1964 – Louisiana
He ignored the doctors. As soon as he woke and realized what had happened he got up, head and leg be damned. On crutches he set out, as fast as he could manage.
Junie found his loves mother, Demara rocking back and forth mumbling to herself, clutching her daughters bloodied dress.
She was filthy, hair a rat's nest, scratches all along her arms, musty.
But that dress? The sky blue silk dress with the little red flowers. The last thing he saw before he thought to take his leave of this earth and he'd never forget it. His 'Nelle was alive somewhere.
He snapped his fingers and waved his hand before Demara's eyes to bring her out of whatever trance she'd worked herself into.
Demara's eyes slowly cleared. She recognized him. Junius, her daughters bruised and bloodied love. A love that should be. A love that would be.
She stood.
Mistaking her look of steely resolve and determination as madness, Junie drew back as best he could.
She moved around the small house gathering this and that. Hair from a brush, a piece of the torn dress, a cake of incense, indigo, a white falcon feather, a wand of sage, wormwood, chamomile and lavender tied with sweet-grass.
Junie slowly realized what was happening, but not knowing what to do he froze in place.
At a small corner altar he had never noticed before, she knelt lighting candles and arranging bowls, muttering to herself all the while.
There'd always been rumors of witchcraft or voodoo with the women of the family but Junie had never paid it any mind. On occasion he'd hear his mother and aunts wish ill of someone and say a few words in passing, but he'd never seen an actual spell performed.
Where on earth is my 'Nelle?
Demara left and came back after a time barefoot and dressed in white, her hair was wet and she smelled of sweet herbs. She looked almost as if she were dressed for a baptism.
He hardly noticed as she went about with the wand of herbs smudging and purifying the space.
In a bit of a trance himself, the last thing Junie clearly remembered was watching her light the incense and pray, he didn't even notice she'd drawn close to him until she snatched off a long piece of his bloodied bandage.
Startled, he jumped - tangling in the crutches and almost pitching himself to the floor face-first in his haste to get away.
He had to right himself though as Demara was bent on her task and she'd taken no notice of his near mishap as she turned back to her altar and with the dress scrap and the hair and his bloodied bandage she braided the three together in a rough looking foot long ribbon of sorts and then tied it in three knots.
Tying the first the first knot, she said: "Grievous injustice and spiteful malice I do vehemently reject."
She tied the second knot: "Repeatedly will love will be made manifest flesh and through blood, bound."
The third knot: "By power of Oshun, Nana Burukú , now I equally implore and declare."
In a bowl with three drops of her blood mixed with indigo she dipped the knots.
"Justice and love be served."
She prayed for many minutes before lighting a lantern and finally addressing Junie. "She loved you. The love will be served, justice will be done."
With the ribbon, a spade and the lantern she went out towards the eastern edge of the cotton field. East, where things begin. There she met her end.
Max & Lili 3
Having been cleared by the dept of game and fisheries, we've been given leave to arrange a weekend hunt for the ravenous Canadian geese. They ravaged Hannibal's barely sprouted soybean crop. The neighboring farms took it on the chin as well and so everyone is more than a little put out with the predacious interlopers and are more than willing to help trim down the grain-hungry geese.
Hannibal calls up his new running partner Uncle Jack, who immediately invites Lili, who having inherited her mother's aim, is quite handy with a shotgun.
A day in the field could be just the thing to clear her head. Under lock and key she keeps a left-handed Benelli M2 20-gauge, a gift from Uncle Jack. They claim this is the first SA designed just for southpaws. Thankfully, gun companies finally understand that a larger percent of the population is wrong-handed.
Its early December, meaning the sun won't rise until late morning.
We meet up and drive out to the field Hanni's been watching for he past three days. The windshield wipers barely keep up with the falling snow. The heavy white flakes are quickly accumulating on the ground.
Lili cheerfully greets an excited Byte who will be acting as their retriever.
"Hello Beastie!" Smiling widely at the large friendly dog she pats his hide, wishing she could have a pet, but knowing Jackson's allergies won't allow it.
I am more than relieved that my ability to function in the morning has returned as I am trying to find things to do outside of the garage. I do like spending time with Uncle Jack and Hannibal. While they have a care for my level of comfort, they never belittle me or treat me like an inferior. Max could take a page from their almanac.
We arrived early to set up and Uncle Jack kept us moving to keep warm. He fussed with the blinds and cleaning the decoys until the sound in honking in the near distance had us running for cover.
Close to 50 of the giant geese watchfully circled the field 3 times before the leaders splayed their feet and touched down just in front right of our blind. What luck!
Hannibal let the rest of the flock drift into range before yelling the command to shoot.
The large heavily feathered birds hit the ground hard, and when the snow settled, we had seven large birds on the deck. Byte ran to a small copse of trees and retrieved an eighth.
This was quite a treat as it's not usually this easy during the cold weather months.
As we head back Hannibal is already planning to smoke one, in the smoker. Uncle Jack is planning on trying his hand at making a duck/pork sausage with lots of wine, garlic and rosemary. Both prospects sound interesting and possibly very tasty.
Personally, I don't much care for the oftimes fatty gamey taste of the surprisingly red meat. But one farmer declared the birds particularly tasty this year as not only had they been dining in the protein-rich fields, but had successfully battled the squirrels for acorn domination these last three months.
An eager Aurelia met us at the door. Looking at our haul she declared them to be in prime condition for the dinner table.
Hannibal too is excited, as he says his wife has raised the cooking of the geese to an art form.
While the hunters go off to the smoke shed to deal with the remaining birds, Aurelia gets to work. Quickly plucking and gutting the fattest bird, she reaches in and gets as much fat and fatty parts as she can for rendering and purification to be bottled and saved like treasure to be used throughout the year as goose and duck fat are among the most delicious of all cooking fats and far healthier than butter or lard.
Brining the goose over several hours she removes it, letting it slowly come up to room temperature. With a heavily needled Asian mallet, she pricks the bird all over before salting it and stuffing it full of garlic and sweet onions and placing it on a roasting rack over a deep roasting pan filled with half potatoes and half root vegetables and letting it slowly roast for an hour at low heat.
