It’s been over a decade since I bought my field journal. When I saw it in a gift shop I knew I had to have it – the Col. Littleton No. 9 Journal, wrought of thick leather and brass. It looked like something that Hemmingway might have opened under the glow of an oil lamp…
In Price’s Bottom Fields, just after first light I called up a hen and started a fight. Cutting and cackling, putting and cussing We went back and forth ‘till we tired of fussing. Then a gobble rang out from across the creek And in the blink of an eye I was off on the…
Long-legged and speckled and cherished, little Maggie worked the woods and fields with the single-minded conviction of a wild prophetess. On a sharp nose and soft mouth she was indeed sent by the God of Abraham to produce panicked wings, all hell-bent skyward. Now she is skyward. I hope she has summer pastures to bounce…
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An Icon of Conservation Turns 41 this March