Woman Midwest-style

      It’s turkey season! Sorry I’m running a bit behind, been scouting, fishing twice — this season is later than usual. Good thing too, we had three nights it froze. I can't think of a better, more relaxing way to spend a spring morning to escape the Coronavirus yahoo. The trees have new, bright green. Pastel flowers have burst out, springing from the dead. Bushes looks like light watercolor throughout the woods. A light scent is in the air with spring rains that bring new life to the countryside. Winter browns are changing magically to chartreuse and yellow on Forsythia and fuschia Redbud trees. Song birds have all returned, busily gathering tiny twigs and scraps to build new nests. The restlessness that ached in me for a tortuous national shut-down throughout winter can finally be appeased. The fields and timber without snow. No longer cooped indoors, feeling excitement with images of gobblers in that field that you call your honey-hole.  Started planning hunting sce

Spring turkey hunting is that awesome fan display, the excitement of toms gobbling and fighting, then tagging those gobblers. Zach and Ed's toms                                             For those of you who pack everything but the kitchen sink, you may add  rocks and a sense of humor  to your arsenal.  A turkey hunter for many years, I have a few  successes  and  failures . And as much as we may grumble, it's very true what my husband says about the  failures , "that's why it's called hunting". He also laughed, asking me if I offered advice that you throw rocks at uncooperative birds as a last ditch effort to kill one! That's his sense of humor.. When you're turkey hunting, you best leave your ego at home. Because after a week of not bagging a bird, saying 'we hunted hard' really makes  no  sense. I have to ask what the hell is 'hunting hard' or how is it suppose to be easy? It's not  hard  hunting for tu

It's said that turkeys are the dumbest, smartest critters out there.  And years of hunting them darn birds has proven it can be tiresome and frustrating but also blood-pumping exciting when the plan, my plan comes together.  BOOM!!      A flurry of feathers and the ol' tom backflips to the ground.  The big gobbler flops on the dirt thirty-some yards in front of me, its legs sporadically kicking with wicked talons as big a spread as a man's hand.  The pungent smell of gunpowder wafts into my nostrils -- it's pure exhilaration!  "Yeah!" I holler, my voice echoes down the hill.  I gaze as the big bird's wings flap in reflex to the shot.  I lower my gun, still on high alert to slam the action to shoot again if he gets up to escape.      Leaping forward, almost in disbelief, I scramble to the bird that is still twitching 'like a frog in a frying pan'.  My brain doesn't quite acknowledge yet that it's dead.  Logic spoke, 'Okay - it&