Jan. 6, ‘10-Welcome back and be sure to read “Steep Hills=Big Thrills” first.

Lovely lacey snowflakes slumber silently as I swoon over the sights and sounds. The sights are brushing the cold away and the silence is a reminder of where our  journeys began. All of us-you and I standing together in spirit, simply waiting for form to bring us into body when our appointed times are chosen. 

More laughter as we jokingly prepare for this trip. The trek to the Promised Land. A land flowing with fisher and coon-not milk and honey anymore.  I shove handwarmers in my boots and mittens.  “What do we take to eat Tom?  I have car camp packed.” “We won’t be gone that long Sue.”  He loads his trap pack basket and pulls his camoflouge hat over his ears.  “If we had the plastic sled Tom, you could pull me.” ” I thought of that-but the woods.” 

 I walk lightly over the crusty snow’s surface. Tom sinks in slightly  as we plod up the hill past the small dam.   No conversation for we’re conversing with nature.   Tom makes a comment about breaking a trail for me. I ignore him and am fixated on the next step. Too busy navigating the blackberry bushes as they tear @ my green winter wear.  There’s a path with imprints already in the snow.   Besides..I don’t follow well and prefer to be out front-unless I’m trout fishing. 

We climb and weave our way to the top of the bluff.  Time for Tom to whack @ the Belisle #160 bodygrip trap.  Tom had used Greg’s Great Coon Bait and Porter’s All Season Call Lure-a thick skunk based lure.  The trap is all frozen in and he kicks @ the square bucket with the notches in the side, to loosen it from the snow and ice.  I’m struck with how little sign of life exists in this January woods. No sign of deer tracks. No sign of a fisher.  Tom explains to me this is perfect fisher territory. they travel a wide range. They like to sleep in brush piles or hollow logs.  They hunt around conifer pine trees. They’ll eat skunk. That’s why we have skunk essence extracted-but un-used.  Fisher  are in the weasel family. Fisher have a silky brown fur and reach a maximum of 12 pounds.  Wonderful words of wisdom as I smile encouragingly at the empty trap.  Tom did catch several coon in these sets.   Fisher season soon closes, so Tom pulled all those traps.   We need suggestions from you please for catching a fisher!!

Up on top of the world we are! All of a sudden it hits me. Invariably it happens this far away.  I  feel hunger pains strike in the pit of my gut.  Onward for the lunch bucket is far away.  We followed down the logging road to get back to the bottom of the hill this time.  Beautiful sunlight swallows the Wisconsin weather and spits  it out like a wad of Copenhagen chew.    

  I was caught in the bait of the lil farmstead with the weary barn andthe deer plot of saggy corn. Woodpeckers tapped and pattered in the standing corn fields.  I sought the singing spot that felt right.  I erupted with the ancient song as Tom snappped the traps.  Silence.  Black squirrels raced up inside the woods. 

Tom steered the van up the road. We tasted the fresh lefse our friend Peggy Soppa shared with us this morning. We agreed it was the tastiest lefse we’ve ever had. Thanks Peggy for sharing lefse with us and most of Waumandee!!

On top of the dugway, we did another Polish fire drill. I sped off and Tom softly said, “Look-over where you sang the song soars an eagle.”

How do you like  your lefse?

Sue Roskos