Junkyardfiction
10-25-2010, 19:20
This morning I received a text message from a friend saying that he was sorry, but could not make our planned hike this evening. My reply was simple: No Worries. The dirt ain’t going anywhere. I think that’s about right. Not only does Dirt Church allow (encourage even) dogs, beer, tobacco, and on the hunting occasion some of our favorite things: firearms and bows—she’s always open for business. The doors to this house of worship are never locked, the choir never stops singing.
While shuffling through the freshly fallen leaves last night on The Wild Turkey Trail, a stick bug fell from above and landed on my shoulder. I couldn’t help but wonder about this, as last Tuesday on a squirrel hunt in the Shawnee, a stick bug managed to climb onto the stock of my Pardner Pump. Seems to me like even these curious insects wanted to go along for the ride in Dirt Church. Almost as if my exploration was of interest to them. And here I thought it was only me, a lone human being, trying to connect with this wilderness. I never thought the wilderness wanted to connect with me, too, and most likely I am simply romancing the stick bug, but it’s an interesting musing.
It was a Dirt Church weekend for sure. Friday night found me up on Fountain Bluff; after straddling washed-out trenches in my old Ford, I set up camp on-high. The dogs and I enjoyed watching barges snake a bend in the Mississippi, while the lights of scattered farm houses came on over in Missouri as the dusky southern Middle West bedded down for the evening.
The dogs lazed about while I enjoyed a few bottles of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale sitting on the tailgate. An old ratty mattress was in back, a few comforters jumbled from Joe Buck rooting around, my backpack, and two rifles were tucked under the camper shell—a mighty acquisition for $100 from a fella over in Missouri last summer. There ain’t much better than a good truck, a good pair of dogs and a couple decent rifles.
Point is, there is some certain magic in the forever-open arms of Dirt Church, and it costs next to nothin’ to enjoy that mystic bliss. I can’t help but feel always-blessed, constantly re-born out under the sun and stars, and that’s about as good as anything, I reckon.
http://i696.photobucket.com/albums/vv322/junkyardfiction/IMG_5868.jpg
While shuffling through the freshly fallen leaves last night on The Wild Turkey Trail, a stick bug fell from above and landed on my shoulder. I couldn’t help but wonder about this, as last Tuesday on a squirrel hunt in the Shawnee, a stick bug managed to climb onto the stock of my Pardner Pump. Seems to me like even these curious insects wanted to go along for the ride in Dirt Church. Almost as if my exploration was of interest to them. And here I thought it was only me, a lone human being, trying to connect with this wilderness. I never thought the wilderness wanted to connect with me, too, and most likely I am simply romancing the stick bug, but it’s an interesting musing.
It was a Dirt Church weekend for sure. Friday night found me up on Fountain Bluff; after straddling washed-out trenches in my old Ford, I set up camp on-high. The dogs and I enjoyed watching barges snake a bend in the Mississippi, while the lights of scattered farm houses came on over in Missouri as the dusky southern Middle West bedded down for the evening.
The dogs lazed about while I enjoyed a few bottles of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale sitting on the tailgate. An old ratty mattress was in back, a few comforters jumbled from Joe Buck rooting around, my backpack, and two rifles were tucked under the camper shell—a mighty acquisition for $100 from a fella over in Missouri last summer. There ain’t much better than a good truck, a good pair of dogs and a couple decent rifles.
Point is, there is some certain magic in the forever-open arms of Dirt Church, and it costs next to nothin’ to enjoy that mystic bliss. I can’t help but feel always-blessed, constantly re-born out under the sun and stars, and that’s about as good as anything, I reckon.
http://i696.photobucket.com/albums/vv322/junkyardfiction/IMG_5868.jpg