happened when I mentioned hunting mushrooms, then again a few months later when I mentioned squirrel gravy and fried potatoes, and the same reaction yet again when I mentioned venison steaks that fall. I politely asked these folks what they dine on and told them that they would likely starve at my house.
A lot of folks get pleasure from walking in a city park or similar setting. There are those who are totally at ease on a dark city street. I’ve never felt that ease on those streets when I’ve been there, yet I’ve been on a mountaintop at midnight with no qualms. Quietly walking along a deer trail or old skidder trail, thru the fields, or along the country road we live on and waving to our neighbors passing by easily beats a more metropolitan setting.
I own a couple of suits, nothing fancy, just functional, that usually come out for weddings or sadly, funerals. Ties just don’t seem to ride well around my neck but when one does find it’s way there, usually a camo one or one festooned with Loony Tunes characters, it’s held in place by a tie bar or tie tack that belonged to my dad. I have four or five pairs of camo bib overalls that I’m much more at home in. When I was still working I attended annual professional conferences regularly and once threatened to wear a pair of my bibs to a conference. Strangely enough, no one seemed surprised or objected.
A while back a buddy of mine cut a bunch of big trees around the yard that would have hit the house had they come out and fallen in that direction. When I showed our two year old grandson all the big trees, assorted brush, and blocked up firewood laying around the yard, his expression was priceless as his mouth and eyes were suddenly wide open. I’m blessed in that I still feel that same level of child like awe and wonder when I see a big gobbler or buck, find another mushroom, see new growth peeking thru in the garden or food plot, or catch a nice trout.
Each year we plant a small garden consisting of green beans, sweet corn, tomatoes, assorted squash, cucumbers, beets, and spinach. On the edge of the garden are three raised beds, home to strawberries that will provide delicious freezer jam, asparagus that will be rolled in olive oil and sprinkled with garlic salt and black pepper and accompany venison steaks on the grill, assorted herbs, and lettuce that will join them in season. On the other edge of the garden is a small row of horseradish. By the time you read this, I hope to have dug it up, processed the roots, and replanted the tops so they might grow and provide more horseradish for the table again in a few years. I’ve heard some say that “you can buy all that stuff cheaper and easier than you can grow it” and that’s most likely true, but then those folks are missing the pleasure of getting their hands dirty in the good earth, tilling, digging, and planting, watching things sprout and grow, and then later enjoying the fruits of their labor. We were camping and there was a couple from New Jersey in the adjoining site. During the course of our conversations, I mentioned gardening and applying chicken litter to it for fertilizer. They responded by asking if that didn’t make the vegatables taste funny. Years ago I was afraid I was developing a serious health issue so I went to the doctor. Rather than prescribing something or another, he asked me if I had a garden and when I said yes, he told me that I was dealing with stress, that gardens are the best stress-reliever known to man, and to go home and get in mine. The folks from New Jersey didn’t get it, but the good doctor most certainly did.
On the edge of the yard is a small patch of wild raspberries that were there when we built the house in 1981. If the weather cooperates and the deer leave them alone, I’ll spend some enjoyable times picking them. Not too far from here is a similar patch of wild blackberries that I’ll also spend time at, picking those delicious ebony berries. Both patches received a bit of fertilizer a month or so ago, and if the raspberries and blackberries produce, they’ll go into Nancy’s amazing 3 berry freezer jam, a mix of those wild berries and blueberries from a nearby fruit farm, a recipe we got from our dear old friend Bob, another fellow who understood the value of simple tastes and the little things.
There’s a remote little hollow on a mountain range not far from here and a short walk down down into that hollow with a Walmart bag and a ramp hoe leads one to large patches of ramps, which are wonderful when fried with potatoes, added into a meatloaf in the smoker, or the bulbs pickled. My brother-in-law Mutt and I will soon be heading back there to dig ramps and spend some quality time with Bob’s son Dave and his wife, and then most likely we’ll fish our way home, prospecting for trout and perhaps a smallmouth bass or two. Truth be told, the trip, the digging, the fellowship with old friends, and getting out in such a remote setting are as good as the harvest itself. Our current plan is to look at that particular ramp hollow a little closer this time to see if it might also be home to leatherback mushrooms later in the summer. Mutt and I spend considerable time looking for and hopefully gathering those delicious items if the rains cooperate, with snake chaps and an appropriate revolver being standard equipment for our search.
Our kids and their families live five minutes down the road and ten minutes up the road from us. Spending time with them, watching and listening to the grandkids play and watching them grow, hearing about what’s going on in their lives, sharing their joys and successes and listening and trying to help when they have needs and concerns, helping each other with various tasks when needed, and just having everyone nearby is truly one of life’s greater blessings. There’s a lot to be said for the little things and simple tastes, as happiness and contentment live there and are easily found if one will only look. I’ve been told that I lead a sheltered life, and perhaps that’s true to a degree, but I wouldn’t exchange it for anything.
