Drive - A Memoir 31st Installment
Tex
said sleepily from a pile of blankets. We could barely see him in the
dim light. The ‘granary’ was a 12 foot diameter completely
galvanized tin cylinder with a tin floor and a tin cone on top used
to store grain on the farm. His empire was the blankets for a bed, a
cardboard box with some socks and underwear in it, a collection of
books and magazines, the clothes he wore. A small old flat–top wood
stove adding more heat to the already way–too–hot tin cylinder he
lived in. A cast iron kettle nestled on the stove with a slightly
burnt but great smelling sage grouse in it. We were
uncharacteristically gracious around our friend and took some meat
because we were starving. We ate the cooked parts, the burnt parts,
but left the pink meat on the bones.
Tex
shut off the tractor’s engine so we could hear him talk. “Boy, I
detest hunters: the killing, the gun fire, and even the huntsmen's
dogs yelping constantly. When you can smell the gun powder in the air
every morning around the refuge, hunting season is upon us for sure,”
Tex railed, in response to our asking about what he was doing lately.
“We
detest big city hunters as well,” I said. “But we like shooting.
If we could make a living from shooting we would.” Russ and I had
started shooting little birds with our Daisy BB gun at seven and
eight and moved up to the 22 rifle soon after that. Now we would
shoot anything we came across, and I dare say we were good shots.
“No
one can make much money from killing things around here. You would
have to go to Africa and hunt exotic animals with rich fat men from
the east. Oh, and by the way,” Tex offered, “I heard the mink
farms are going to buy jackrabbits this year as soon as it gets cold
enough to freeze the varmints and keep them frozen.”
“Where?
When? How much? Any amount? Limitations? Talk to us.” We quizzed
our old friend excitedly.
“Whoa,
cool your heels, speedy Gonzales and Poncho,” Tex replied backing
up and waving his hands in mock defense. “Mel tells me that the
mink company will park a semi–truck at the Hamer store, and a
representative will arrive every Saturday at noon to count and pay
for frozen jackrabbit carcasses until the trailer is full or until it
starts to warm up.”
“And…”
I waited a beat for him to continue, and then impatiently demanded,
“How much are they paying?”
“Ten
cents apiece,'' Tex said as he climbed off his tractor, chucked his
sack of goobers on the seat and started for the house. “Your folks
home?”
“Edith
is, I don't know whether Vernon is or not,” I answered absent
mindedly. I was already doing the math in my head figuring how much
money we could make.
500 more words tomorrow
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