Quiet Holiday

Actually most of my holidays are quiet. I stay home, so as to stay off the roads, no one calls because everyone else has something to do, and I often treat myself to a nice dinner with a bottle of wine. Low profile. I read for a few hours, something fairly light but engaging, a Lee Child novel is good; then slip on my little day pack and go for a walk. Memorial Day is interesting, because I usually see my first rattlesnake about then, and the ticks are out, which means I won't go into the deep woods as often. I stick to the driveway and the logging roads, which are precisely not natural, but are interesting nonetheless. I talked to Mom, and she said again that I always amused myself. I have trouble understanding why most people need such social connection. I don't have time for it. Sweet potatoes were cheap so I'd bought a couple. pierced them with a fork, rubbed them with butter, wrapped them in foil, and cooked them right next to the coals; a small bacon wrapped filet of beef, pan seared (my preferred method, because I don't lose any juice) with a wilted endive and watercress salad. I had about $25 dollars worth of morels with the steak and in the salad. Samara calls and demands that I come and visit, and bring dried morels, she thought reconstituting them in sweet wine sounded like a good idea. So warm, even after dark, I have to give Black Dell a break. It's pleasant, sitting on the back porch, the door open, lights off, having a drink. A breeze that smells sweet and green. In the dark, but happy to be there; no debt, no medication, a general sense of good-will, what more could you ask? I never thought I'd get there, it was always a remote idea, extremely remote. Fifteen years of child-support and trying to carve out a living. B called and he was going to smoke a couple of pork loins and some sweet potatoes, so I went down. Excellent company and a great meal. The sweet potatoes took longer to cook than the loins. Homemade applesauce, homemade bread. Ronnie and I sat on the screened back porch, smoking, drinking beer, talked about distilling whiskey. I used to feed spent grains to the pigs, they'd get drunk and fall over. For years, in Mississippi, it was a spectator sport, with bleachers and a refreshment booth. The first time one fell over, with twitching legs, I was sure I had killed him, but he got up, in a little while, and staggered off. Excellent entertainment. Tonight, listening to Wayne and Ronnie talk about fighting fires in the state forest, was completely fascinating. I'm a cheap date, I actually like watching the tide come in, or waiting for it to go out so I can dig some clams.