We went to the pizza place on Main last night, unsure whether they would still be open at 8:00 on a Monday night. This place is so good, they are only open four days a week, and on Mondays, they are only open until their dough runs out. So we were chancing it, and we were in luck.
Mark is the pizza master and mans his place in front of the wood fired pizza oven, designing the best craft Neapolitan pizza on 36 Highway, coast to coast. Seriously. Susan runs the show and creates the best salads in the history of salads.
And we are the benefactors.
Normally, we walk in to this gem of a hideaway and 4 of the 5 tables are open, not because of a lack of business, but because most people around here like to eat pizza in front of their TVs or because most people eat earlier than we do when pizza is on the brain.
But not last night. Last night, the room was full for these parts. Full of camouflage and orange.
It’s hunting season. We live in deer country. And pheasant country. And quail country. And whatever other creature people in orange and camouflage go after, although I haven’t seen any wild pigs around here. Or moose, for that matter. I have no idea what “season” it is – I am not a hunter and most likely never will be. It kind of goes against some of my stances on things, but not enough so that I would ever wear a protest shirt or hold up signs. I digress. I also eat meat, and again, I digress. I am a bundle of contradiction. I digress…again.
For some crazy reason, these hunters like our small town USA countryside. They come from all over the place. Last night, the group was from Indiana and Oklahoma. We’ve been told there are some famous athletes who have “places” out here, whatever that means. I’m thinking the ditch and pasture off of L Road and 177th, but it probably means the log cabin mansion down the winding dirt path just south of Pete’s place that you can’t see from the road. Maybe that’s why I hear a helicopter every once in a while. I digress, again.
Saturday, we were on our way back home from a long weekend in the city, when about 10-15 miles outside of small town USA, Sam pointed out lots of orange dots moving slowly in a field just off the highway. I had never seen hunting actually happening, but I did on Saturday. They hunt in groups! I had always envisioned one lone ranger in a deer stand wearing all green and tan – I had no idea they walk through fields wearing neon orange and make a party of the ordeal.
Sunday night, it was 10:18 pm, the weather had just weathered on the news, and they began a new segment that apparently is another deal out here I had never known…they post picture after picture after picture of kids and their first deer.
Not bottle-fed Daisy the deer.
These were big ‘ol deers. And they weren’t leaping across the highway any more.
And THEN, the news guy started giving instructions on how to take your pictures with your first deer: “Use hydrogen peroxide to get all the blood off, because we won’t post pictures with all the blood. Clean ’em up before you field dress your deer.”
Why would you put a dress on a deer?
I follow our local school district Facebook page. The 6th grade classes (6th grade!) take hunter safety course DURING SCHOOL.
I feel like I am in the Twilight Zone. It’s like a foreign country out here. I am 53 years old and never knew such things.
But I am grateful I live in a town where orange is the new black, all stylish and safe.
I am grateful I live in a town where neighbors still bring you soup even if you don’t call them by the right name. (see yesterday’s grateful post).
I am grateful I live in a town where the police chief says to let him know if we need anything, anything at all.
I am grateful I live in a town that produces a friend who comes over and stacks a whole tree of walnut wood in our backyard that he split for our fireplace.
I am grateful I live in a town where you can buy a gallon of paint and order your tux, all at the same counter.
I am grateful I live in a town that has quirks and eccentricity and things that make me shake my head and feel like I am in the Twilight Zone sometimes.
And I am grateful I live in a town that has a wood-fired pizza place on the corner of downtown Main Street.