The Solitary Cook
A chef writing about cooking & eating in the Northern Rockies. Food for hundreds? No problem. For one? A different story. My story.
I don’t usually think of nature as church-like but when I step back and look at it that’s certainly…
Chris Erickson
1
- I moved here from a small resort community on a medium-sized lake in Northern California where I could walk to the end of my road and strap on cross country skis or snowshoes to prowl about dinosaur-like conversations among sandhill cranes. I remember vividly mornings when a young red tailed hawk we’d watched emerge to maturity, and one of my then border collies named Emma (sinced deceased and similarly replaced, because herding dogs spoil you and you can’t ever have another type of dog) I swear were playing with each other. The hawk would swoop down as if to, wishful thinking, grab Emma, and Emma would leap up, wishful thinking, to grab the hawk. If that doesn’t add up to reverence, I don’t know what does.
