Grouse Hollow Journal for October 1, 2015

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 1, 2015 by Greg Koelker

Ya gotta love October.  I mean, it is comfortable, colorful, and it even smells great.  Think of the scented candle aroma of fallen leaves on a cool, frosty morning with one last steaming cup of coffee on the porch, or the smell of hot popcorn and hot chocolate at a Friday Night Football game, or the ambrosial aroma of a hot, fresh from the oven and still bubbling apple pie, or the smoky sweet scent of grilling and cold beverages at tailgate parties outside Camp Randall, or the spicy sweet redolence of a red raspberry crisp, or the smell of sweet victory at Lambeau Field, or maybe the aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the kitchen on a baked buttercup squash, or how about the sometimes nose hair freezing whiff of air while walking to a tree stand in the dark, and of course the perfume of pumpkin pie (pretty much pumpkin anything actually).  No one can forget the scent of food and friends and memories being made around a bonfire.  How about a savory smell of a juicy pear?  Or that damp, cool night air one smells while taking in Orion lighting up the early morning sky, or the scent of holiday homes wafting out the door while we are trick or treating; most of us like the aroma of pan fried bluegill or perch fresh from the fall panfish bite on the river.  Of course there are all of the sense tingling memories of Homecomings and Homecoming parades; or the reminiscent sweetness of a freshly dipped caramel apple setting up on a piece of wax paper.  I could go on but I am running out of scent adjectives, but there is so much more that October means like: Oktoberfests, apple cider, fall festivals, tomato (or you fill in the blank) soup and grilled cheese to warm up at lunch time, amazing sunsets, fresh grapes, visiting a favorite winery, grilled chicken right off the farm, walks in the woods, smoked meats, pickled everything, bountiful farmer’s markets, cranberry everything, the sound of geese from the sky as the fall migration begins, a visit to an orchard for taste testing and maybe getting lost in a corn maze or finding the perfect pumpkin, tail end of the garden, carving a jack-o-lantern or two, pancakes with sorghum syrup and sausage for breakfast, the promise that comes with the fall harvest on the farm, the movie Hocus Pocus plays all month long, colorful mums everywhere, the end of highway construction season is near, the presidential race ends at the end of the month - oh yeah, that’s next year; sorry.  Anyway, I guess you get my drift. October - it don’t git no better.  

Our Squirrel Picnic is this weekend.  Family and friends will gather at Barb and Chuck’s farm up on Dutch Hollow Road outside of Burton to feast, catch up and maybe go it alone in a euchre game or catch a football.  It is always one of my favorite get togethers: so many people to see, so much good food to eat, and of course it is tradition going back into the late 1940’s when Ellen’s family started gathering at a picnic spot in a pasture along the Grant River south of Cassville we call the Bench (this area is where El and I go on opening morning of gun deer season).  According to a 1991 history of the Squirrel Picnic by our niece Sarah, the picnic was traditionally held the day after the opening of squirrel season.  Ellen’s Uncle John Uppena would fry the squirrel on Sunday morning and the picnic was held near the woods so the guys could walk home and shoot some more squirrels while the girls would pick up hickory nuts after dinner.  Family friend John Kremer and El’s late brother Dick fried the squirrels in later years when the picnic was held at Dick’s farm.  (I helped a couple times.)  Now brothers Bill Hauk, Dave Fure, Chuck Wright, and maybe me (as well as an unlisted number of hangers on) will help get the little critters roasted on Sunday morning at early thirty in Bill’s garage in Burton.  We will no doubt toast the famous fryers who came before us.  The roast squirrel starts out by being dredged in a special seasoned flour mix and then fried in hot oil.  When browned, the pieces are stacked in roasters with slabs of onion and then covered with cream of chicken and mushroom soup.  Then the roasters are plugged in until dinner or the meat begins to fall off the bone.  I can hardly wait!    

Until next time, get out - I took the four-wheeler and a chainsaw up the ridge Saturday afternoon to clear the ridge road of a fallen birch tree.  As I idled the Honda up the tunnel that is the woods over the road right now, yellow leaves drifted down about me in the breeze.  I cut up and loaded the birch that is destined for our fire pit and fireplace.  When the snarling Stihl wasn’t running, it was peaceful in that yellow tinted spot.  I sat on the quad for a bit to take in the aroma of the birch and leaves and listen to nothing for a moment.  Enjoy.