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It’s That Time of Year

Those of you who have followed me for a while have been subjected through the years to my annual Valentine’s Day rants. I’ve shared my thoughts about the price gouging, the blatant commercialization of an originally sweet idea, and general lurid skankiness that has come to be associated with February 14^th.

Everyone in the Deerslayer household loathes the idea of trying to go out to eat in any restaurant on that day. Seriously, if you are a true follower of the Deerslayer’s Wife, you KNOW that you can have an exquisite meal at home for a fraction of the price. An issue that we have experienced is that we’re hard-pressed to find a restaurant that serves game meats cooked to a medium rare perfection like those that we can prepare at home. On the plus side, we really look forward to buying chocolate for half price the next day!

Deerslayers’ wives, you have the tools to prepare the most amazing meal your husband has ever had. How about a seared tenderloin with a balsamic glaze or venison Parmesan with angel hair pasta or venison and Guinness stew or marinated semi-boneless quail? How about your deerslayer’s favorite dessert? It won’t cost over $100 bucks and he will love it. Done! BTW, I’d love it if you’d share your deerslayer’s favorite dessert recipe or favorite wild game recipe with me and the group. Ladies, we’ve got to stick together here!

Deerslayers, DO THE DISHES! POUR THE WINE! PLAY SOME NICE MUSIC THAT SHE WILL LIKE! DONE! Don’t buy jewelry, stupidly expensive flowers or candy! But if your sweetie has a favorite outfit, dress up, damn it! You can thank me on the 15^th…after you snatched up some discounted chocolate!

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Posted by thedeerslayerswife on February 14, 2019 in Recipes, Uncategorized, Venison

Tags: Anti-Valentine's day, Humor, quail recipes, Valentine's Day, venison recipes

Christmas Decor for the Discerning Deerslayer

12 Dec

I think it’s safe to say, readers, that being a Deerslayer household means that life is a little bit different from ordinary households. It permeates every nook and cranny of your existence. This seems most glaring during the Christmas season.

While other families are wearing matching sweaters and caroling, we’re loading the truck for a weekend of hunting. Christmas parties give way to camping, sitting by a fire, sharing stories, looking at the stars, and listening to the coyotes.

I have to admit that I cannot blame Deerslayer for the timing. Granted, the coolers and camo and other paraphernalia strewn about the house during this time of year do add a certain unique ambience that is unmistakable. Christmas DOES fall during hunting season in South Texas, after all.

This tray holds sheds that we’ve collected over the years as well as ornaments that were on my Christmas tree when I was a child and some fresh and festive clementines.

It can be pretty hard to prepare for Christmas while we’re in the midst of hunting season. This is when being a Deerslayer’s wife gets complicated. There are gifts that need to be bought and wrapped, a tree that needs to be thoughtfully chosen and decorated, cards for teachers and helpers that need to be written out, tamales that need to be made. You get the idea.

Grab the wine. Take a deep breath. Perhaps block a few phone numbers like the homeroom mom’s or committee member’s. Do the stuff that you must, delegate out some of the other chores. Focus on what makes your family happy. Remember the reason for the season.

Over the years, I’ve not only come to terms with the fact that my house will never be like one of those on the magazine covers, but I’ve actually begun to embrace the lifestyle of a hunter and his natural habitat. It may be cluttered and stacked to the ceiling with coolers, camo, guns, and ammo but it’s part of who we are and I’ve grown to love it.

The basket with candles, sheds, and old ornaments is casual and easy to throw together (like our lifestyle).

The house smells like wonderful things to eat (thanks to Junior Deerslayer) during this holiday season and is full of things that remind us of memories that we cherish. It doesn’t get any better than that. Have a Merry and Blessed Christmas!

More Snakes! Grab Those Fabulous Snake Boots!

09 Feb

In the two years that we’ve been hunting at the ranch in South Texas, Deerslayer has killed 4 sizable rattlesnakes, the one pictured being the smallest. Living with snakes is just part of life down here. It was after finding the first and largest rattler that the fine line between fashion and function became blurred to include Cabela’s jaunty and ever-so-chic snake boots. I’ve come to appreciate the rich earth tones, the fashion-forward suede and zippered accents, the fact that I can walk through the grass and not be killed by a snake bite..

The largest rattlesnake that we’ve seen on the ranch was as long as Deerslayer is tall, about 6’5″. The shortest was about my height, 5’4″. Spotting a venomous snake really brings to mind thoughts of instinct, self-preservation, and survival of the fittest. The heart starts to pound. Breathing becomes fast and shallow. I found myself sputtering things like, “Run over it with the truck! Run over it again! It’s still moving. Shoot it. Squash it with a rock. No, use a stick. Don’t get close. It’s still moving! Run over it again. Shoot it again! It’s still moving!”

I suspect that in earlier times, I wouldn’t have been considered one of the “fittest”.

Back to our most recent encounter, before Snakeslayer placed the slithering monster in the back of the truck, the head was removed. While I’m sure everyone knows this already, it bears repeating: A dead snake is just as dangerous as a live one as long as the fangs are intact. People have suffered serious injury and, I’m sure, even death as a result of snake bites from snakes that were already dead. Don’t mess with the head of a venomous snake even after it’s dead. The mouth can still open of its own accord. Nasty business, just don’t! That said, let me continue.

The rattler continued to writhe and thrash about, headless, for at least an hour and a half. With the tailgate down, it slithered off the back of the truck. When Snakeslayer decided to save the skin, there was quite an episode. The decapitated snake thrashed, and wrapped itself around my beloved’s arms as it was being “dispatched”. My job in the proceedings was to gesticulate wildly and suggest poking it with a stick or perhaps run over it with the truck, or shoot it again.

It made for interesting stories to share at the hunting camp that night. I was asked by several of the other hunters whether I was going to cook up the snake. I guess I better start looking for recipes. Everyone had their own stories to tell. Eyes got big, smart phones were brought out and pictures passed around. Arms stretched in all directions to indicate size and length. When referring to snakes, I guess size really does matter. There’s just something about big snakes that reminds us of our place in the grand scheme of things. Thank God for snake boots!