Italian Hillbilly, Part II

Tennessee ItalianHillbilly by Photo by Sylvia is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License.
Tennessee ItalianHillbilly by Photo by Sylvia is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License.

Tom then looked down at the porch and shook his head giving out a loud sigh. You can tell he was debating which way to go, but then he looked up at his son with a smirk on his face and a devious sparkle in his eyes and said, “If you do take them snipe hunting I insist it be at the Palmer farm which is only 3 or 4 blocks away.” That’s when George, Jenny’s brother, rolled his eyes saying, “The Palmer farm? Oh, come on dad, when cousin Matt took me snipe hunting for first time it was at the Clementine Cemetery, and you knew about it and didn’t mind.” “Ya, well you’re a boy, I don’t want these girls too far away, understand?” Tom said leaving no room for argument.

“Will someone tell me what are snipe?” I said getting frustrated. “Well, snipe are small birds that run around in foggy areas, their hard to catch, but once you do, boy their good eaten.” George said as a matter of fact. “What do they taste like?” I said looking slightly horrified. “It’s cross between chicken and turkey.” Chicken and turkey sounded pretty good to me at that point, since I lost my appetite during dinner when Tom asked, after my first bite and during mid-chew, “Well, how does that possum taste?” I dropped my fork and started running for the door when Tom’s mother started laughing saying, “Tom, don’t do that to that poor little thing. She barely weighs enough as it is! Honey, that is not possum. I prepared that dish myself, that is roast beef!” Although I believed what she said, I still couldn’t help but think, what if… I knew Jenny’s dad my entire life, he was always a practical joker, but considering I had to haul water from the creek to the cabin in order to take a bath, I wasn’t going to take any chances. Therefore, catching my own food didn’t sound like a bad idea.

After spending time with Jenny’s cousins, George looked at Matt and said, “I was thinking of taking the girls snipe hunting with us, what do you think?” Matt's head jolted up, “Sure! How about Clementine’s?” “No, dad said the Palmer farm…” George said, as he lowered his voice and started speaking under breath to Matt. “How do we catch these things?” I asked inquisitively. “Oh that’s easy, see these birds are so easily frightened and when their frightened they look for a dark crevice to run and hide. All we need is a couple garbage bags, they’ll run straight for them.“ Matt said, while smiling at George. “So we have to run around chasing these birds into the bags?” Jenny asked looking confused. “No, your brother and I will chase the birds, I’ll explain it later when we get there, ok? Let me grab the bags," Matt said, while looking around the kitchen.

It seemed like forever getting to our destination, maybe 40 min. or so, but as we turned into what appeared to be desolate area, with thick fog that rolled the surface about knee deep, I suddenly saw a huge granite boulder that read: Clementine Cemetery…(Italian Hillbilly Part III is just around the corner)


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