Grouse Hollow Journal for December 25, 2014 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow for December 25, 2014 by Greg Koelker

Most of my Christmas memories and stories have been shaded white and green and Santa Claus red. I remember deep snow, buckle down overshoes, wet mittens, Flexible Flyers, school parties, cut out snow flakes, the music at church, the Saturday afternoon Christmas movie at the Cass Theater and Santa Claus handing out a bag of treats afterwards. (My dad was even Santa one year.) The family get togethers seem epic in my remembrance.

Grandma and Grandpa Potter's small farm house was filled with Koelkers, Elskamps, Minks, Leesers, and often others. I remember the aromas of roast beef and gravy and potatoes and Grandma's homemade biscuits mingled with tobacco smoke and beer and cedar. I remember the laughter and the card games. At Grandma and Grandpa Koelker's, we had lots to eat with presents around a frosted Christmas tree with red lights along side a long dining table set up for the occasion. We had family from California and Illinois some years. There was always sports on the black and white TV and Miller High Life in the snow outside the kitchen steps. One year Grandpa gave me a toy barn he built for me that had my name painted across the roof. A lot of farming got done with that barn by me and my brother and friends and then Ben and Mark before it got so dilapidated that is went out to the burn pile - just last summer.

I loved to help get in the Christmas tree out on the farm. (I still do.) Sometimes the whole family would bundle up and go down in the woods together with a saw and sled and finally decide on a cedar tree that had good color and the right proportions and then drag it back up to the farm where my Dad would grump through having to get it into the little red and green stand. (It may be genetic, because to this day, putting the tree in the stand is the only thing I don't like about Christmas trees.) As I got older, I often cut and brought in a cedar tree for my folks and grandparents by myself. It was different but still a good memory of quiet, gray air near sundown with silent footsteps in soft snow as I dragged the tree back up to the farm.

Ellen's family used to get in a big cedar tree too. I remember my first couple Christmases as a member of the family where on Christmas Eve the welcoming scent of wood smoke wafted from the chimney when you got out of the car. Inside the warm farm house was filled with hugs and the rich fragrance of cooking and baking and cedar. The rooms were filled with brothers and sisters and and in-laws (like me). The place resounded with cheerful laughter, joking, teasing, and hearty “Merry Christmas!” to newcomers. (Before my time in the family, when the kids were little, Walt would load the whole gang up in the station wagon and go for a drive. Miraculously, Santa would come while they were gone.) When the kids got older, we would all crowd into the living room and the youngest, Bill and Bob and Lori and Kathy, would head for the colorful present mountain under the shining tree in the corner and start handing out colorfully wrapped presents. The floor would end in chaos with a carpet of wrapping paper, tags, and boxes. Santa Claus also showed up in person one year! (I think it might have been Joe Kremer in disguise, but who knows for sure.) Afterwards, most would head out for Midnight Mass and then come home for tom and jerrys.

At my house there were only five of us. We opened gifts on Christmas morning. I was usually the first one up. I have memories of red bicycles, electric trains, BB guns, books, race tracks, and games. One year I got a brick of .22 shorts rifle shells. I was perplexed and held it up as I didn't have a rifle. My dad just shrugged. (Later I got a .22 single shot at Grandma Potters.) When I was in college, I got an Air Force parka with a real wolf fur collar. I wore it for years to school and ice fishing.

Ellen and I began our own Christmas traditions like picking out a cedar here on the farm for our living room and fixing a venison steak dinner on Christmas Eve if we were home. Ben and Mark learned that they got three Christmases some years as there was “down home” at their grandparents for two and “up home” for our family Christmas. I remember one year we enlisted the aid of our neighbors, Dick and Judy Swantz. While were were gone south, they brought over the presents we had stored in their barn including two new bicycles. They had set it all up under the tree. On our way north, we heard Mark say to Ben (who may have become a non-believer by then), “If there are presents under the tree when we get home, there really is a Santa Claus!” We will never forget the look on their faces and talk about it every year. One of our best Christmas memories is the Christmas Eve surprise when Ben drove home from Colorado. He got here just in time to ride to Cassville with us.

Anyway, life happens to all of us. I will probably be the oldest person at the Hauk Christmas Eve this year, and then only outdone chronologically by my mom at the Koelker family Christmas. The children there will be my nephews and nieces and their kids and grandkids. As this is the time to make a living in skiing country, our mountain kids will spend Christmas with each other and their friends. There are nearly 60 Christmases I remember in one way or another. The standards set by those yuletides past can be pretty high, but I wouldn't trade the memories and stories or the ones to come for anything.

Until next time, get out - to our friends who have lost family members this year or whose family members can't all be home at Christmas this year, maybe you can take some time to quietly remember other Christmases when you were all together and happy or perhaps share a good story with those who can be there. To all of you from Ellen, Scout, Gypsy and I here at Grouse Hollow, may you have a Merry, memory making Christmas and a great 2015. Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 27, 2014 by Greg Koelker

Ellen with her opening morning doe

Deer stands - exactly what does that mean? For some hunters the stand could be a stump in the north woods; there was even an organization and a magazine called Stump Sitters at one time. A stand could be a pile of hay bales set along a likely crossing spot like my brother-in-law sets up for my niece Angie and Chuck's grandson, Zach. Of course there are tree stands of various kinds including Tower 1 and Tower 2 on his place; the towers are rudely enclosed platforms set atop old windmill frames placed on top of a ridge overlooking a large expanse of farm field. Ellen's brother Bill just climbs a tree overlooking a hollow above the Spring; he has killed almost as many coyotes as deer from this honey hole. Explaining this could take days of writing, so I'll stick to the ones I am familiar with. On opening morning, Ellen and I will “stand” on camp chairs leaning against oak trees along the Bench, a long field surrounded by hills and woods.

I have take an opening morning stand at the Bench for few quite a few years. Mountain man Ben has gone there with me (he shot two deer there the last time on opening morning) and Seth Howe (now studying veterinary science in Oregon). Ellen started joining me at the Bench in 2010. We have both had traditional places for opening morning that have changed. She used to stand along a hollow on her home place when we stayed there with her folks. For many years I took an opening morning stand down on Barb and Chuck's creek bottom. I remember one frigid opener when I posted our then twelve-year old mountain man Mark down the bottom from me. The clock had turned to that magic time between night and dawn when you expect you might see deer moving when I heard him calling me. He said he was cold and wanted us to build a fire. I growled at him to get back to his stand or go start the truck and warm up. When I got back to the truck several hours later, he had written “I walked back to the farm” in the dirt on the back window. To this day I wish I had gone down there and built that fire. Ben and I slipped and slid our way down there one morning when it was raining. I could have shot at an antleress deer, but didn't figure we could get to it with a truck, so I passed. Later, I heard Ben shoot up the hollow from me. He said a deer ran past him but he didn't think he hit it; that was probably a good thing because it would have been a long, long drag out. Later that morning, we tried to help Chuck push out his truck; it was stuck in the wet clay of a picked corn field on top of the hill. Ben got a face and front full of mud from the spinning tires. He wasn't happy but in the end he was a good sport about it. I usually still post on the creek bottom when we drive that area on opening weekend. I have taken a few other opening morning stands including one here at Grouse Hollow one rainy opener back in the 80's. I saw four deer and didn't pull the trigger because they came up silently and appeared like ghosts for just a second or two. Don Schnering put me on my first deer stand under the highline wires down in Adrian Hollow in 1972; I killed my first deer there, and the next year, I took my young brother, Del and my nephew Randy. We didn't see any deer. I once took an opening morning stand deep in a hollow at my Grandma Potter's farm; my brother Del owns that place now and he'll be there opening morning. One of my favorite spots to hunt on Thanksgiving morning is along the logging road above our tobacco shed. In 2001, I finally got a decent buck when some noisy hunters unloaded down in the valley, talking and slamming truck doors. That buck came along in hopes he would escape them. Thanks to the beautiful taxidermy of Darwin Kumlin, what's left of it adorns our family room.

Anyway, there are plenty of stands filled with memories in my journal like the Bench, the Creek Bottom, Witches' Cave, Salt Box, Flood Gate, Boat Rock, Hole in the Wall, the Old Cars, Off the Point at Burton, the Spring, the Raspberry Stand, the Oak Stand, the Corner Woods, the Stairway Hollow, the Slaughter Hole, the Downed Barn, the Christmas Trees, Curt's Hollow, the Kumm Woods, the Grouse Hollow, etc. Ellen and I will hunt many of those spots this week I hope in search of filling a tag or two and making new memories.

Until next time, get out - here's hoping you all have plenty to be thankful for. I know we do: each other, our children, our families, our many friends, our pets, our home, our health, and maybe most of all, all the many memories we share. Have a great Thanksgiving. Enjoy.  

my stand on a rainy Sunday morning

The food plot near the Oak Stand on Tuesday morning

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 20, 2014

By the time you read this, our dining room table will be piled high with orange clothes, food boxes, gun cases - yes, we still case our firearms regardless of the dumb law change, ammo, twelve packs of pop, bottles of adult liquids, boots, field glasses, cameras, and more. We will load it all into the Ranger on Friday morning, and after getting Tom and Dan, our friends from Iowa, settled into the house, we will head south to Barb and Chuck's Dutch Hollow farm near Potosi.

The Big One is upon us - the real start of the Holiday Season. The day after tomorrow some 600,000-plus blaze orange clad nimrods will take to Wisconsin's woods in search of, well, a lot of things. Many - most likely all - have hopes of killing a big buck, some just filling the freezer; for some it's quiet time on a stump in the woods, while for others it's card games and partying at deer camp and in the north woods bars; for others it is time with old friends and the shared stories, jokes, food, and beverages. For most it has its tradition; often I have heard comments like, “We always do this, have done it this way, or we can't forget to do this or no, we can't change that, it's tradition.” I think for our family, it is a little of all of that but mostly family time; we usually do our share to reduce the deer herd and hang some antlers up (we butchered 10 on the Monday after opening weekend in 2013, but we have killed as many as 22 in the same time period); we share old stories, pick on one another, feast on copious amounts of hot homemade soups and cold beverages, spend time covering hills and hollows we won't see again until next season, but mostly it is about family, blood or otherwise.

For almost as long as I can remember, Ellen's family has been starting the holiday season with the annual deer gun season. Back in the day, her dad Walt, her uncles Mose Hauk and Charles Uppena, and their kids lead the hunting party known informally in the area as “The Hauks.” The older ones met for a war council on the Friday night before the season to catch up a bit, toast the hunt, discuss who would be where and what time we would meet, and just let off a little of the excitement so we could maybe sleep a bit before opening morning. The first couple I attended were in Uncle Charles' warm farmhouse kitchen on Irish Ridge. Over the 40 years I have been part of this group, the war council has moved as the group grew so big it split into two parties, Hauks and Uppenas.

Today we meet in brother Bill's heated shed at Burton on the Friday night before. The atmosphere is festive with people coming and going, lots of peanut shells on the floor, cold beer in the fridge and hot soup in a crock pot or two, deer jerky and sticks and cookies to munch on, a constant euchre game, sports on the TV, and a big buck contest for me to donate too. My scent memory calls up the aromas of sawdust, smoked meat, simmering soups, dog, and tobacco. There are antlers and pictures framing the walls, dogs curled up in corners, kids in strollers and even basinets. The talk - when my rock and roll damaged ears can make out anything over the laughter and general din - runs from the bow hunt to the upcoming gun deer hunt to the Packers (we might even have a couple Bear fans around for sport) and Badgers and to the new babies and sometimes to people who have come and gone - never politics (too many guns around). Some of them have moved on to form their own hunting parties or have moved away to the four points of the compass. I could tell stories about them all I think, like Steve Uppena and Joe Kremer and their welding caps shoot at the Bench many years ago, or the morning down along the Grant River when Ellen's oldest brother Dick put on chest waders and floated his huge buck across the river to get it out. I stood there and ached for my camera as I was sure I had a cover shot for Field and Stream at least.

I keep a handwritten journal of each year's hunt including who attended, who got what, and what stories and happenings occurred. I recommend it for settling arguments and just general enjoyment.

The old guys, Walt, Uncle Mose, Uncle Charles, Frank Patcle, Paul Adrian, and Larry Reynolds have all passed. Last year brother-in-law Charles said to me, “Greg, we're the old guys now.” A tad sobering I guess, but I don't feel old, and I imagine they didn't feel that way either, at least when it comes to the deer hunt. That is for another journal I guess.

Ellen and Barb planned food for the weekend over the phone this last week. Ellen is going to make some ground beef sandwich meat that I really like, and Barb will no doubt be making soup. I do know that Ellen is planning to make my favorite traditional opening morning meal of French toast casserole. Her mom, Marge used to make that for us. I remember her often telling us that, “Lancaster radio just said the DNR moved the opening back to 10 o'clock and we should all go back to bed.” (I have to admit that often sounded pretty good.) Ellen's sister Lori hunts with us and she will be making food too. Ellen's sister Kathy doesn't hunt but she will be there to help butcher and make the meal on Monday when we start cutting up deer.

Until next time, get out - politicians claim that the gun hunt brings something like a $1.7 billion in economic stimulus to Wisconsin. While I suppose that matters, the quintessence of this hunt is esoteric and far beyond what money can buy. If you missed it, you can watch Deer Hunt Wisconsin with Dan Small online at:  http://tinyurl.com/k9mx8o7. Have a great hunt and be safe, so you can be around to tell the stories - my favorite part. Enjoy.

Chet's bow doe

Pat with Eli and his 9-pointer

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 13, 2014 by Greg Koelker

I have the fever. Given a moment to daydream, it seems that all I really think about is the rut, scrapes, trails, tree stands, the wind, where to try next, etc. Last week we drove a hundred miles down to Chaffie Hollow to check out opening morning deer stands. We took my mom out for lunch at JJ's Sandbar and visited with brother Bill and sister Barb up on a ridge where they were waiting for a semi to pick up the shell corn they had been combining. It was cold up there, but the end was in sight they said. On the way north, we stopped at Cabela's and I bought a Butt Out and some arm length gutting gloves. With any kind of luck, I'll get to use them some. Oh, the Butt Out is a plastic lawn dart looking thing that is used to remove the, well, uh, make that assist in field dressing a deer. I won't describe the process, and if you're eating, don't even think about it, but I saw it work slicker than, uh, well; let's just say that I saw it serve its purpose well twice last week.

We saw a few of my former students shopping at Cabela's before they went in to start their shifts in the warehouse. Jenny Rasmussen, DHS class of '09, helped with a couple things and we got to catch up. Jenny was one of my Forensics (public speaking) stars in high school and a favorite student. She graduated from UW Platteville and is looking for a job in law enforcement, but it's Cabela's until then.

She helped me order a new drop basket for our quad. That rack can hold two 5-gallon buckets or a chainsaw or some cut firewood, so it will make the Honda a little more useful.

Ellen and I spent date night in our two-person tree stand one evening last week. The squirrels were mating and the sunset was worth the windy and whitetail free evening. Oh, we don't really have a date night. (Every night is date night at our house.)

Ellen went over to the Flying Horse on Friday and groomed her palomino paint, Libby before saddling up for a ride. El said Libby acted like she couldn't believe they were going for a ride in this weather. It sleeted while she was riding the hill trails and Libby and the other horses were amazed at the shower. The geldings and others came running across the pasture like people in their best clothes run from a rain shower. Even big Zach, the work horse galloped in. Ellen and Libby saw and/or experienced 6 deer while on the ride. She and Libby got within a few feet of a doe. We had a good laugh, when she told me that she wondered out loud what Libby would have done had she taken a shot with her deer rifle from the saddle. I think that if Ellen ever fired a gun from Libby's back, Ellen might have gone in to orbit and Libby would still be running somewhere in Illinois. Ellen's story reminded me of the scene in the movie Jeremiah Johnson when Will Greer tells Robert Redford to stand behind his horse and use it as a rest to take a shot at an elk. Redford's character said, “they will see my legs” and Greer replied, “elk don't know how many legs a horse has.” When Redford fired the rifle his horse understandably exploded, dumping the shooter and most of his gear in the deep snow. He did kill the elk.

I spent some six hours in tree stands one cold day last week and saw as many deer as if I had stayed in and read a book. I did see some cedar wax wings caught on the wind, drop for a rest in a sumac tree by me before launching off to the south. Pat and Eli are out this morning. I had put out my clothes to go and then heard the zephyr roaring up the ridge and, well, you know, the better part of valor and all that. I went out after breakfast.

When I came in from a tree stand, I warmed up by tossing a tennis ball for Scout. Nephew Chet texted that he had shot a deer. I am glad for him, but I was thinking the warm house and a martini would be better than a cold tracking job. When he came in a short while later, he said he thought it dropped in the meadow behind the tobacco shed. It did - a nice doe.

Heath Zink called about coon hunting. I asked that he wait until Sunday night when the bow hunters won't be in the woods the next morning. I hope they get lots of the furry, crop stealing masked bandits.

bacon wrapped venison tenderloins

Culinary wise, we had a great week, grilling bacon-wrapped venison tenderloins twice, new york strips one night with shish-ka-bobbed veggies, baked and cheesy potatoes, and for the Packer pre-game, Eli grilled three marinted venison back loins wrapped in venison bacon. El made her McIntosh apple crisp to top it all off. I guess it worked, as the Packers won. (Won seems so incomplete; how about dominated or crushed or skinned maybe. ) Pat said he heard that the top four quarterbacks for the Green Bay Packers all-time are Bart Starr, Bret Favre, Aaron Rogers, and Jay Cutler.

Until next time, get out - El and I shot our rifles on Sunday afternoon. We were shooting off hand at about 100 yards. Ellen shot three rounds - bullseyes all three times, grouping them them inside an area the size of a playing card! I hit the bullseye too, once. Eli heard from his dad who told him he got chased home from his South Dakota pheasant hunt by the impending weather. I guess that is a feature to be shown at a theater near you - and soon, too soon. Oh, did I mention the Packers beat the Bears? Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 6, 2014

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 6, 2014 by Greg Koelker

“Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter. ~ Carol Bishop Hipps.

Oh October, where have you gone? You slipped off the front of the refrigerator calendar like the wonderful dream you can be on Halloween night. Well it was quite a last week of October anyway.

Tuesday evening we got the good news that Mark and Whitney were back in the states. I also sold my old Ford 8N to Chad Kuhnke on that day. While we were loading it up, he asked if we had bears around here. He said he had just seen one, or at least what he thought was one, run across the road up by the neighbors. We have some trail camera pictures of a bear from last summer, so I guess we do have bears.

I spent one morning and a couple beautiful evenings in tree stands, but saw only squirrels and birds.

On Thursday, Scout, Gregg Sikora, and I motored over to Bell Center to try for a pheasant dinner in the Kickapoo River Wildlife Area. The morning was clear and frosty as we rolled down the Great River Road along the Mississippi and then east over the hills and orchards of Crawford County. Gregg noted that there were no ducks on the river and that there haven't been. The reason most likely was the good weather.

Things were not looking good at the preserve either. There was a Suburban parked where we hoped to hunt and a guy and a dog just coming out of the marshy area to the north. “Nothin', not a rooster crowing, not a shot in the distance this morning,” the man shared with us as he opened the back gate on his SUV and encouraged his reluctant white labrador to jump in. Scout leaned over the tailgate of the Ranger, whining softly, no doubt wanting to make a friend of the panting retriever.

After they left, Scout was so antsy, she almost jumped over the tailgate of the truck, but she waited for me to put the dog ramp in place to get out. (Upon Ellen's suggestion, I made this ramp out of a section of a leftover tree stand ladder to help Scout's aging knees and hips when getting in and out of the Ranger.) Gregg and I pulled on rubber boots to combat the melting frost, and loaded up our shotguns. We decided to head north, opposite from where the other hunter had come from.

This area is dominated by a line of box elder trees with a wide field of long grass and tall weeds punctuated by copses of willows, scrub oak, and other small trees. In the distance one can see unpicked cornfields and a farm. This place just exudes pheasant habitat. Last year Scout put up at least ten birds on one hunt here. We moved out toward the river, Gregg on my left and Scout racing to and fro between us, looking something like a bargain hunter on the day after Thanksgiving that sneaked in a big box store before they opened the doors. Scout bounded about, tail wagging, checking out a thousand scents, sometimes running, sometimes stopping and quivering, crawling into brushy piles, and then racing down a wildlife trail. We called encouragement and kept watch, shotguns at the ready, as we walked toward the river. Half-a-mile down field, Scout got to take a dip and get a drink in the Kickapoo River that ribboned its way through the valley, and we started back along the other side of the field. There were cattails growing in one marshy spot that Gregg and I both thought would be perfect to find a bird in. It wasn't this day; there were no pheasants taken on this trip. It wasn't the dog's fault, I think they just weren't there. Scout and Gregg found what was left of a rooster in one spot, but we never heard a cackle or a shot in the distance from any of the other hunters that were out and about. A quivering Scout drank half-a-pail of water back at the truck, and the men drank hot coffee and ate Ellen's cranberry nut bread and some bear sausage/bacon sticks while we reviewed the hunt. We stopped in Gays Mills at the flower shop to get Ellen some “Happy Hunting Season” flowers and then went up 171 to Sunrise Orchards for apples. We each bought an 18-pound box of number 2 Honey Crisps and they threw in a half-gallon jug of honey crisp cider! You gotta love those end of season sales.

Back along the river, things had changed dramatically, waterfowlwise at least. We were amazed to see raft after raft of ducks now carpeting the river from Ferryville to Stoddard, most likely driven south by the sunrise and impending cold front and winds that rolled in on Friday morning. Gregg said he just might have to go duck hunting when we got back.

Bowhunters Eli and Pat stayed with us on the weekend. Pat got some neat Go Pro footage of several nice bucks, but the best cut was of the coyote he arrowed at 60 paces. On Saturday morning, Eli texted me that he had arrowed a nice buck up on our ridge. The rut is full on. Ellen and I and Pat helped track the deer. While they worked a blood trail, I circled around the hill in search of blood or maybe a body. Ellen called me and said they had the buck near the bottom of the Grouse Hollow. I went back for Pat's truck and drove down to the ranch to get the four-wheeler and trailer. I met Ellen walking in. She showed me a picture of the dandy 9-pointer. The boys were just finishing up the gut job when I got there. After a photo op, they loaded the huge bodied critter into the dump trailer and I attempted to haul it back down the hill. The deer only escaped twice before we decided to drag it down to the trail at the bottom and then reload it for a ride back to the ranch. Congratulations, Eli.

Speaking of getting back, our mountain kids Mark and Whitney made their way home to the US, Colorado, and back home to Wisconsin this last week, traveling some 46 hours in the air and then 16 back east by car to La Crosse. Their route back went something like this: Pokhara, Nepal to Kathmandu to Abu Dhabi in the Arab Emirates, to JFK and La Guardia to Denver to Eagle. On Thursday afternoon they added jogs to Denver for a business meeting, then on to Kearney, Nebraska to home. As far as I know they have no saddle sores, but maybe just a tad of jet lag. They have been on the road since September, staying in Connecticut, Cape Cod, near Machu Picchu in Peru, and then on to Kathmandu, Nepal, where they visited a school and then trekked in the Annapurna Sanctuary. They share with us some of their adventure over chili and drinks Friday night at the Flying Horse (Whitney's parents' place.) According to the atlas, Annapurna is a section of the Himalayas in north-central Nepal that includes 13 mountain peaks as high as 26,545 feet. The area is 34 miles long. Annapurna 1 rises west of the Kali Gandaki Gorge, that is considered to be the Earth's deepest canyon. Annapurna means something like Goddess of Food, and Mark and Whitney assured us that the food was fantastic. They stayed in the city of Pokhara for a few days and hired a car and driver to take them about. Mark - who had been a partner in a transportation business, often driving over the mountains to Denver twice a day - said he would never try to drive in their crazy traffic. Pokhara, a city of just over 250,000, was a little over 4 hours west of Kathmandu. We looked at an aerial view of the city online and you could see the international airport, a large slum, surrounded by an agricultural area full of rice fields, all surrounded by the city itself. Mark said they learned that the fields belong to rural farmers, and that the land is handed down to family through the generations but if there is no issue to inherit the state takes it; many of the poor cannot ever hope to get land or get ahead. The kids volunteered some time at an elementary school for children of the slums. They said the children were very polite and were working hard to learn English and other disciplines to better their families. Mark and Whitney took in a colorful festival that they said was a little like Halloween except the kids would stop you on the street and dance for pennies or just stop you and try to extort money and treats instead of going door to door. While trekking in the mountains, Mark and Whitney stayed in tea houses. Whitney described them as private homes where the entire family was there to prepare your meal and serve you. They had menus to choose from and there were other guests that would gather around the central area to eat. The food was fresh and fantastic. (If you ordered a chicken dish, someone went out back and butchered a chicken.) They took a long (rated 4+ out of 5) whitewater raft trip that was pretty gnarly. Anyway, there is much more to tell, but I wasn't there. For those of you who wonder, this was a part business trip with lots of personal travel for Mark and Whitney. Mark said their car had been parked at the Eagle, Colorado airport for 39 days! They were here for five days before heading back to the mountains of Colorado. They will be writing a travel article for a mountain publication soon, and I'll share the info when I get it.

Until next time, get out - if you haven't been shooting, it would be a good idea as the Big One is only two weeks away. I know that we are going to shoot this week, so there is time for a run to our friend gunsmith, Ron Stokke if we have an emergency. This morning, we have to go out and help Jake Sikora track his deer so I'd better get going. Enjoy.

Go Zach Go!  Mr. and Mrs. Zach Becker at Lambeau Field

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 30, 2014

A couple of weeks ago, I got a call from my old friend, Bud Veale. He filled me in with “the report,” a summary of his and his nephew Rick Elsen's outdoor activities. They got few ducks on the Sunday of the second opener. (Rick told me later, he shot one and Bud shot the rest. Rick is the retriever!) Bud told me about his upcoming pheasant hunt compliments of NASA. No, not the space people, but rather the North American Squirrel Association. Bud has trouble getting around and he has had a number of health issues that keep him from walking on rough ground or even sidewalk for that matter. Anyway, he wondered if I'd like to join him and Rick on a NASA sponsored pheasant hunt up at Woods and Meadows Hunting Preserve and Sport Clays near Millston. I could bring my camera and my shotgun. Boy, would I!

So on Sunday, October 19, Bud and Rick picked me up at the ranch and we motored north to Jackson County. After catching up some on the drive north, the GPS directed us down some country roads and right to the driveway of Woods and Meadows. There was a Kubota four-seat ATV parked out front of the Club. Inside we were met by our guides, NASA members Steve Earp of French Island and Lester Hanson of West Salem. We were shaking hands when Steve said to me, “I know you.” (I used to make TV commercials for his business, SSE Music, he has visited De Soto High music when I was still teaching there, and I have bought a number of musical instruments from SSE.) Steve was to be the commander of the hunt. He filled us in on the rules of this type of hunt: the hunter would ride on the front of the Kubota, strapped into a swivel seat that allowed for the kind of shooting required to shoot pheasants. Rick and I would be the back ups walking on either side of the rig, out twenty yards or so. We were to wait for the hunter to shoot and then we could try to take any bird that wasn't down.

Steve explained that there would also be a physically disabled hunter on this hunt. We were introduced and the hunter, a man in a wheel chair. He told me he had just as soon remain anonymous. Steve hoped that Rick and I wouldn't mind backing him up on his hunt first. No problem!

We went out to the trucks and followed the Kubota and a couple of others vehicles out to the allotted area for our hunt. Here and there we could see groups of orange clad bird hunters. (One wears blaze orange on a hunt like this for safety.) Woods and Meadows has over 1,000 acres reserved for hunting, and their website says each area is 80 to 120 acres, but I guestimated the area we actually covered was more like 15 or maybe 20 acres. The fields were planted in corn, millet, sorghum, and had strips of tall grass. NASA had purchased 5 ring necks to be placed somewhere out in the strips.

Steve explained that when Greta or Addie went on point, we should ready ourselves. He would flush the bird and we were to make sure the bird was clear of him and his dogs before shooting. Lester drove the idling Kubota with Bud and our other hunter's wife in the back seat. Steve released Greta first, whose small cow bell jingled merrily as she bounced about before getting down to business. It was a perfect day with a slight breeze and occasional sunshine lighting up the late fall color.

Greta and Addie are beautiful Wirehair pointers. As we walked, I said to Steve they looked a lot like drot-har pointers I had seen other hunters use. He asked if I knew the difference, and I didn't. “About $400 a pup,” he joked. He explained that at a recent show, breeders had wire-haired pointer pups for sale at one end and drot-har pointer pups at the other, priced $400 more. He explained the drot-har means wirehair in German.

Anyway, it could also mean bird finding machines. The dog had to work through corn stalks and downed millet and the tall grass to find the birds. We didn't get any shooting until we were on the return trip when Greta went on point. Steve flushed the bird, and our hunter had to swing on the bird, making a nice shot on the flying bird. Greta retrieved the hen pheasant and returned it to Steve. After congratulations and a photo op we continued. Our hunter got another pheasant and a couple got away. I know I shot a couple times and wounded air for certain.

After a couple hours of this, it was Bud's turn. He and Rick had purchased an additional 10 birds, so we had those, NASA's five, and maybe some scratch birds to hunt. The other hunter and his wife rode along in the back seat of the Kubota now. We all took a break; Rick checked the Packer score. I was hoping to watch the game that night, but I said go ahead. “28 to 3 at the half, good guys,” Rick said. Nice.

I asked Steve how he got into NASA. He told me the story of his late friend and hunting buddy, Omer Christianson. As Omer got into golden years, his ability to bird hunt was limited to being placed as a blocker at the end of a field where the dogs were working to pick up any birds missed by the other hunters. Steve said that Omer got tired of that and said that he was too much trouble for the rest. He finally said he was hanging up his guns. Omer passed before Steve knew about NASA, and he said that his participation in the club was at least partly to honor Omer's memory.

To start off the next phase, Steve released Addie to spell Greta and we got off on Bud's hunt. We started getting up birds right away; let me say that if Bud has a shot, the bird is down. I got one that got up and away out of his zone, and I know Rick got a couple, but Bud still has it at 82. When Steve called the hunt, I think we had at least 10 birds. The dogs had to be exhausted, but they were still reading to go. I know I was ready to get off my feet and have a soft drink and some pizza on NASA.

Woods and Meadows has a very nice club house with a bar and food for after the hunt. The Cowboys and Giants (is there anyway they could both lose?) were on the big screen as we sat, ate, and reviewed the story of our NASA sponsored hunt. For me the stories are the best part of most hunts and no doubt we'll be talking about this one over and over.

A little information on the the North American Squirrel Association. According to their website NASA was formed in order to:

• Help the physically challenged and elderly enjoy hunting and fishing opportunities and recreational activities.
• Support and aid in events sponsored by the Wisconsin and Minnesota Departments of Natural Resources. Such events include early disabled white tail deer hunts and duck hunts.
• Aid individuals and other organizations with similar goals and objectives.
• Contribute to the education of young people interested in the pursuit of outdoor activities related to hunting, fishing, and conservation.

I think NASA is a great organization. They are doing good things for real people who are limited by their physical condition and age. In addition, Steve and Lester are excellent guides. They were extremely positive and made the hunt fun and interesting for all of us. I commend them. The NASA website ends with this line, “Please enjoy yourself, and tell a friend about this hunting opportunity.” I am proud to. You can learn more about opportunities at NASA by checking online at: http://www.nasasquirrel.org/

Until next time, get out - Ellen and I photographed Zach and Gina Becker's wedding at Pulaski on Saturday. It was a great time, and for the first time ever, we took wedding pictures inside Lambeau Field. Thanks for the opportunity kids. Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 23, 2014 by Greg Koelker

This last week Ellen and I took advantage of a fine October afternoon and went fishing up on Lake Onalaska. There was a breeze, but the fall sky was mostly clear with only stray fast moving clouds. The trees along the river valley are passing their prime for fall color, but still in the sunlight, they made for the perfect background. We put in at Shafer's without incident and tried a couple places we have caught fish before. We had plenty of company, so because the action in our boat was pretty slow, I scanned our neighbors. One fellow off by himself was regularly setting the hook and reeling in fish, only to toss them back. We pulled up anchor and moved into the general area he was anchored in. We immediately started catching mostly small sunfish. The action was enough to keep us interested and use up some bait, but in the end, I cleaned only four decent fish.

On Saturday, we worked on tree stands. We took along a ladder and some tools and Scout. Up on the ridge, I have a stand that keeps coming apart, that is the tree is growing so fast that it pulls the seat up with it, causing the ladder to loosen at the joints, which as you might imagine, is not good. Ben and his friend Drew put the stand there for me in 2009, but the whitetails don't seem to use the area much, so we moved it. After finding a tree where there appears to be two deer trails going by, we had to lean the 15' high stand up against the tree and level the base with a shovel. We added a middle brace that is supposed to keep the ladder from buckling, then I used the regular ladder to climb up on the back side of the tree and attach a ratchet strap to the stand and crank it up tight. I climbed the stand and directed Ellen as she cranked her geared Fiskars shears, lopping off small trees and branches to clear some shooting lanes. After that, we drove down the old farm ridge road to place a brand new stand on the Grouse Hollow path. We heard the noon whistle down in Stoddard as we scouted out a spot. There are two well-used deer trails crossing the path and we chose to place this stand against an old oak that grows between the trails. It was frustrating at first, because the earth around the tree is thick and soft and whenever I climbed up the ladder, the whole affair sank down a foot, causing the platform seat to hang up on a football sized knob on the tree. After some brainstorming, Ellen had a brilliant idea. “Do you want to go down to the Turtle for a burger and fries?” My answer is always yes to that question. I called in our order and we made our way down to Stoddard. The place was busy, but if you haven't had a cheese burger and fries at the Thirsty Turtle, I recommend it.

After lunch, I did some hacksaw work on an extension to the tree stand ladder and we took the four-wheeler and trailer up the path. The entire time we had been in the woods this day, we could hear ruffed grouse drumming. (You may not even know you're hearing a grouse drum; it sounds like a small engine firing, first putting and then revving up to full throttle before stopping - over and over again) Ellen mentioned it would be nice to see one of those grouse, and as if by magic, she whispered for me to stop and look. She had grabbed Scout by the collar and was looking intently down the hill from us. I followed her gaze and was able to make out a ruffed grouse gingerly making its way through the brush right toward us. I asked Ellen for her phone so I could try to photograph it. The bird came up to within 10 feet of us. Scout was having none of this and was struggling with Ellen to get after the bird. I switched the camera to video and told El to let 'er buck. Scout crashed down the hill after the bird; old ruff reluctantly took wing and flew off only twenty yards or so. It kept Scout out from under foot for a while. We wonder what berries it might have fermenting in its crop. When we got finished with the patridge pause and tightened up the stand, we took the four-wheeler up the path to retrieve some firewood that we had cut while clearing some downed birch and oak trees. It will be put to good use in the fire pit this fall yet.

Back at the ranch it was time to go to the dump. As I was leaving, Ben called from Colorado. He has several rifle tags and is hunting elk and deer now. He said he had seen maybe 50 elk that morning and at least 40 mule deer, but no big bucks and all he has is a buck tag.

Anyway, after I got back from the dump, I needed a nap, so I went bow hunting along the Corner woods. The sunset was behind my left shoulder and the oak leaves around were brilliant yellow. There was a light breeze and no bugs. The woods was busy with squirrels, chipmunks, birds, and mice all scratching through the hardwood detritus to find acorns or whatever. I had to get down and walk around after less than an hour in the stand as my restless leg got, well restless. I watched the sunset over the Minnesota bluffs turn from pink to orange to a fiery red as I walked back to the truck and home.

Back at the ranch, the kitchen was one of those memories you want to store away; it was warm, and the aromas of roasted meat and baking squash and apples were thick on the air. My wife wanted to hear about my hunt and shared that our old friend Mark Wadium was up in the field trying to call in a coyote. The dinner, salad, boneless ribs, baked squash and potato topped off with hot apple crisp, was frosting on a great day that ended with a nap in front of the fire and a college football game.

Ben texted us a picture on Sunday with the byline, “Got him!” He attached a shot of him holding up the antlers of a huge mule deer buck. I haven't heard the story yet, but I could tell by his smile that it will be a good one. Oh, I got the text while I was pheasant hunting near Millston and I was able to share the picture with my friends. More on that next time.

Until next time, get out - mountain kids, Mark and Whitney are in Nepal this week - yeah, that Nepal with Mt. Everest. We got an email that they had arrived in Katmandu on Tuesday evening and were picked up by the principal of a school which may be a future destination for the Children's Global Alliance. This last week, Nepal headlines were full of horror stories about avalanches killing trekkers in the Annapurna National Preserve after a freak blizzard caught hundreds off guard. Annapurna is where the kids plan to go trekking for a few days. Mark posted a couple photos of long, high mountain ranges, blue in the early morning on Facebook Saturday morning. He wrote this comment, “Namaste (a form of greeting in Nepali) from breakfast in Nepal - thank you for all of the thoughts and concerns.  Whitney and I are loving this area of the world, but our hearts go out to all of those lost in the tragic Annapurna weather last week.” The pictures he posted were amazing, and to those who asked, neither of them work for the Travel Channel, but I think they maybe should. Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 16, 2014 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow in October

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 16, 2014 by Greg Koelker

There is something about a pumpkin. Those sweet squash represent October and the advent of fall in its full orange glory. They herald something really special when one walks into a warm kitchen with the spicy sweet aroma of pumpkin pie and desserts baking. Of course there will be the silly, sad Charlie Brown special about the Great Pumpkin on TV next week. I can take or leave Halloween as a holiday, but it used to fun to dress up like a hobo and go house to house, extorting treats in exchange for no tricks one night of the year.

Our mountain man, Benjamin was diagnosed with diabetes when he was 18 months old, so by the time he was trick or treatin' age, we had to figure something out. What Ellen came up with was that I would buy his candy from him to fill our lunch boxes during gun deer season. It worked out well for both of us. The boys and I would go up the coulee visiting the neighbors, the kids getting candy and dad getting an adult beverage. By the time we got home, we were all happy. Hmmm, I guess I do kind of like Halloween.

I used to like to carve pumpkins. In high school I started carving fancy, scary faces into pumpkins beyond the usual triangle eyes, nose, and teeth in art class and for my home. By college, I got into getting a huge pumpkin and carving wild eyes with long jagged noses and Big Daddy Rat teeth and tongues - it was great for party decoration. Ellen and I grew those huge pumpkin-like squash for some years in our garden. Mac the Singing Jeweler came out a couple times to do his Halloween commercial in our pumpkin patch with my little ghoulies peeking out behind the nearly 3 foot tall orbs. We also have a picture of Mark standing in a huge jack-o-lantern on our old porch just able to peek out. (We had to have Emmet Clements haul those big suckers up to the house with his tractor and bucket!)

Anyway, I read recently that we carve pumpkins at Halloween to ward of evil spirits. With the election upon us in its full fury of opponent bashing, hyperbole, number obfuscation, dissembling, and bragging, I just might need to get out my carving tools again. (I wonder if it would help to put up a ring of jack-o-lanterns around the capital building in Madison?)

Until next time, get out - we had a campfire in our fire pit Saturday evening. I used some dried leaves as tinder and the pile of yard waste pine limbs and needles merrily sprang to life, the sweet aroma of pine smoke drifting up the coulee. I conjured up some adult beverages, and Ellen brought out some cheese and almonds. Scout doesn't much like the fire, but she does love cheese, so she finally crowded in between our chairs. It was clear and cool as the sun retreated into the bluff top with no wind. We sat and talked quietly and tortured the dog with petting and a piece of cheese or two. At nearly full dusk, we could hear a four-wheeler coming down the hill. It was Gregg and Jake Sikora out on the youth gun hunt. They joined us at the fire and shared the story of the hunt. Gregg called his wife, Cindy and she and daughter Pearl came over too. We visited while the fire crackled. Ellen made the kids hot chocolate, and we caught up the neighbors as a nearly full moon rose overhead. We have to do this more often. Finally, how about them Packers? Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 9, 2014 by Greg Koelker

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 9, 2014 by Greg Koelker

This past Sunday Ellen's family celebrated the umpteenth anniversary of the Squirrel Picnic. When I first attended back in the early '70's, it was held at what was called Hauk's Campgrounds down in hollow south of Cassville. There was a shelter and some horse shoe pits and a creek for the kids to play in and by. Since then the picnic moved up the ridge to her brother Dick's pole shed and then to Barb and Chuck's pole shed and now in their back yard and into the basement man cave of their new home. With all the talk of violence in sports lately, it is worth mentioning that the Squirrel Picnic football game was often pretty violent, drawing blood and heated arguments about “holding” or “off sides” on a number of occasions. I remember a particularly bad incident - that comes up in the guys' memories every picnic - when brother-in- law Dave Junk and cousin Steve Uppena had a nasty crash into a barbed wire topped woven wire fence. All I can say is that they lived to tell about it and Dave hung on to the ball. I know that I missed work on at least five Mondays after Squirrel Picnic football games in the 70's and 80's, mostly due back injuries. Cousin Steve Pluemer played quarterback in his stocking feet back then. On this day, he and I and brother-in-law Dave Fure joined in the touch football game with the young uns and a few 20 something nephews. I am proud to say that I can still hold with the best of them. For some years, we played volleyball, but this year the grid iron was. Ellen's Uncle Jerome “Peck” Hauk also attended. He is 97 and drove himself down to Potosi from Fennimore! He has been to a great many Squirrel Picnics in his time and lots of memories to share. This year, he sat with his nieces and nephews in the basement going over old newspaper clippings and pictures, telling the stories of the people in them. Peck recently went to Washington, DC on the Freedom Honor Flight out of Madison. He wasn't going to go as he has been all over Washington, but he said it was awesome. A real experience that made him feel the (well deserved) appreciation we have for our vets. Like other years, the girls out did themselves, and we had a meal fit for rednecks and royalty complete casseroles, venison wraps, dips and chips, bar-b-cue beans, squash, apple pies, apple pie bars (to die for), brownies, Ellen's Reeses stuffed cookies . . . I could go on, but I have to leave room for the squirrel.

Chuck woke me up at early-thirty on Sunday morning and we took out coffee cups down to Burton and brother Bill Hauk's garage where the cooking oil was already getting hot in Bill's big fryer. Brother-in-law Dave Fure, was dredging squirrel parts in a secret mixture (that I think is mostly seasoned Fry Magic). Chuck cut up some red onions and I told jokes. Bill started putting squirrel pieces in the hot oil and took up a tongs to help turn them and grab out the browned ones. Someone place a roaster pan next to us and Dave and I began putting a layer of almost crisp on the outside tree rat pieces followed by a layer of onions and another secret mix that includes cream of mushroom soup. When the forty plus bush tails were all brown and covered in the roaster, they were sent to bake at 350 for a couple hours and than simmer at 200 until dinner time. Jesse Sahr, Bill's brother-in-law and one of the Burton Deer Hunters, showed up with his family. He said he hadn't slept all night. He arrowed a large buck the night before and backed off of tracking until this morning. When the squirrel was finished, he and Bill and Dave and Jesse's wife Hillary went to find the buck near the Bench where Ellen and I go on opening morning - curses.

Anyway, Chuck had a plan. Ellen was helping Barb with chores when we got back to their place, so he and I did our part by staying out of their way by going fishing down on the Grant River. I have to say I have rarely wished I had a camera handy more than I did that morning. We drove down in a hollow surrounded by steadily blooming fall colors accented with frost and a slowly rising fog. Chuck turned off the gravel onto a farm road and we bounced along until he turned into some tall nettles and horse weeds and parked by the Grant. He gave me a pole with jig and twister tail and a bag of more twisters, and we trudged along a pretty well worn path that he said he had beaten down while fishing for small mouths. At the river, we casted and reeled to no avail but the sunrise was, what can I say? Breath taking does it I guess. The river came around a bend to my left, carrying fall leaves. It broke over some riffles to my right, sparking and flashing from sun beams just starting to cut through a low hanging mist, until the river split around an island. I could see my breath and there was not a sound except for the water. I drew in some long breaths of cold, clean, sweet air that may only be found on streams at this time of the day. We tried a couple of spots, but it didn't matter to me. Just being there made me grateful to Chuck and Ma Nature.

Until next time, get out - bow hunters remember that there is a youth gun deer hunt this next week and blaze orange may be required by hunters in some areas. Speaking of hunting, Hillary found Jesse's buck, a massive 12-pointer with split G2's down in a corn row. Jesse's grin could have blinded the cheshire cat I think. I almost forget to mention the squirrel. The aroma coming from the steaming roaster at dinner was almost enough in itself. The meat fell off the bone into the gravy. I took an entire plate of just that to begin with - several others did too - of course, I had plate of desserts first. We all know there is nothing we can do about the impending winter, but we all can be grateful for October and all it entails. Enjoy.

Chuck, Ellen, Uncle Jerome, and Barb

Sue, Bill, Steve, and Uncle Peck

Brian brings in more goodies from the north country.

Just some of the good stuff at the Squirrel Picnic 2014

Grouse Hollow Journal for September 25, 2014 by Greg Koelker

Home sweet home on a fall morning.

Something rare around here today: organic tobacco hanging 

the tobacco shed on a pretty morning

waiting to haul out the speared tobacco

just liked the image made by the fall colors and these power towers

the neighbors

the road less taken

Ellen's beautiful, bountiful garden is coming to an end. We grilled the

last of her sweetcorn with some brats the other night for supper; there is a large gap where the corn stalks stood before she pulled them up. There are still a few tomatoes and peppers and green beans. El has canned tomato soup, sauce, and salsa, and she has frozen sweet corn, green beans, Colorado peaches, green and red and orange peppers, basil, dill, and chives for use this winter. She pulled up the onions and garlic and she will be planting some of the garlic cloves for next year's crop soon. Our friend, Marlene has given El something new for our garden: winter or walking onions to plant this fall yet. Competition is high in the red raspberry patch; there are what appears to be hundreds of bees interested in stowing away the sweet juice of the fruits even before the berries fully ripen, and it is not rare to pick a berry with a bee already on it. Unbelievably, the zucchinis have slowed in their proliferation; still Ellen has had enough to bake her special zucchini bread. The large brussels sprout plants are a conundrum; there don't appear to be any "sprouts" to collect, but Ellen assures me there will be after the first frost. Of course there are pumpkins and squash, but they have not ripened enough to bake one yet. We bought a couple squash at a farmer's market on Saturday and Ellen fixed boneless roast pork ribs with baked squash with a side of Lombardi Room salad. This was served in the Lombardi dining room in the Paper Valley Hotel in Appleton; it is thin-sliced red onion shuffled together with thin-sliced tomato topped with blue cheese and a drizzle of balsamic vinegar. It don't git no better. We also bought some fresh rhubarb at the market and Ellen made rhubarb crisp served with a dollop of ice cream for dessert. Yes, I am a lucky man.

The rain came at a good time I guess. The fall food plots on our farm are up and growing. My nephew, Chet observed a doe with a pair of fawns nibbling at the new growth in one. Guess I gotta get out in the woods, but I still have to wash my hunting clothes, two ladder stands to put up, and I should probably shoot my bow more seriously. Of course, there are plenty of other things at home to get done first.

For example, we have a huge hole dug out on the corner of the shop. Steve Strasser of Coulee Backhoe shoveled it out with his backhoe last week. He is smooth, that is, he takes his time and gently - I mean it - dug out the clay and gravel along the rock foundation of the shop. The project started last June when water ran over a plugged up eaves trough causing the stones at the top to tumble down into the root cellar underneath. We want to save the 1901 building if we can. With any kind of luck, by the time you read this, Byler Construction will build a new wall, and hopefully stop the bleeding, uh, erosion. I also want to finish insulating the foundation of our house before it gets too cold. I have put it off all summer like the proverbial grasshopper, I will do that before I go hunting.

Until next time, get out - Ellen and I and Scout put up a two-person tree stand at the Oak Stand this last week. We sat in it for a while and then trimmed up some brush and limbs. It was a cool, breezy afternoon that day and all three of us enjoyed the outing. With any kind of luck, we'll be perched there together this fall when a nice buck shows itself. I think I'll go shoot my bow and get my hunting clothes around. Eli and Pat were here to watch the Packer/Lion debacle on Sunday between time in a tree stand. A one and two start, ouch! Shades of the 70's and 80's! Let us hope things change for the Green and Gold soon. Enjoy.  

Jake with his 265-pound black bear he shot while on the Bow Hunter's Association guided bear hunt that he won with an essay he wrote about hunting.

Grouse Hollow Journal for September 11, 2014 by Greg Koelker

Ellen shot this mushroom along our ridge road.

First trip up the driveway with the new John Deere.

The new tractor.

Ellen's garden.

Ellen took this shot of a ambitious spiker near the fire pit on top of the Grouse Hollow.

Grouse Hollow Journal for September 11, 2014 by Greg Koelker

Ah, sweatshirt weather! This last week of cooler, dryer days has been one of inspiration for me. The cooler mornings have dredged up a nearly summer long latent ambition to get outside and get the things done I have put off all summer because it was too muggy or buggy or hot or because I have all summer, etc. I cleaned up the shop and now we can walk through it without peril or acrobatics. I started cutting and drilling and finishing up a set of landscape timber planters to replace the rotten ones built somewhere back in the last century; the timbers have been piled on the garage floor since May. I got the septic tank cap shoveled out and had Parr's Septic here to pump it. I got out in the woods and checked my trail cameras. I had several decent bucks on the screen; last week Eli showed me half-a-dozen pictures his trail cam recorded of a black bear up near the Oak Stand right behind our house. I worked on my Ford 8N to try and get it running well enough to mow our trails - to no avail. It starts but won't run without the choke pulled out and feathered, so that'll be another bill. I ended up using our Cub Cadet lawn tractor to mow a couple food plots.

When I came back in to the house, smelling of grease and gasoline, Ellen reminded me that she could count the number of times I have been able to go out and just start the Ford and get to work with it on one hand. So we went new tractor shopping. Talk about sticker shock! In the end, I searched Craigslist and found one right in Stoddard. Anyway, we now have a newer used John Deere compact diesel 4-wheel drive tractor with hydro-static drive and a roll bar. It has a loader and bucket, a belly mower, and a roto-tiller. All cool, but the number one item is that it starts.

I have been driving tractors on and off since I was 11 when, after constant begging, I was put in charge of my “dream” haying job, pulling the 8 forked bails of hay up with a block and tackled hoist into the barn. I would wait on the seat of Grandpa Koelker's idling Farmall C until the little cow bell dangling from a wire that ran all the way through the barn jingled after one of the loaders, gave it a yank. Then I'd crank the throttle to the right and drive ahead in low gear down the path left in the middle of Dad's garden behind the barn (by the manure pile). When the rope went slack, indicating that some poor soul up in the hot hay mow had shouted down to Grandpa down on the hay wagon to “trip her” (Grandpa would pull a rope and the 8 bails would usually fall free into the mow), I would jamb the gears into reverse and hightail it back to the barn because Grandpa or Dad or Uncle Ike or Freddy Hafel were pulling the forks and block and tackle back to get another load. I learned that even a dream job has a downside - it got to be very boring back there doing this over and over until all of that day's hay was stowed away, and I got yelled at if I wasn't fast enough or slow enough.

Like running the “C” at haying time, there is a learning curve on using equipment with a loader sticking out the front. After driving the new John Deere home, I used the bucket to grade out some of the rain ruts in our driveway. I also dug up some of the sod in the front yard. I used the tractor to till up a small fall food plot up in the meadow behind the tobacco shed. The long-fallow earth there smelled wonderful and the soil was dark black. Later I drove the new Deere up the ridge and used the tiller to work up a quarter acre fall food plot. I bumped a fence post, and caught the bucket on plenty of brush on the way in. Also, the belly mower did not appreciate the trip up our steep and rough ridge road, catching on an occasional rock. Later, when I unhooked the tiller and removed the mower in the tobacco shed, I only hit one of the tall posts that hold up the roof with the bucket - no harm, no foul. I did knock over some rocks by the doorway, so now I gotta fix that. I used the bucket to push and pile some long-down trees and brush along the property. I even used it to lift and move an ancient railroad tie that had been the bane of mowing behind the tobacco shed for the entire 37 summers we have lived here. The little John Deere worked great and seems to have plenty of muscle for what we need (it does have 9 more horse power than the N). Anyway, I don't have any excuses for not getting tractor stuff done now. Oh yeah, anybody interested in a 1949 Ford 8N?

El and I photographed a wedding reception for Douglas and Emi Bakkum on Saturday. Douglas is the son of our friends and neighbors, Doug and Carol Bakkum. Perhaps some of you might remember the “barn wreckers?” Doug was one of those guys. They couldn't have ordered more perfect weather and the setting at Branches Winery near Westby was beautiful. They had a big tent set up in a yard surrounded by vineyards and farm fields for as far as one could see. We saw some friends and acquaintances and met a lot of new people. Borgen's catered food was excellent. Afterwards, we relaxed on our own porch with a cocktail and then went in and enjoyed the first fire in the fireplace while watching a playback of the Badger game.

Until next time, get out - hunting season is upon us. Actually, it has been for a week or two. Our neighbor, fourteen-year old Jake Sikora got a 265 pound black bear up north a couple weeks ago. He was on the guided bear hunt and vacation rental he won for writing an essay on hunting for a Wisconsin Bowhunter's Association youth contest last year. His dad, Gregg was able to video the hunt. They also went goose hunting this last week in the marsh south of Stoddard. They downed a bird and couldn't find it, so Gregg called in the calvary, coming over to get Scout and taking her to the area. “She found it right away,” said Gregg. Of course, it wasn't right away because Gregg had to drag a hunting skiff through the woods, through the marsh and across Coon Creek to get near where the goose went down. When they got back, Scout was tired and the happiest dog in the world I think. She loves the marsh. They plan on taking Scout with them on their next waterfowl trip. Gregg and I are planning some pheasant hunts too. Small game hunters and sharp stick nimrods will be in the woods this weekend as well. Here's wishing all of you good luck and a safe season. Enjoy.