Heavenly Men and Meat

He shot a caribou.  By himself.  And when I say by himself, I mean By Himself.  As in, Ken was a mile away on the other side of a ridge, retrieving one of the four-wheelers to cart his caribou back to their base camp.  Rees was left to guard the kill from predators  (Good Lord.)  when he saw another one emerge and had to make the call on his own.  And he did.  And now we have 167 pounds of meat in the freezer.  Awesome.

This awesomeness is not regular awesome, but truly awesome : we will have more than salmon and beans for the upcoming year.  You see, they do not hunt to keep up an American tradition, or for male bonding, or for the thrill of the hunt.  Those things are frosting on the cake called Family Food.

An accomplishment on so many levels.  Ken and I tiptoe a balancing act between, "You are so amazingly better than anyone else just look at what you've done and you have CF."  and a gruff  "Good job, boy."  (We don't want him to get a big head, right?).  Darn it, though, he's dealing with cystic fibrosis ; a little applause, please. . .

. . .but ~ we also do not want him to expect different treatment or bent rules because of CF.  So.  Our charge to him  (And all our children)  is to live well with All You've Got.  And don't got, so to speak.

Now they're all hopped up on testosterone and antler racks and meat and guns.  And I'm all hopped up on love and pride and a full freezer and this cookbook.  A match made in heaven.

My boy and his caribou.

Ken and his kill.

Ready to head out.

Lovely legs on my table.

Warmly,
Allison