Woman Midwest-style

Big Creek  It's a wonder there's any game in these woods at all bein's it's overrun by the locals during gun season.  It's a little wicked wilderness so thick with brush you can't see past thirty yards..   But big deer abound in river bottoms and its hillsides, often coming into the upper fields to feed at night. And flocks of turkey roost in the tall oaks and sycamore trees in the surrounding flood-prone bottoms that more resembles a swamp than a creek.  We were after those birds.     A few years back in the fall, I guess my husband just wanted to show me around so he motioned me to stay close -- we didn't split up.  Alright by me, I didn't want to wander by myself till I knew the area better.  Those bottoms are too easy to get lost, gave me the creeps.   We hiked down the bare path winding into the creek basin, shotguns in hand,  turkey hunting in the swamp during a dry spell.  Obviously Ed knew the way, he was surefooted, not slowin

  The heat of summer is entrenched, and the 4th of July signals to bow hunters the summer 'break' is half-over. I'm thinking of cool relief of autumn. By October, deer return from timber to fields under moonlit nights, they'll migrate earlier without dusk's cover.  2013   Summer's humidity was relentless. But Fall bow season had begun even as u ncomfortable heat hung on. One humid afternoon, Ed and I opted to drive to hunt Urich Conservation Area prior to gun season's crowd chased off all the deer..... afterwards, it would be futile to hope for a modicum of success in Urich's small area. We loaded the Jeep with his climber stand and the ground blind I use, and an assundry of other supplies necessary including the small homemade deer cart. The usual mass mayhem of traffic kept us from making significant speed to Urich conservation area. Since the freezer was nearly empty, the woods and wild beckoned us both as necessity. Pulling into

The river runs deep with forbidden secrets, leery of intrusion to a trusted few. Swirling past knowledge held sacred, the current utters in whisper to protect its truth. Mindful of nature's fruitful song, winged creature glides gracefully midst times reminiscent. All Mother's lore upon renaissance greeted; championship welcome, rejoicing flourishes to noble tune. The orb's brilliant glow sifts through the gaiety; nocturnal proclamation sings cheery note. With the wilderness' keepsake of promise, the river flows timeless. Embracing dawn's iridescent crystal hues -- held close, breathless for remembrance to savor. The beckoning river sparkles slivered images to crest anticipation, entices delightful with adventure to possess for the winged glider its sole crusader. by Patricia Joy-Frommer,  1990 published "Poetic Voices of America" Sparrowgrass collection, 1992