He arrived home with two dead pheasants on his back, and thought it would be funny to dangle them in front of my face as I answered the door.
I screamed.
The boy was amused. The girl less so.
He hung them in the garden shed in the dense, bleak night, and after the snow had begun to fall, and a snowmen had been made , he began the long, diligent labour of preparing the birds with his strong, adept hands.
One of my favorite blogs, searchingtosee, recently posted a beautiful piece of writing paired with with stunning photographs. Sit down with a cup of coffee and enjoy!
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c.b.w.
I collect feathers and have quite a few from the accidental pheasant we had for supper a few years ago. No hunting allowed. My back field is home to a dozen or so of them and I feed them corn through the cold winter days.
My grandma always collected feathers. She gave me one from a blue jay once and I still have it.
how precious. As many blue jays as we have here, I rarely find a feather, but when i do, I feel blessed somehow. The more you share about your grandma, the more I see what an amazing woman she was.
Beautiful!
She does fantastic work. I love her blog!
thank you
Keep up the beautiful work!
I’ll try
I’ve always liked feathers, collecting them from the yard, the beach, the woods. Her photos of snow on the feathers were particularly beautiful, capturing the delicate flakes on similarly delicate fluff.
Her story first reminded me of the scene in Shogun by James Clavell when Blackthorne caught a pheasant and hung it up to cure, forbidding his house staff from touching it. I’ve never had the opportunity of actually seeing anyone prepare a bird like that, although I did include a similar scene in one of my stories. She managed to describe it in a much more poetic way.
If you liked this, you will love what she does on a daily basis. Her blog is gorgeous!
Soooooooooooo beautiful!!!!!!!!
I know!! She’s writing more this year and I’m so happy she’s decided to add words to her photographs.