After doing the symposium at the Art Institute (Wednesday, 3/13), I took off for points north. I haven’t been up to my pal Louie’s for some time, but now with shouder recovered (partly) and new Honda Fit, I headed up Hwy. 101, then cut across to the Russian River, to Jenner, and up the coast. This vehicle is a wonder. Drives like a dream; nimble. Even good on country roads. And it’s like a clown car; you can get amazing amount of stuff in it. (You’re just going to have to bear with me when I rave about this car.)
Now the next part of this story is for country people, OK?
I got up to a little south of Gualala and lo, there was a dead (young) deer on the road. Still a bit warm, dead as doornail. In the past I’ve picked up (and butchered) 2-3 deer in this neck of the woods. It was close to sunset. I lay some plastic bags on the floor of the car and dragged the deer inside. Hoo!
I met Louie down at the Pt. Arena pier. He was there in his pickup truck, and I pulled up alongside, gestured for him to get out, and I opened the door to display the deer and we both about fell down laughing — partly due to my history of utilizing roadkill.
I didn’t feel like gutting it right then, so packed some ice around it, put it in Louie’s truck and later, after dinner, stored it in a room in his shop. I was stressing about it that night, and the next morning, and not too happy with failing to gut the animal right away. Plus we were going to have to perform a not too pleasant task before going to a great breakfast at Trink’s in Gualala.
In one of my rare moments of maturity, I decided we’d dump the animal back in the woods. Much as I hate to lose the chance for tender venison steaks (fawns are like all filet), this was just going to be pushing it too far. You need to gut a roadkilled animal right away. Voila! Deer back to nature, boys out to latte and hearty breakfasts.
More to come on this trip…