I saw the bottom of the deep freeze last night, as I was digging out a loaf of my beloved Birdman Bread that I buy in bulk in Missoula.  Life is better with good bread.  As I glimpsed the final depths of the freezer, my thoughts ran to Honeydew, who  has been out hunting elk with his best friend all week.  The freezer is partitioned into sections, and last year’s elk filled four of the eight.  Now, only a few prize backstraps remain in the very bottom of one the partitions, covered up by edamame and Hutterite buns and chickens.  Empty partitions await this year’s elk, and hopefully we’ll have to buy another deep freeze if Honeydew gets his moose.

This morning, the phone rang, an oddly modern and foreign noise juxtaposed against the sounds from the ancient wind battering the west face of Hillhouse.  Honeydew spoke quickly, and I knew he was in spotty cell coverage: “I got my elk!  A bull!”

And then the line went dead.

And now I’m so happy that I saw the bottom of the deep freeze last night.  Good job, Husband.

Not Honeydew’s elk.  Pictures will come when he arrives home.

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