Our family business is a Sporting & fishing lodge that was successful from the 60’s to 90’s in later years it became the place to come have a jam session and relax. We had 3 tiny camps on our property where grams lived also a cookhouse where she prepared 3 full meals a day for 10 to 30 people each day. When I was born my grandfather who died shortly after had given my parents a piece of his land,?a small area to ckear the land and place a trailer to start. This was the greatest gift that saved my life. Living right next to my grams growing up was literally a trail that crossed a mini stream to her warm living home. Certain times of the year were incredibly busy for us, salmon season, deer season, bear season and moose season always filled all 3 of our locations. Mostly wealthy American game hunters looking for keepsakes not meat, the left meat well fed us and more. Every family member at that time lived home and helped out in their way. All uncles were guides to take the spirts hunting and fishing safely, knowing the land and wildlife like the back of their hands. Daughters helped cooking, cleaning. Even as a young young girl inrembrr lugging a stick at a time to fill all 5 wood boxes, payment in the greatest food ever. These times were the years that build my childhood, each person in this time are the ones who I looked up to, admired and cherished. It’s so sad to see that no one talks to anyone anymore, just talk about, or never talk until there’s nothing to say. We don’t share our lives, families or affections with eachother now. Sad so many good people, it aches at my heart:
if a farmer called to say a cow had died that meant grab the chainsaw and keys. I loved going with whomever drove to town to pickup the dead cow. I just loved being next to these people I love them. The drives aleays took most the day because we lived deep in the woods away from population because of our business. That meant a treat maybe even a French fry from JRs, yum! This cow had died from failed calving this is a common call to get the calf gets stuck one way or another and dies then the mother dies baby stuck. For whatever reason this cows calf had its head and front legs hanging out of the mothers vagina. We loaded up the truck and headed up river. We stopped before home and took the dirt road up the mountain at the top of this wood road was where we kept all our steel barels and a tractor. Dad tied the hooves with a chain and momma cow fell onto the ground. The chainsaw turns over as the gas fulls it’s engine. Dad proceeds to cut the head off the calf, just clean off with a spraying saw. I sat in the truck drinking a cold coca cola watching dad section up that cow and place chunks in barels. At the end of it the chunks are placed in and seamed. These are left to rot until black beetles and maggots run. I remember rows and rows of barels in various states of stench and decomposition. We use to kick them so the bugs ran out. When bear season was approaching you set these barrels around in the woods chained down and open with wire holding the carcas pieces in. This is cheesecake to Bears and they are hungry and will find this treat. The guides would watch and visit to see what barels are active with bear visiting obvious. When a sport flew in to hunt the guide would place them near the barel and let them wait to catch their bear. Most people want these Bears for penis bone and all bears toenails and the pelt but the body itself is not the desired pieces to collect.
“great big gobs of slimy greasy gopher guts. Chopped up monkey meat. Mutilated birdies feet. French fried eyeballs drown in a pool of blood. Geeeeez I forgot my spoon. Yum! Yum!”