poem

once, long ago - Wisconsin farm lands - we ate

the rabbits. we were young and genteel poor 

and back-to-the-landers, and we ate the animals

and plants of the gentle wilds of our BumpityRoad

Farm, abutting a State Game Preserve, and we 

leaned the foods and ways of our Neighbors, who 

taught me Everything about Game and Garden and 

Fruit Cellar and Putting Foods By...and about Rabbits.... 

here, on the fringes of our Upcountry National Forest, 

Jacks are jumping free - little worry about hungry 

hunters, now (save, of course, for the wily raccoons, 

the coyotes, the bobcats, the mountain lions, the ferals, 

and, yes, Our Mountain Homeless....)!

admire their speed, their Spring-healthy coats! respect, 

for their fecundity and their surviving grace! smiles, 

for their wonderfully useful ears and powerful legs! 

honor: for the Wild in them, as is more latent in our 

own selves...capture only their joy! and if needs’ must: 

remember to parboil with herbs for quite some time:

these are muscles of ancient rhythms, and will not 

bow, nor break bond lightly....