PaddleWisers... Thanksgiving Day was a good one this year. A clearing sky after a fresh early morning rain shower with a hint of wind scuttering the clouds letting a baby blue color break through promises our usual 75 degree warmup from the low 40's. No work today, lots of good food and wine for later, friends coming, family due in, daughters "1 and 2 OF 3" already here, and ...did I mention lots of good food and wine ? LovelyWife has agreed after some discussion to make her Mamaw Prioux's old time roux, rice based oyster dressing if I volunteer to chop up the Holy Trinity ...that's Onions, Celery, and Bell pepper, friends. Somebody else is doing the cornbread dressing. And, I will fry the turkeys. Yep, we fry 'em down here. A whole turkey at once. Sound strange ? ...not really. You just got to have " de rite pot ". That's just some of the secret about Louisiana cookin' ...de rite pot ! The decision to have a paddle race was not entirely thought out. Richard and I were out back setting up the fire burner and getting ready to heat the grease ( peanut oil, actually ). The cooking area is within 15 feet of my boat rack. Better make that a boat pile. The 5 boats are on a 2x6 frame device that adjoins a fence. Any activity that begins to happen any where near the boat pile ...well, the topic of discussion usually turns to water, paddling, camping, or related issues. Today is no different. The burner sounds like a jet with its afterburner going. It will take a while, and the pond is only about 100 feet there ...Let's go paddle while 3 gallons of grease heats up. I carry the canoe and Richard takes the pirogue. We make it half way down the hill and LovelyWife SCREAMS from the house, "Where are ya'll going ?" I learned long ago to never look directly at or toward any loud voices asking what, where, when, or why about ANY of my activities. This ploy is easier now, since my hearing has been seriously questioned of late by LovelyWife. The complete flock of my adult daughters blindly agree with her. It is a simple matter ...I hear what I want to hear. Richard is not so quickminded. He stops, turns, looks back, and is caught rocksalt solid and red handed. I keep walking with the shouldered canoe doing my quickest, if not best, two-step shuffle on toward the water. Geez, Richard another 20 feet and we would have been out of sight down the hill. I shout my stand-by mantra loudly, "I'll be back in a minute !" And mutter to Richard, "Let's go man, just keep moving !" The boats plop to the water and all we need now are ...paddles and PFDs. I told you this race wasn't entirely thought out. We decide to go check on the cookpot ...oh, yeah and also pick up a couple paddles while up there. The pond is about 3 acres in size and not very deep. Springs keep it pumped up along with a small creek helping during periods of rain runoff. There are always a few muscovey ducks along with some domesticated mallards on the lake. Their lives are constantly in peril from the neighborhood dogs, cats, and the sleek gray falcons that stay awhile during their spring travels. I have managed to catch one large bass every year for a number of years now from this pond. There must be one great cover spot and room for only one large fish down there. I throw a discarded Christmas tree in every year for bream cover. The canoe and I are on the water first and headed for the other end. The pirogue always takes a little settling into, but moves along nicely to a strong stroke. The turtles look angry at being roused from their morning patches of sun, now beginning to brighten the day. Both boats push bow first into the thick water lillies and hydrilla that keep this end of the pond choked and green almost year round. Some years someone drains water to stunt the stuff back, but it takes only a couple years to return. We wave and call out to a neighbor in his back yard that joins the water. The race begins ! We decide to follow the east bank around to the spillway at the road-dam, and then back to the put-in as a finish line. This really wasn't much of a race. The grease was a piping 350 when we get back up the hill. We put 1 turkey on to fry and head back to the pond. Another lap of "The Race" and that turkey is golden brown and smelling delicious. Another bird goes into de pot, and the final lap of "The Race" takes place. Huffing and puffing we climb the hill, throw both boats toward the rack, and take both birds into the house. LovelyWife is very pleased and very complimentary at my magic. Then she decides to ask how we got so muddy ... "Hey, honey, this turkey frying is hard work !" ...adieu, mes amies ...Peyton (Louisiana) ___________________________________________________________________ Why pay more to get Web access? Try Juno for FREE -- then it's just $9.95/month if you act NOW! 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