My husband has a passion for hunting. It’s something he’s not only enjoyed with friends,but has carried over as a bonding experience with my dad. As hard as it sometimes can be sincewe have had kids, I’ve felt blessed that he and my dad can enjoy this experience together. Sofrom the end of August until January I joke that I am a single parent. From the start of elk archery season, to dove, then pheasant, duck and ending with geese; it’s pretty much camo and the smell of gun powder.
Another reason I encourage my husband to go hunting is for him to bring back pheasants. Pheasant is one of my favorite meats and is a meal that reminds me of my childhood. My dad would set out for a week-long trip to North Dakota with my uncle and cousins. At that time there were no cell phones and long distant calls weren’t cheap so we never knew how things were going. The anticipation of him coming home and seeing what he had was more than I could bare, simply because I loved the way my dad prepared pheasant. He’d back his truck in our driveway, get out of the vehicle looking as if he’d never seen a razor, wearing clothes that could be sensed from a block away. I’d run to him and ask how many he got and when we were having pheasant dinner. Looking back there was always something rugged and pure about my dad going out hunting for pheasants and bringing them home to his family to eat. The picture of my dad in the kitchen breading the pheasant and preparing the mushroom sauce will forever be engrained in my mind.
Now with a husband who brings these birds home I pride myself on cooking the pheasant dinner the way my dad did, with a couple of tweaks I’ve tried to enhance along the way. This Sunday we gather with our family to celebrate the return of our husbands, the spoils of their hunt, a Carolina family member who came to visit and the blessings God provides.