A Place Called Brown Hollow

As men are called to the sea, the mountains, the great spaces of the American West, throughout my life, the military, college, a professional career, wandering and travel, the Missouri woodlands of my childhood have called me home. The place of my childhood is now gone, subdivided beyond recognition. Through great good fortune a substitute was found -- a place known as Brown Hollow.

It is not a place of the imagination, although it lends itself to great imagining, but an actual part of the Ozark mountains with a vast repository of life, topography, springs and streams. The hunting tradition of my family, spanning now three generations of living hunters continues there.



But Brown Hollow is much more than hunting. There are fish in the clear river, swimming, unlimited photo ops, camping, and once a year a great gathering featuring a bluegrass band. And cooking.

The ethics of hunting, at least the ethics practiced and passed on in my family, require respect for the life taken, and that respect requires its proper preparation, cooking and eating, actually feasting.

This space will be used to report on Brown Hollow in its many aspects.

This is autumn and the hunters moon is in the sky. These tales of Brown Hollow will follow the seasons. They will include some thoughts on preparation, gear, techniques, survival and, yes, most important how to eat the bounty. The freezer already contains the result of one successful pheasant hunt (from south Dakota not Brown Hollow, no promise of strict geographic boundaries). But our whitetail hunt for bow is going on now and rifle season is soon to start.

So the installments to follow will focus on venison, how to find it, kill it, cook it, and, most importantly, eat it. So if you have been wondering what this is about, wonder no more, it is about how to cook game linked to the traditions of my family.

More to come.