Woman Midwest-style

                                         A cross the country s everal hunting seasons are in full swing; b ow season began this week in Missouri.    Many folks share this lifestyle and believe in the  traditions  of our heritage to put food on the table with their own hands and tools, be it a trowel or a rifle.  Hunting is a personal choice with family tradition as  integral  as using a fork.  This is revised from one of my first posts.  It's always a challenge to re-read and publish to current readers but the "attitude" about this deserves a repost...  Now s ince my work is at my desk, if I chose to go hunting, I'd grab my bow, a snack and 2-3 bottles of ice water and off I'd go...  But damnit. I broke my ankle last April and I'm just not capable of  tackling the hiking and timber.  I's 'makin' very slow progress but that's just the way it is.  This year the old saying 'playin it by ear' really applies.        The re

Take care of Poochie after the deer is packaged and froze.  Use any older, scraps and freezer-burned meat to make the best homemade dog food.  Sure makes the best use of those venison scraps.  This is veterinarian-approved, especially to prevent Pancreatitis or if your dog is overweight - venison has no fat.  VENISON/RICE DOG FOOD In a 2 qt pan 3/4 full broth or salted water  1 Cup white rice, 1/2 Cup brown rice Bring to rolling boil, stir well to keep from balling up 1/2# baby or whole carrots chopped or diced

  I finally broke my five year dry spell  -  shot a button buck opening day gun season...           I'd about given up after five disappointing years of no game to my credit.  I ached to break in the .243 my husband had given me for Christmas last year.  So we got up at four a.m. for the one and a half hour drive to our Truman Lake spot.     Walking in, a young man met me on the path up the hill, sweaty and smiling and out of breath.  Told me if I was lookin’ for the 8 point that he shot it.  But I had no way of 'lookin' for that buck he referred to since my husband and I had arrived only a few minutes ago, Mr. Ed was surely half-mile deep in the timber ahead of me by now, as usual, confident that I'd find my own special spot.  Puzzled or amused, I must have looked as though I wanted the story, the young man bursting at the seams to tell the first person who'd stand still to listen.  Rare on the first day of deer rifle season, but I did, his adrena