by GREG KOELKER
We have a drive up window on our house to deliver food. Well one can’t really drive up to it or actually order food as it opens onto our porch from the family room. The drive up came into being this winter as a way to be able to feed a serial killer. That is our resident serial killer/barn cat OC who shows up out there and often loudly places her order – as soon as she manages to stretch and slink out of her heated cat house up in the shop that is. If she doesn’t finish all her Meow Mix Tender Centers, the leftovers come inside to keep them from freezing until the next drive by. There is an easy to refill heated water dish out there as well. We used to feed her and her late sidekick Tony up in the shop. No trip and slip trudging up to the shop to feed the cat now. I used to wonder what sort of wisdom would come from growing older. Put this on the list I guess. We have several friends that don’t eat leftovers. OC can be finicky about leftover cat chow, but if she is hungry enough, well. . .
Speaking of leftovers, let’s see, we have some leftover venison chili that we have dined on twice in the last few days. We have some leftover spaghetti and venison meat sauce from Sunday night. We have some leftover chicken frittatas from yesterday’s lunch. We have four slices of Rocky Rococo pizza vacuum sealed in the kitchen freezer. We had half a rotisserie chicken in the fridge. I pulled that out yesterday and popped a piece of white meat in my mouth; a few seconds later, I popped it out of my mouth. Upon further review – and I have never had this happen before – the leftover chicken was covered with mold! Anyway, what’s it going to be tonight? I vote for Rockies Za! Ellen just smiled. It is her favorite.
Memories of Januarys past:
“I think some of my moustache froze and broke off this morning when Scout and I walked down the driveway to do our business – mine was to collect the newspaper and hers was, well, “her business.” The sharp north wind had our flag pointing to where all the geese have gone – the smart ones anyway.” Not a good opening for any day.
Another January journal included an ice fishing trip: “Vince and I tried our luck on the ice on French Island last Saturday. He said he just needed to catch one fish through the ice this winter. He did too – just one crappie. I got a rock. We did have a great breakfast at Nutbush City Limits after we got off the ice.”
From another January entry: “Ellen just got back in from a snowshoe hike up our ridge with our friends Gregg Sikora and Danish foreign exchange high school student, Kelly Ta. They saw plenty of wildlife sign and got some exercise and some very cold hands – and paws; Scout wanted back into the house even before the humans got back.”
Until next time, get out – two years ago I walked down to the mailbox in crocs, shorts and sweatshirt on January 31. The cold returned with a vengeance, but for a short while it was a nice respite that didn’t involve an airplane ride.
Pray for Peace.
Greg Koelker is a lifelong resident of the Driftless region along the Mississippi River. He is the acclaimed author of the “Grouse Hollow Journal,” a column that celebrates rural life, nature, family heritage, and the traditions that bind communities together. While technically focused on the “outdoors,” his writing often explores broader themes of community values and education.
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