Family

1001 Ways to Make Chili

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FB_IMG_1509416495913       A recent conversation, or perhaps a friendly debate would be a more appropriate term, with a friend of mine involved the “correct” way to prepare the popular dish known as Chili, inspired this post. Delving deeper into the topic, I found out some interesting facts about a dish that has made its way to the top of the list of American comfort foods.

Notations dating back to the 1850’s mention bricks made of suet, dried beef, and chili peppers that were boiled in water on the trail as a staple in the southwest.

The 1892 Worlds Fair in Chicago included the San Antonio Chili Stand which served to further popularize the dish and in the 1970s Chili was made the official dish of Texas.

With all that history, the original recipe had to have gone through many many mutations depending upon the cook preparing it. These days Chili cook-offs are widely popular as people from all walks of life compete to prove that they have indeed come up with the perfect combination of ingredients to create an award-winning recipe.

Is there just one flawless way to prepare Chili? I think not, but just in case I am wrong, here is my “Perfect” Chili Recipe.

2lbs ground meat (I use venison)

1 large onion minced

1 Tablespoon minced garlic

2 Tablespoons taco seasoning

1 large jar of salsa

1 can 14 Oz stewed tomatoes

1 large can tomato sauce

2 cans chili beans in sauce

1 Tablespoon smoked pepper sauce (I use Hickey Bottom brand)

Chili powder to taste

1/8 teaspoon black pepper

2 Tablespoons brown sugar

1/4 cup ketchup

Brown ground meat with onions and garlic. Add taco seasoning and 1/4 cup water. Simmer until water evaporates and meat is well coated in seasoning.

Combine all ingredients in a large pot and simmer on med/low for one hour.

Serve topped with Fritos, sliced scallions, sour cream, shredded cheddar, or your choice of toppings. Enjoy!!

Never Enough

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We say it constantly “There are never enough hours in the day.” Why? Because, for the most part, our lives are so inundated with a plethora of tasks we cannot possibly hope to complete in the waking hours we are given.

So focused we become on cramming as much as we can into one day that we fail to see the big picture. It’s like driving on an endless interstate at 100mph being so focused on the task at hand that we completely fail to see what lies to the left and right of that asphalt ribbon.

The truth is, at that very moment when you start to panic over all you didn’t get done you should really be admonishing yourself for all you failed to experience in your mad rush to complete an absurdly long to-do list.

Did you miss your child’s first game, your Mom’s birthday, a chance to sit on a dock and drop a line, a chance to truly live?

I get on my soapbox about this all the time for the simple reason that I see so many unhappy people in this world. Rich, poor, popular, young, old it doesn’t matter. The reasons could be many but I’m convinced the biggest contributor to dissatisfaction in one’s own life is the fact that (as the saying goes) we spend so much time trying to make a living that we forget to make a life for ourselves.

When my dad was putting in 14 hour days at work did you think he ever thought that Mom would get Alzheimers right at the moment when their lives had finally settled down enough for them to enjoy? Heck no! If he had perhaps he would have re-evaluated everything. Nothing is promised in this life, nothing.

I get asked all the time about how can I spend so much time hunting in the swamp or woods? My answer is simple. I disappear every weekend into the swamp because it is where I can shut everything out. Every disappointment, every frustration, every distraction, everything. I am left entirely alone with nothing but magnificent nature around me. No deadlines, no phones ringing, no to-do list and it is exactly why I am a happier person.

So, the next time you glance up at a clock and feel your heart tighten with dread because you still have a million and one things to do ask yourself this “Is all of this worth giving up so much of my life for?”

Happiness and a good life, my friends, are not a matter of how much you can pour into each day but how much you can get out of each day.  Instead of staring at a list of things to do in the morning, write a list of the blessing and experiences you had in those 24 hours. A life well lived is one that is treated like a gift and not a bunch of years to just get through.

Traditions

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20171024_103609Many a time I am asked about how I got into hunting and my response generally is that I was born into it. The following is an article that was published that I wrote in honor of my mom and the legacy she passed on to me.

 

Black and white photos have a way of taking us back in time, as if the sepia tones have the power to soften our memories and lend a golden glow to that which once was. In the 1950’s my mom was growing up the youngest daughter of a poor farmer in Carver County, MN. No stranger to hard work, she also went out in the field trapping, hunting, and fishing. Not as a sport, but as a necessity.

As a teenager, she ran her own coon hounds and went fearlessly into the marsh to hunt ducks with her best friend Myra and an Ithaca shotgun. This is the woman who brought me into the world. A 5ft tall powerhouse with the spirit of a tiger and the heart of an angel. Now, when I look into her rheumy eyes and see the clouded confusion that the Alzheimers has lent to her gaze, I know without a doubt why hunting is such a huge part of my life. Each time I go out into the woods or marsh I think of that fearless young woman my mom once was, blazing a trail for female hunters in her own little way.

My need to hunt comes not from a desire to go home with my limit of birds but from a deep seated need to keep alive a legacy that was started on a small farm in West Central Minnesota. To get up before the sun and watch the sky give bloody birth to a new day, to feel the frigid air burning my lungs, to smell the scent of gunpowder as I take my first shot, to hear the ghost-like whisper of duck wings flying over me, and to taste the flavors that being in the outdoors lends to an ordinary Camp breakfast. These are the things that keep calling me back season after season.

These days I hunt a rich backwater marsh off the Mississippi River in Wisconsin. It has become a sanctuary, a place to leave behind the modern world and step into an untouched piece of the earth that is as healing as it is beautiful. One can walk for hours or just sit on a creek bank and watch as mallards and gadwall buoy themselves against the current, happily hidden in their wooded abode.

The hunting is unpredictable, as most things are, and I can go days without shooting a duck, yet, each time I leave a part of me stays behind. So I go back. I would go back every day of the season if I could to catch the sunrise, to feel the thrill of kamikaze teal teasing me with their sudden appearance and disappearance. Then, out of pure luck, the planets align and a small flock cups into the pocket where I am standing. Feet down, russet feathers ablaze in the early morning sun and the soft swoosh of the water as they land in front of me. Moments like this have the power of hypnotism, to blind you to your purpose as you stare dumbfounded for a moment before the adrenaline kicks in and you spook them off the water for a shot.

The hunt is not over when a duck falls, I take that flagging life into my hands and gaze down at the miracle of feathers and wings and thank the powers that I believe in for what was sacrificed, what was given. I give a prayer in honor of the bird, and to soothe my own soul and then I go home humbled. That is the way of the marsh, a circle that begins and ends day after day and those of us who are lucky enough to stand in the middle of it all are blessed in unmeasurable ways.

So, when someone asks me why I am a hunter, why do I want to crawl around the mud at 5am and stand out in the cold when I could be home in bed? I say give it a try once. Even if you don’t think you will like it, just go out there one time and tell me that you didn’t at least learn something about patience, appreciation for life, the wonder of raw nature, and a better understanding of your own self when you are removed from the modern world if only for a couple of hours. Hunting to me, is more than just bringing home bands and feathers, it’s bringing home memories and continuing a legacy started on that hard scrabble farm in Minnesota by my incredible mother.