Turkeys

Mid-morning I could hear them coming. A flock of turkeys, when they're feeding and feel safe (and they always keep a couple of lookouts) can be a noisy gang. They can tear up an area. If they stay true to form, they'll work through here at about the same time for two or three days. Cup of coffee and I watch them for half-an-hour. They're very interesting. B called and had some library books for me and I thought about going to town, but didn't need anything, so just drove down there, talked about his brutal new teaching schedule (just for one semester, money to re-roof his house) picked up the books and went home. One of the books was non-fiction, southwest hiking and a decent discussion of the rise and fall of cultures on the Colorado Plateau. One of the places mentioned, Cedar Mesa, outside of Bluff, Utah, is one of my favorite spots in the world, I've hiked and camped there many times. There's a great chert deposit. One of the canyons was fenced off, Ute grazing land on the outside. You had to know it was there, and it was a pretty good hike, but at the head of the canyon, there was a spring, several structures and rock art all over a ledge that was virtually inaccessible and easily defendable with a club. There was a water tank (a stone depression), and a granary, and the access was just foot-holds carved in sandstone. One of the two or three best places I've ever spent the night; camped up the Little Cimarron, catching cut-throat trout for breakfast; the Niobrara; one night on the Bay of Fundy. But to wake under a huge overhanging ledge of sandstone, my panic that the whole damned thing is going to come crashing down. I don't trust sandstone ceilings because they're so fucking heavy. You can live under a rock overhang if you want to, but I'd rather stay out in the open, where I could run in any direction. I have trained goats that would scatter in four directions, if anything happened, and they usually warned me which direction to avoid. Goats can change direction very quickly. A lovely cool night, but I left the windows open and pulled up a flannel sheet. Made a list this morning. Sidetracked by mushrooms and cattails, stopped at the Diary Bar for a footer and onion rings, stopped at the pub for a pint and they had saved a nice three gallon square bucket for me. A great label: Hard Boiled Eggs In Brine. A good label can make my day. I'd stopped at a junk store, on the way into town, looking for the heads of tools that needed re-handling (I want a two-pound hammer, I don't have one), and I found apressure cooker, a large one, with a good gasket, but it was missing its pressure gauge which meant it was useless, so I got it for five dollars. It's the perfect small scale still, you just attach a copper tube to the pressure relief port and you can distill anything. You just need a good thermometer, and the bad shit is fairly easy to detect. Keeping an even heat, in a wood-stove, is difficult, but I've had decades of experience, and I think it's interesting that the only person who knows more about that than me lives just a mile down the road. He called, seems one of the books he'd loaned me was due yesterday. I'd already read the books, and he'll pick them up tomorrow. Absolutely luscious heirloom tomatoes and tofu on toast, with balsamic and a sprinkle of olive oil. I can't even imagine anything better. You have the comparative, then you have the superlative. I like to cube tofu and soak it strong marinades, mustard, red wine, tropical botanicals, then dry it, then reconstitute it in Madeira. A certain grace, of course, in the way I presented this to other people. That world, out there, requires a certain dexterity, and it's not that difficult to master, shouting in an order at Mac Doodles. Listen, I am almost perfectly integrated. I probably overreact.