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Many of our Native American tribes
call this month the “hunger moon,” and for good reason. The early
fall hunting is generally over, the late season hunts in the snow
aren’t happening yet, and the fishing? Well … let’s just say the
salmon are all spawned out and dead, the trout? (Well, who can
really figure out a trout’s thought processes) and the burbot is
delicious and isn’t too hard to catch, but they are one of Nature’s
ugliest creatures, giving even the mole rat a run for his money.
But most of us go to the store in November and buy grub the way we
do the rest of the year. The hunger moon shouldn’t affect us,
really.
But it does.
Our daylight has pinched off to about zilch, It’s cold enough in the
living room to hang meat, and the kids are bringing home report
cards that look as though they’ve been put together by gnomes.
But there is one saving grace, here in the good old U.S.A. …
Thanksgiving. Oh yes, we know that, even if our forefathers were
smart enough NOT to sail here with the Pilgrims, we still get to
absorb our country’s most delicious holiday on Thanksgiving.
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No matter what our ancestry tells us
is the kind of food to eat then, at least we are entitled to a bunch
of it. We know it’s a tradition to help send the world’s dumbest
bird, the turkey, just a bit closer to extinction, but there is
plenty of other stuff to bullsnake down if the choice of dark meat
or light meat doesn’t float our particular gastric boat.
But the main point of Thanksgiving is to look around the table and
be thankful to the Creator for letting our family once again gather
here to scratch that gluttonous itch as we rack our brains to try to
remember who that guy is across the table with the gray hair.
But I suppose he belongs here, too. Just like me.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to you by
Overeaters Anonymous without their knowledge or consent.
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