{"id":20265,"date":"2023-11-29T00:07:49","date_gmt":"2023-11-29T00:07:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/?p=20265"},"modified":"2023-11-27T21:08:29","modified_gmt":"2023-11-27T21:08:29","slug":"aunt-ednas-turkey","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/2023\/11\/29\/aunt-ednas-turkey\/","title":{"rendered":"Aunt Edna\u2019s Turkey"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"
Bryce Angell – The outdoors has always been a large part of my life. My father was an outfitter and guide for 35 years and I was there to shoe and care for the horses and help him do the cooking. We took many great trips into the Yellowstone area. Even now that I\u2019m older, we still ride into the Tetons, Yellowstone and surrounding areas. My poems are mostly of personal experience. I am now retired and enjoying life to the fullest. I plan to do more riding and writing.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

My great-Aunt Edna, from the Yaak, lacked culinary skills. She lived up in Montana, all alone in them there hills.<\/p>\n

Last week Aunt Edna sent an invitation to her kin. Her invite claimed she\u2019d learned to cook. Was Edna sipping gin?<\/p>\n

She said she\u2019d corresponded with a chef from Paris, France. And she\u2019d like to serve a turkey feast if we would give her this one chance.<\/p>\n

I cornered my physician. Would he lie and claim I\u2019m ill? But the Doc said, \u201cThat\u2019s unethical.\u201d Should\u2019ve shown him my last bill.<\/p>\n

Not a single other kin was going to drive to Yaak that day. My heart was feeling heavy for old Edna, in a way.<\/p>\n

I looked at Hap. He gave a bark and then he shook his head. He\u2019d tasted Edna\u2019s table scraps. I bet Hap thought, \u201cI\u2019m dead!\u201d<\/p>\n

But when a man is dying, maybe poisoned in the end, I\u2019d say it is a privilege to go out with man\u2019s best friend.<\/p>\n

So, Hap and I drove to the Yaak. We knocked on Edna\u2019s door. She yanked us in.\u00a0 <\/span>That\u2019s when I noticed feathers on her floor.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not the sharpest fellow, but a turkey came to mind. The smell of burning feathers, yes, a turkey\u2019s what we\u2019d find.<\/p>\n

Depending on the time of year and temperature outside, Aunt Edna\u2019s home would be a place for her animals to abide.<\/p>\n

The chickens roamed about the house \u2014 but cage-free hens no less. And where to find the eggs, I\u2019d say, was anybody\u2019s guess.<\/p>\n

Edna\u2019s voice, more shriek than loud, not like the aunts of mine, came screeching out those dreadful words, \u201cPlease sit. It\u2019s time to dine.\u201d<\/p>\n

I offered grace but didn\u2019t really get a chance to say, \u201cPlease bless this food, and by the way, don\u2019t let us die today.\u201d<\/p>\n

The biscuits were a golden brown, but hard and extra heavy. The turkey was so tough I bet she had to grind the gravy.<\/p>\n

The pie is still a mystery. Not pumpkin a la mode. But maybe squash or canned mincemeat, outdated and too old.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d have to say that Edna\u2019s cooking hadn\u2019t changed a bit. And if you were a dinner guest you had to have some grit.<\/p>\n

But one fine thing \u2018bout Edna, at the end of every day, she\u2019ll share her turkey from a flask. \u201cWild Turkey\u201d you could say.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My great-Aunt Edna, from the Yaak, lacked culinary skills. She lived up in Montana, all alone in them there hills. Last week Aunt Edna sent an invitation to her kin. Her invite claimed she\u2019d learned to cook. Was Edna sipping gin? She said she\u2019d corresponded with a chef from Paris, France. And she\u2019d like to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"tdm_status":"","tdm_grid_status":"","_pvb_checkbox_block_on_post":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[160,2],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-20265","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-cowboy-poetry","7":"category-commentary"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20265","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20265"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20265\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20266,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20265\/revisions\/20266"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20265"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20265"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/woodriverweekly.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20265"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}