Expectations

I never expected anything, and coming from a line of sharecroppers, I've lived on boiled cabbage and salt-pork. Boiled cabbage and neck bones is one of my favorite meals. And cornbread, of course. Up before dawn and rebuild the fire. When the overcast light develops I can see ice is covering everything. Not wanting to brave a sleigh ride down the driveway, I postpone my trip to town. I discover a package of marrow bones in the freezer, sold as dog bones, and put them on to simmer in a highly spiced chicken broth. I cook them about six hours and have the marrow smeared on toast. I'd been thinking about eating bones for a long time, actually. Mullet, pike, carp, small birds, a lot of bones. How do you deal with them? Well, you pickled them, or cook them such a way that you can eat the small bones. Shad, as another example. B called and needs a ride to town, to pick up his vehicle at the shop. We have books to exchange, I need some things in town, and the weather is supposed to be decent. I think it's been two weeks since I've ventured off the ridge. A good test-flight for winter, as it's seldom more than a couple of weeks that I can't drive out. If Barnhart and his son, Alan, can get me connected again, I'll be a happy camper. I've found that if you keep your requirements limited it's easier to get along. I'm perfectly fine with greens and cornbread, those little cow-peas cooked with salt-pork. I'd better go, the barometer is falling.