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Happy Easter – Rebirth

Easter falls during Passover week, an effort by the early Church to compete with the parent faith.  While Passover marks human liberty, Easter marks birth and rebirth, a compelling concept for a world that too often focuses on simple physical comforts and novelties. Humans obsessed with physical luxuries have an opportunity to reflect more, to contemplate better ways of living.

How meaningful, then, that the showdown on the Bundy ranch in Arizona happened on the eve of Passover and Easter. A rebirth of freedom has followed that showdown.  Growing numbers of American citizens are realizing how empowered they are, how many kindred spirits there are in the quest for keeping government power limited, how united they are in their commitment to liberty.

How the Bundy facedown will ultimately play out is anyone’s guess, but one thing is for sure: It will not be another Waco (21 years ago today) or Ruby Ridge. And that’s a great thing.  We can thank our Judeo-Christian Biblical heritage for that.

Happy Easter, America.

Happy Passover: Freedom for Everyone

Happy Passover to those who observe the holiday. It is the holiday of freedom, and liberty.

Is it any surprise that the Bundy ranch was liberated on the eve of Passover? While no shots were fired, the standoff at the Bundy ranch had all the ingredients of another Waco or Ruby Ridge. Except that today, millions of Americans are ready to leap to their fellow citizens’ defense. Many patriots who joined the Bundy family made the point that another civil war could start over the standoff. While later news reports indicate that the desert tortoise had zero to do with the BLM removing the Bundy’s cattle, and rather US senator Harry Reid’s son wanted the land for a solar project, the bigger specter of an over-reaching, unnecessarily aggressive, thuggish government mixing it up with armed citizens, and then backing down, was not lost on most watchers.

America regained a shred of liberty this week. Whether you are sitting down to a Seder tonight, or not, you should give thinks for the liberty we have and that which we just won back.

Proof that bigotry is moronic, cowardly

A Jewish Community Center in Kansas City is attacked by a Ku Klux Klan guy. He shoots several innocent, unarmed, unprepared people there while yelling about how great Adolph Hitler was. Three people are dead, two of whom are confirmed to be Methodists, the third Catholic.

Not Jewish.

The murderer’s target group wasn’t there. Their Christian friends and neighbors were.

This attack also demonstrates how integrated America is: Christians celebrating at a Jewish run facility; how religious and skin color differences are easily bridged, much more often than not.

My deepest condolences to the families of the victims. My request to bigots: Wake the hell up, knock it off.

Pickled eggs

Pickled eggs are a regional treat unappreciated by many otherwise redeemable connoisseurs from the flatlands.  My wife and I relish them, our kids turn up their noses, and many other people ask “What?”

So here we go:

Using a gallon-size empty large glass pickle jar, I put in a can of sliced beets (plain, unsalted, if it can be found) with the red juice, 2-4 sliced onions of any color, thinly sliced rounds from 2-3 large carrots, and a dozen hard boiled, peeled eggs.  Pickling solution is made to taste, usually a teaspoon of white sugar and a teaspoon of salt dissolved in a few ounces of warm water, dill, basil, and garlic to taste, about 8-12 ounces of apple vinegar, 1-2 ounces red wine vinegar or balsamic vinegar, and top it off with warm water. Turn the sealed jar upside down and shake it for a minute.

Set it out on the kitchen counter for a few hours, and then refrigerate (or in the winter, put it in your cold mud room or outside enclosed porch, good natural refrigerators).

After a couple days, everything in that jar is begging to be eaten.  After a week, it is a delicacy.  We eat the eggs whole with the vegetables on the side, or I slice them up into salads that Viv and I eat for lunch.

Three cheers for Central Pennsylvania’s traditional foods!

Take a kid fishing

Tomorrow marks the beginning of trout season in Pennsylvania. It’s a big deal. Half the population is associated with it, either fishing, eating the fish, or cheering on the mighty hunters who bring home the bacon.

Our next generation needs a helping hand. Too many gadgets, electronics, virtual nothingness and digital pretend friends are separating kids from the beautiful reality surrounding them. They might grow up to think that water comes from the tap, heat from the wall thingy, and food from the grocery store. Fishing teaches crucial lessons about being a real human being, not the least of which is self reliance, a trait once quintessentially American and now considered quaint.

Fishing also teaches the importance of conserving natural resources for the future kids.

So take a kid fishing. You’ll be doing everyone a big favor, now and later.

 

Hear Ye, Hear Ye…step back in time

Last Sunday was the Maple Festival at Fort Hunter, here in Harrisburg.  Today and tomorrow is the Honorable Company of Horners at the US Army Heritage Center in Carlisle, PA.  If you enjoy mingling with people dressed as if they just emerged from a 1770s time machine, this is the event to go to this weekend.  Flintlock rifles, lots of modern and antique powder horns and various accoutrements like knives, tomahawks, etc.  I find this sort of diversion from politics, work, and politicking refreshing.  Maybe you will, too.

Michele Bachmann – say it, sister

Michele Bachmann said it loud and proud, and it’s not just Israel getting sold out, it’s thousands of years of tradition getting flushed, too, a cornerstone of Western Civilization. Michele, you have my greatest appreciation and respect for saying what must be said.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Snow is magic, pretty, enchanting, a pain to drive in, a pain to shovel, and a huge boon to hunters.

Snow helps hunters (animals and humans alike) see prey better, because it creates stark contrasts. When a prey animal is moving, a hunter can much more quickly spot it.  Tracks reveal where animals have been, and where they might be again.

Today was the last day to harvest a bobcat, and while I did not try to bag one real hard, I still feel a little disappointed. Our traps went out after the bobcat trapping season, and I did not get up to our northcentral PA honeyhole spot, so I can’t say I tried hard. But still, if you read enough hunting reports, you know that all it takes is that “one amazing moment” when the cat silently appears after you’ve been calling. I had hoped for that moment.

Kind of like that other hopey-changey stuff, my own hope was misplaced.

But I did take a lot of pretty photos with snowy backdrops. The white barn, dune-like ripples in the snow across a big field, dead foxtail grass waving in the deep snow…kind of like grass waving in the dunes at the sea shore. An old loop of barbed wire sticking up through the snow, with rabbit tracks hopping by on the right. Ice sheets across the stream, or nearly across, with deer tracks testing it up til its edge, and then backing away to find another route.

As I was snuck inside a field corner woods, blowing on the dying rabbit call, a giant snowy owl erupted from the other side of the hedgerow 150 yards away.  One swoop over me, and it lit out for Canada. Not even camo fools those eyes.  The last snowy owl I saw was 36 years ago, while I was out hunting alone in Centre County, walking along a field edge.  Raucous crows alerted me to something special about to happen, and then it appeared, a majestic white owl, soaring ahead of the cawing mass.  That owl just kept on going, leaving me mesmerized.

A black weasel came darting to the call inside a small wash, while I was perched on a stump and log way above.  My mind first identified it as a black squirrel, then as a mink, and then as the weasel it was, as I watched it crouched under a fallen log, watching me with glittery eyes.  I have a weasel mounted with the wood duck I shot with John Plowman nearly 20 years ago, out on the Susquehanna.  The weasel is from Centre County, and is brown with a black-tipped tail.  This is the first all-black weasel I have seen, although I have seen both an all-black fisher (in the ADKs in November) and a mink this year.  Kind of like a three-of-a kind poker hand; the fourth must be a seal…

Nature is so simply magical.  How people do drugs, I do not understand.  The sun on the snow today was enough of a “drug” for me to last all day and night and into tomorrow.  And so yet another hunt passed, without a kill, and yet, so fulfilling, nonetheless.

For shotgun slug hunters, relief

If you hunt deer in a shotgun-only zone like southeast Pennsylvania, Long Island, or New Jersey, you know the common futility of shooting rifled slugs (Foster slugs) out of your smoothbore barrel.  Within 50 yards, odds are you’ll connect, but beyond the likelihood of bagging the deer drops like a stone.  Foster slugs are effective in close, but never real accurate. (My friend, attorney, and hunting partner George A. would like me to remind readers that he has shot many deer with his Remington 870 rifled barrel, and he can attest to its great accuracy with sabots)

After flinging about a lot of wasted lead slugs last month, most of which were within 60 or 70 yards at deer standing broadside, my frustration reached epic levels.  Instead of leaving my otherwise trusty Remington 870 wrapped around a tree in the woods like some tennis pros beat up on their racquets, I decided to join the growing crowd of shotgun hunters and buy a rifled barrel.

Rifled barrels are known for dramatically improving shotgun accuracy, and effectiveness.  Even a barrel that is nearly snap-on/ snap-off, like the Remington 870, is reported by many hunters to shoot remarkably accurately out to 100 yards.

So, scoring a brand new 12-gauge Remington rifled barrel (open sights, not the cantilevered scope ramp) for $170 was exciting, but was only step one in improving my score.  Next I had to determine which sabots (pronounced say-bo-z) would emit from that new barrel.

After extensive research (which now means reading both drivel and gold on the Internet blogs, forums, product web pages, etc.), I selected the reloading components at www.slugsrus.com.  These are the folks who invented, patented, and until recently marketed the Lightfield slug, as well as the Hastings slugs of yore.  Their proprietary wad and lead mushroom head slug (“hammerhead”) result in astonishing accuracy with 490-grain lead slugs.  Not just claims of accuracy, but demonstrated accuracy in all kinds of circumstances.

That kind of freight, moving at 1600 feet per second, is a whopper, the Hammer of Thor, a ton of bricks, a falling grand piano, and every other appellation you care to assign.  It is a stopper of enormous magnitude. Forget lil’ old deer; grizzly bears and other large dangerous game will have a tough time resisting the urge to lay down and go into the long sleep once they meet this slug.

So I spoke with Pam at www.slugsrus.com, at length, and ended up purchasing sufficient components to reload 40 shells at home.  Reloading is a lot, lot, lot cheaper than buying pre-made shells off the shelf. If you are like me, and you want to see for yourself that the new rifled barrel is indeed capable of incredible accuracy, then a good half or more of those handloaded slugs are going to go down range off the cabin porch.

If you are a shotgun shooter by necessity or choice, and you resent paying ludicrous prices for shotgun slugs, I strongly recommend that you contact www.slugsrus.com and see if they can help you both improve your gun’s effectiveness, and save you a lot of money.

Last day of Great American Outdoor Show

If you have not yet gone to the new Great American Outdoor Show, today’s the day.

Even if you’re not a hunter, there’s still much to see and do. The Farm Show complex is enormous and every hall is packed. RVs, campers, boats, fishing everything, mapping, GPS technology, clothing. Etc.

One thing I noticed last week was a booth full of furs also selling turtle shells. Whether or not these shells are from wild native turtles, illegal, or from some farmed non-native species, it disturbed me to see them. Turtles take a good ten years to reach maturity, when they can begin breeding. Their nests are subject to raids by raccoons, skunks, snakes, possums, and bears. ATVs and dirt bikes often are ridden over the soft soils turtles choose to lay their eggs.  Collectors grab them for illegal sales, dads take them home for their kids to see, etc.

You get the picture. Turtles don’t have it easy.

If there’s one thing missing from the GAOS, it’s an emphasis on land, water, and wildlife conservation. Plenty of emphasis on the taking part, not much on the conserving part. Maybe that’ll change at next year’s show.