27 Saturday Apr 2024
Posted in Entertainment & Media, Uncategorized
Saw the film “Civil War” today. It was remarkably similar to most of the histories I have read of similar conflicts.
At the end:
Take that last one to heart with this film.
Save your money for the next Marvel or Disney disaster. It CAN’T be worse than this.
08 Monday Apr 2024
Posted in Uncategorized
2024 Eclipse Viewing in Texas
We caught a break…in the clouds, so it was much more impressive than Pete Delkus lead us to expect.
01 Monday Jan 2024
Posted in black powder, CHL, concealed carry, Guns, Muzzleloading, Self defence, Technology, Uncategorized
As we roll over the new year, and the neighbors start popping off what I hope are limited to illegal firewaorks, and not the bullets that have landed on my roof more than once, I keep seeing a repeat of the same news related to a “gunpowder shortage” that is supposed to drive ammunition prices through the roof, and create ANOTHER ammo drought in 2024.
I thought I would remind my readers that pump shotguns, lever action rifles, and revolvers can run very nicely on black powder and black powder substitutes that cannot drive semi-automatic arms. Yes, these powders are dirty. Yes, they require more diligent cleaning than smokeless, but I can make the effort to clean my guns if it means being able to practice, hunt, and protect my family.
If you look at ballistic tables, the percussion revolvers of the Civil War and early frontier period do not look impressive, but Colt’s .36 Navy was the equivalent of a .380 ACP, and settled a lot of disputes. Colt’s .44 Army was a bit over a .38 Special in energy, but it punched a .45 caliber hole in the target.
Switching to Old West cartridges, Colt’s Model P Single Action Army revolver originally fired a 255 grain bullet around 800 fps using a 40 grain charge of black powder. The .44-40 was in the same ballistic neighborhood. These are nothing to sneeze at.
A Taurus Judge will hande a .45 Colt round loaded with black powder just fine, as will a S&W Model 25, or Ruger’s Blackhawk revolver chambered in that caliber. A .357 Magnum catridge case full of black poweder would still be nasty business when topped with a lead semi-wadcutter or full wadcutter bullet. Like the .45 Colt, the .44 Special started out as a black powder cartridge. Elmer Keith wrote about .45 Colt bullets fully penetrating a horse’s chest cavity from the side. It would be interesting to see what a .44 Magnum case full of black powder would yield.
Guns and Supplies
Learning Resources:
Loading Tools (these tools allow you to load cartridges on the kitchen table.)
Stay frosty, and keep your powder dry!
29 Friday Dec 2023
Posted in Personal Stories, Travel, Uncategorized
Every year we try to celebrate the daughter’s birthday in one of DFW’s best restaurants. This year, we tried Saint Emilion at the recommendation of a friend. It was a good call.
Service was excellent.
Atmosphere was “Provencial” as advertised. Think small country eatery with tables close together. It reminded me of some intimate pubs we visited in Scotland. You could keep your conversation to yourselves, or meet the folks next to you.
The soup of the day was Mushroom or Onion (of course). Both were approved by the party members. The onion soup was thick enough to be close to a stew. Probably the best I have had. The ladies enjoyed the mushroom offering with a generous quantity of sliced champions.
We tried the Pate’ and found it a bit bland for our taste.
Lamb chops and filets were the main course.
The pommes frites (aka French fries) were not a real compliment to the steak, but the portion was adequate.
The salad was a mixed greens in vinaigrette served with Monchego and double-cream Brie. Pretty good.
Desserts were the Baba-Rhum cake, Creme Broulle, and Tiramisu. Tasty enough.
A party of three with two cocktails, upcharges for two filets, one appetizer, and three desserts came to $266.30 before tip. Saint Emilion was a far superior experience to that armpit called “The Mansion” in Upchuck Dallas, or Wolfgang Puck’s old haunt at the top of Reunion Tower.
Give Saint Emilion a try. Especially if your only experience with French food is La Madeleine.
19 Tuesday Dec 2023
Posted in Guns, hunting, Uncategorized
In this case “stalking” is used in the European sense of the word. The Blind Pig Club paid another visit to Three Curl Outfitters a couple of weeks ago. We booked their North TexasThermal Hog Hunt, and were booked for the “old lodge” located at 209 Cox Road Waxahachie, TX 75167.
Earlier in the year, # Curl had sent me an email announcing the grand opening of their “New Lodge” called Wild Acres located at 4160 SW HWY 34 Avalon, Tx 76623. By happy circumstance, I received a call from the ramrod of the outfit named Brett, who offered to upgrade us from the Old Lodge to the New Lodge because a larger group of hunters was coming in a day early. We could not say “Sure!” fast enough. Oh buddy! What a place!
Wild Acres sleeps about 20, and I’ll let the pictures do the talking.
In addition to the above ammenities, there is a 300 yard rifle range, and a huge patio with grills and a firepit. Oh yeah!
We licky threesome got had the place to ourselves, but the reason we went was to hunt feral hogs, and our guide Steven put us right on them. We made three stalks between 6:30 PM and 11:55 PM. We took two small sows about 30lbs each, A middlin’ sow around 50lbs, and big sow around 75lbs, and a boar we think was over 300lbs. It took all four of us to get him in the truck!
My only, and I do mean ONLY grip about the trip was the lack of a proper cleaning station at Wild Acres. We had to butcher the take on the ground which can be rough on the older spines in the group (aka Me). All told, we took almost 100# of fine fresh pork home with us.
Everything else was fantastic, and the service was top shelf. If you want a grand adventure close to DFW, call Three Curl Outfitters. Feral Hogs, wingshooting, and waterfowling are all on the menu, and you can’t beat the price. If you have the stones and the pockets, you can even hunt from a helicopter!
21 Tuesday Nov 2023
Please help support this Texas author by giving books for Christmas.
Ana’s mother always insisted on the proprieties for young ladies, but she never prepared her daughter for the snake pit of Los Cristobal. Political factions wrestle behind the illusion of a free city, each plotting to seize control for King and Country. Beneath the city, a secret society has begun unlocking the powers of ancient sorcery, but they lack something. Something secret. Something stolen from them by Ana’s father, and now they are coming to take it back. Sometimes, a young lady must do some very unladylike things to stay alive.
Ladies, Fish, & Gentlemen is a swashbuckling historical fantasy tale with magical realism undertones set in a pre-colonial North America that never was. Shamanistic ritual, the miracles of Holy places, and lust for the power of resurrected technologies drive men mad in the struggle to control the destiny of the New World. A footpad, a vampire, and the native Kiawah people may be Ana’s best allies against the coven of sorcerers trying to murder her.
The Ladies of Los Cristobal series is Girl power at its best.
KINDLE EDITION PAPERBACK EDITION
Six Shots of Blackpowder Fun!
Those old blackpowder handguns look great hung over your mantle – but they’re much more fun to shoot! Now, thanks to Handbook of Modern Percussion Revolvers, author Michael Morgan shows you just how entertaining these history-making firearms can be.
Inside, you’ll find:
Detailed loading advice for today’s modern blackpowder percussion cap revolvers
Tips and tricks for accurate shooting
In-depth breakdowns for the three most popular working reproductions
Dozens of historical fun facts and trivia
Morgan’s passion for these important firearms and his user-friendly approach to shooting their modern reproductions is sure to ignite the same excitement in you. Explore the special world of percussion revolvers – then get yourself a gun, some caps, and let the lead fly!
28 Saturday Oct 2023
Posted in CHL, concealed carry, Guns, Self defence, Uncategorized
Your humble correspondent received an invite to a Glocktoberfest event at our local Range USA outlet located at 5661 South Cooper St, Arlington, TX 76017.
Who could resits a chance to visit with a factory rep and try out some of Glock’s fine handguns?
Range USA is lightyears beyond the typical indoor gun range. The retail area is bright and spacious. The staff have always been top-notch and professional when I have visited them. Many establishments in my experience have demonstrated a lack of patience with new shooters, or a tendency to promote certain firearms for certain demographics. (The snubnose .38 is THE PERFECT ladies’ gun!) Range USA actively caters to all levels of shooter. It is a place I would feel comfortable taking my Mom to knowing she would be properly assisted in selecting a firearm and receiving the training to safely enjoy learning to shoot. They even offer Ladies Night and Date Night specials!
Mr. Jim Lankford, Commercial Sales Manager from Glock Inc. was on site. He brought along a selection of the most popular handguns for folks to handle, and Range USA allowed interested customers to take a free 5 round test drive.
The notion of a .22 Glock has been nagging at me for several years, so I was forced, Forced! I say, try out a Glock 44 in .22 Long Rifle. The results are in the nearby photo. Not bad for the first run without my prescription specs.
The sights are typical basket-ball factory sights, and the trigger is all Glock. The weapon is the same size as the Glock 19. Cheap practice with a dead ringer for one of the most popular handguns on the planet. The only change I could suggest would be a version sized to match the Glock 43X/48 since the magazine is already a single-stack.
I am an unashamed hogleg man. Single Action or Double Action, if it spins in the middle, I’m a fan. As I discussed in my “Volkswaffen” piece, the Glock manual of arms is almost as simple as that of a double action revolver. Firing either type of handgun is so consistently predictable they approach the term “boring”, and boring is exactly the quality needed when bad things are happening and the pressure is on. Boring is also a fine quality to have when trying to perfect your marksmanship. The first thing on my mind is addressing the target, and the last is the firearm. Good job Glock!
Mr. Lankford was a font of information.
I asked him why he did not have a G26 Gen 5 on the table, and he replied that the G43, 43X, and 48 had killed the G26 product line. No more Baby Glock with magazine compatibility with the double-stacks, so get ’em while you can!
We debated the famous internet rumors regarding a Glock carbine/rifle, a polymer revolver, and a new one to me, a 1911 of all things. Lankford confirmed Glock does have multiple patents filed for products they do not ever intend to build. This is a common industry practice to limit the ability of other companies to enter a given market. Example: Multiple EV and hydrogen fuelcell patents were tied up by Mobile-Exxon since the 1970s for this very reason.
Carbine/Rifle: One of the main pieces of evidence Cited by the carbine crowd is the “rifle range” behind the Smyrna, GA facility. Mr. Lankford told me this was built at the request of the Thai government who wanted to know how their recent order of G19s would group at 100 meters. He went on to say that it is not used for storage.
Revolver: Glock Inc. has ceded the revolver business to Ruger, Smith & Wesson, and Taurus. The market is not deep enough to support another player, so this was tabled.
5.7 x 28 mm: This is another case of insufficient depth in a market occupied by FN, S&W, and Ruger, so no Glocks in 5.7 on the horizon.
1911: This seem silly to this correspondent. If you want a single-stack Glock in .45 ACP, grab a G36 with 6+1 on board and get a +1 mag extension. Per Mr. Lankford, If some government is willing to pony up for the tooling for a 1911 pistol, Glock would probably build it, but not as a commercial product.
Surprise Packages: I asked about anything new coming down the pike. Mr. Lankford chucked and said that he finds out about new releases when a large package in a plain brown wrapper appears on this desk. Glock is so sensitive to the risks of industrial espionage, that they keep the new stuff underwraps, so the competition does not beat them to the punch.
I recall American Rifleman Magazine ran an article in June 2008 title “I am, personally, very pleased with the result” by Wiley Clapp where they describe Ruger almost beating Smith & Wesson’s launch of the Model 29 44. Magnum because Bill ruger got hold of some spent 44 Magnum brass from a scrap pile..
I was able to pick up the new 2023 Glock Buyer’s Guide and a brochure on the Glock Shooting Sports Foundation , and I was on my way.
Glocktoberfest was a great experience. I hope it comes back around again.
Oh! I almost forgot the 10% discount on Glock brand products being offered by Range USA.
Many thanks to Mr. Jim Lankford and manager Scott P. of Range USA for their kind indulgence today.
14 Saturday Oct 2023
Posted in Short Stories, Uncategorized, Writer
This piece was written at the request of our tour guide in Ireland. A fine man named Andy who works for Rabbie’s Small Group Tours. They are one of the BEST tour companies we have ever used, adn we cannot recommend them highly enough. Their small bus format make for easy discussions with the guide, with no callte-car feel of the larger buses. The very best thing about Rabbies is they do not cancel their tours if the bus is not full. If you have a ticket, the bus is leaving!
Andy was great. He maintained a colorful running dialog with the group offering many insights into Irish history and politics, ancient and contemporary, along the way. When he found out I am a writer he asked me to write an account of the last major battle of the Jacobite movement in Ireland.
Thanks again for the great tour Andy!
Sliante!
Aughrim a Narrative
By
Michael Morgan
Preface
The Jacobite Risings in Scotland are famous in song and story. Support for exiled Catholic King James II of England was the origin of the Jacobite movement. (James is “Jacobus” in the Latin, hence “Jacobite”) This conflict for the English throne culminated in the Battle of Culloden most recently made famous in the Outlander books and TV series. What is not so widely know is the impact of the Jacobite moment on Ireland. This work describes the Irish “ “Culloden” fought in the village of Aughirm, County Galway, Ireland.
Finally! The blasted fog has lifted! Charles Chalmont, Marquis de Saint-Ruhe and Marshal-General of Ireland sat his horse atop Kilcommandan Hill in the center of the Irish line scanning his dispositions through his telescope. The troops look in order. Dorrington and Hamilton have the center well in hand. The bogs should keep Monsieur Ginkel’s heathens at a respectful distance while our men shoot them like ducks.
A messenger pounded up, and reined in with a hurried salute, “Message from Monsieur Sarsfield, mon General.”
Saint-Ruhe did not remove his eye from the scope, “Proceed.”
“We are in position. The enemy is massing cavalry to our front.” The messenger’s horse chose that moment to sidle nervously interrupting the young man’s report. “Your reply Monsieur?”
The telescope sought the enemy arrayed to the far right, “They are not ready to advance. Tell Sarsfield to hold his position, and stick to the plan. Engage when the enemy is crossing the stream. That is all.” The courier saluted and wheeled his horse about.
Monsieur General Ginkel where is your surprise? Surely you cannot be so confident as to send your infantry to certain death in the bogs. The scope swung to the left. He watched Burke’s dragoons moving about in the ruins of Aughrim castle piling stones to improve breastworks and deepen trenches. We have the causeway blocked, if we can hold it. The scope traced the causeway to the enemy lines and a large formation of infantry backed by cavalry appeared. Saint-Ruhe adjusted the focus, and the banner of Clan MacKay resolved itself. Ah, Hugh MacKay, Ginkel sent the Scotsman on this fool’s errand. The Irish are never so courageous as when they have a breastwork between the enemy and themselves.
A salvo of artillery signaled the opening of the ball and interrupted Saint-Rhue’s internal monologue. Williamite infantry advanced across the front. The Irish waited patiently as the well-ordered lines began to break and stagger when the marshy ground took its toll.
The cavalry on the right was formed up, but not yet in motion. The skirling of pipes came from the left as the infantry stepped off along the causeway.
A shout and the enemy soldiers approaching the center of the Irish lines vanished in a haze of gray smoke. Saint-Ruhe watched and the ranks of his infantry shifted to give the next man in line a position on the wall while the prior rank stepped back to reload. Another volley lashed out.
Williamite artillery had finally found the range, but the guns on both sides were not numerous enough to be more than an annoyance. Saint-Ruhe glassed the cavalry on the right. Charging cavalry are always a stirring sight, no matter whose they are, he mused as the heathens rode hard at the stream that fed the bogs before him. The first horsemen sent up fountains of spray when they hit the water and the charge rapidly lost momentum as their horses struggled to climb the opposite bank. This was the signal, and Sarsfield’s men began their own countercharge. Saint-Ruhe enjoyed the spectacle as the opposing forces merged into a whirling maelstrom of colors.
Turning back to the left, the telescope revealed Lieutenant Burke’s men still held the castle ruins, denying the causeway to the enemy’s cavalry, but the enemy was unlimbering some field pieces to support their next effort. Steady volleys kept the center fogged in as men screamed and died, trapped in the mud and waist-deep waters.
A wayward cannonball dug a pit just downslope from where Saint-Ruhe surveyed the field. He patted his horse’s neck to calm the animal and resumed his survey. Messengers came and went, and formations moved on invisible strings. Cavalry from the left moved to support Sarsfield on the right; another shift of infantry from the left toward the center.
Sarsfield was holding his own, and possibly close to a breakthrough. The enemy cavalry was being pushed into the bogs toward the center where the Irish infantry was taking a terrible toll.
Saint-Ruhe’s blood went cold. Ginkel is committing his cavalry to the causeway! “Messenger!”
“Mon General?!”
“To Sarsfield! His Life Guards to me! We must support Burke at the causeway! Go!”
“Messenger!”
“Monsieur General!”
“To Commander Sheldon! Engage the enemy cavalry coming across the causeway! That is all.” The messengers departed in opposite directions. Saint-Ruhe sat and watched the cavalry charging along the causeway. The spurts of smoky flame appeared only intermittently among the stones. Why do the dragoons not fire?
A cannon shot toward the center caught his eye, and he spurred his horse toward the Irish battery hurrying to reload. We can turn the guns to the causeway! “Follow me! They are beaten, let us beat them to the purpose!”
Charles Chalmont, Marquis de Saint-Ruhe and Marshal-General of Ireland was decapitated by a cannon ball on July 12, 1691 while trying to redirect the Irish cannons. His death was concealed from his troops, and because he had neglected to share his battleplans with his junior officers, the bloodiest battle on Irish soil rapidly began to fall apart leading to an Irish defeat. The Jacobite rebellion in Ireland ended at the siege of Limerick when the Treaty of Limerick ended the War of the Kings, in October, 1691.
14 Saturday Oct 2023
Posted in Short Stories, Uncategorized, Writer
On My Own Time is a regional visual Arts and Literary contest organized by the North Texas Busines Coincil for the Arts and sposored by variousn companies across north Texas like Heritage Auctions . The contest is open to employees and their immediate families, and provides a fun venue for amateur and professional creatives to showcase their work.
These stories did not make the cut, but I thought you might enjoy them anyway:
The Man From A.R.S.E
By
Michael Morgan
Thielgood Ipsik’s SUV bounced as he pulled into his driveway. A slender gentleman in a tailored suit stood on the stoop of his home, hands clasped behind his back, and giving every impression of being willing to wait as long as it took.
“Mr. Ipsik?” The man extended his hand as Theilgood reached the top step.
“Please call me Thell,” Ipsik cautiously shook the hand before accepting the business card. He glanced at the card, and his eyebrows crooked. “Mr. Uh…”
“Lowery. Sam Lowery, from Acme Life Trust… Your insurance company?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Thell. “I’m sorry, I saw the initials on the card, and…”
Lowery gave a wan smile. “Acme Risk Stabilization Expert. A.R.S.E. Personnel has a sense of humor. In any case, I am here about the life policy on your wife.”
Thell handed back the card, “I don’t understand. I paid on the first of the month.”
Lowery extracted his phone from a pocket, “You did indeed, and we appreciate your diligence.”
Thell unlocked the door, “Won’t you come in? I thought my wife was home.”
“Mrs. Ipsik left shortly after I arrived,” Lowery stepped inside at Thell’s gesture of invitation. “I felt it more appropriate for me to wait for you outside.”
“Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Lowery selected a wingback chair.
Thell indicated the sidebar, “Drink?”
“No, thanks.” Lowery lifted his phone again, “I’ll get to the point.”
“Please.” Ipsik fell into the sofa, “What do you do for Acme?”
Lowery met his questioning gaze, “My role is to mitigate risk for the company. The current political climate left policing “defunded.” Acme chose to mitigate the risks from increased criminal activity by leveraging an artificial intelligence called Global Liability Unification Technology.
Sam saw his client’s eyes glazing and hurried on. “The system aggregates information from multiple sources and collates it into personal behavior profiles…”
Thell sat up, “Is that legal? Don’t you need a warrant?”
Lowery smiled, “We are not law enforcement Mr. Ipsik. In fact, you gave us permission in Paragraph 161c of your policy. It clearly explains your option to invoke your right to privacy, and expressly forbids Acme and our affiliates and subsidiaries from collecting any data related to you upon receipt of such demand in writing thirty-days in advance of you canceling your policies.”
“Oh, er, um…please continue,” Thell sank back into the sofa.
Sam finger-swiped his screen. “Our systems detected several behavior factors related to you that alerted us to an unstable risk profile.”
Thell’s attitude became guarded, “What kind of factors?”
Lowery swiped again, “We have noted a frequent and repeated coincidence where your phone signal has been detected in close proximity to a phone signal owned by one Jillian Latham every other Thursday at 3:00 PM. At the…”
“Sunnyside Hotel in Clackamas,” Thell turned his palms up. “Yes, I know Jill, so what?
We aren’t doing anything illegal.”
“True,” Sam admitted. “But Mrs. Ipsik was also at the Sunnyside Hotel last Thursday at 3:00 PM. Since she did not stay long, I assume she was not joining you and Ms. Latham for…drinks.”
“How is this any of your business?” Thell huffed.
Lowery swiped again, “Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be, but events have occurred that require our intervention.”
“Such as?” Thell’s sarcasm made Lowery look up.
“Last week Mrs. Ipsik’s phone stopped at the location of a well-known divorce attorney, and approximately one hour later, a sum of money transferred from her account to his.” Sam consulted his screen again. “Apparently you learned of this last Sunday because contrary to your normal patterns, you departed this location and checked into the Sunnyside Hotel. You paid in advance for a week, where Ms. Latham joined you soon after.”
Thell blew a raspberry, “Still doesn’t prove anything.”
Lowery shook his head, “It implies much.” Thell’s expression of protest died in the face of Sam’s raised hand. “Please tell me how you would interpret the following.” Sam used his unoccupied hand to paint with broad brushstrokes as he spoke. “A man uses his card in an expensive restaurant. It is not a holiday, his known spouse’s birthday, nor did it coincide with an increase in the bi-weekly deposit amount from his employer implying a raise or bonus. A second phone arrives at this location. Both phones stay the same amount of time, left at the same time, and traveled together to the location of a hotel where another charge is run on the same card used in the restaurant. On-Star corroborates the timing of these moves, and an unpaired Bluetooth signal is detected in the man’s car. This pattern repeats every Thursday for several years. After one such meeting, the card is used at a Megamart across town from the man’s residence.”
Thell threw up his hands, “So what?!”
Sam smiled. “Your presence here today, and the items purchased, provide some rather unsavory hints regarding your potential intentions toward Mrs. Ipsik. Therefore, I am officially notifying you that Acme Life Trust has cancelled the life policies on Mrs. Ipsik. We have also cancelled the policies on your automobiles, and the home located at this address. Now that your residence and vehicles are no longer covered by insurance, we have notified the lien holders on your home and vehicles that you are in breach of contract. We believe they have initiated actions to terminate your loans and repossess the collateral unless you are able to secure new insurance coverage by the end of this week.” Sam noted Thell’s hand edging toward the end table. “Rest assured, sir. The pistol and ammunition from that drawer left with Mrs. Ipsik. She wanted to avoid any accidents that might prevent her from collecting on the life policy she owns on you.”
Thell glared silently as Lowery drive away. The next day the plastic tarps, duct tape, rope, cinder blocks, and several gallons of chlorine bleach were returned to Megamart.
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-
A Mindful Meal
By
Michael Morgan
“Mindfulness: Paying attention to the present moment with curiosity and non-judgement” ~ from a presentation by Karie Metzler, M.S.
As a long-standing student of meditation and Asian philosophy, I decided to explore “Mindful Eating” while experiencing a new food trend being promoted to reduce Global Warming.
The waiter arrives at my table to deliver a small, handless ceramic cup filled with a pale orange liquid. I take up the cup and try to swirl the liquid within. It is too thick to swirl, but tiny flecks of deep green, and red are apparent. I bring the cup to my nose and inhale the familiar aroma of Andalusian gazpacho. The mild flavor of the soup is everything I recall from my last visit to Spain. I set the cup back on the plate and await my next dish.
A crisp green salad is presented. Fresh spinach paired with arugula. Hair-like strands of red onion and roses made by delicate cuts in whole radishes. Everything lightly misted with a red wine vinaigrette. The color palette makes me eager to see what the chef has in store next.
The square box was centered on the rectangular plate. Two small bowls held sauces, and a pair of chopsticks completed the scene. I peered through the clear glass top of the box to select my first morsel. I took up my sticks in my right hand, and raised the top of the box just enough to reach beneath the edge.
Cricket wriggled between the sticks as I extracted it from the box. I had to take care not to apply too much pressure. The mindfulness program instructed us to take the time to examine our food. The near-black slickness of the carapace reminded me of expensive extra-dark chocolate. I took in the elegant, streamlined form of the body. Turning Cricket over, I could see the pulsing of the abdomen as its breath flowed.
Bringing Cricket to my nose, I tried to catch its scent. The sudden intrusion of antennae almost made me sneeze before I was able to sense a musty odor reminiscent of portabella mushrooms or fresh-ground truffles.
I touched Cricket’s face to my lips. The mandibles pinched my lower lip ever so slightly, as tiny claws on Cricket’s forefeet searched for purchase.
Opening my mouth, I placed Cricket on my tongue, quickly releasing the sticks and pressing the tiny body against the roof of my mouth to keep squirming to a minimum. A heavier perception of its scent permeated my sinuses as my own breath cycled. The crunch between my molars was softer than I expected, and I swallowed.
After cleansing my palate with a sip of rosé, my attention returned to the box.
This time a brilliant viridian grasshopper was brought forth. Choosing to forego the sauces once again, I brought the face toward my own. This time my intended decided to kick at the last moment, and I ended with its hind feet protruding from my lips. The barbs on the back legs were finding purchase against my lips creating a bit of discomfort as I tried to hold the grasshopper in place on my tongue the way I had held Cricket. Unsure of how to proceed in these elegant surrounding, I surreptitiously plucked the feet from between my lips bringing the hind legs with them. Each was deposited like a cherry stem on the edge of my plate. Grasshopper gave me a more pronounced crunch, and the flavor was similar to the smell of a freshly cut lawn or hot green tea.
The meal continued until the box was empty. The cicadas were too large for a single bite. Much like trying to bite an overly large cherry tomato. I was forced to resort to blotting my chin after the first one.
Pairing wine with an entomophagy repast is a skill I must work to develop.
The main course is coming. I can see the waiter carrying a silver plate with a sparkling crystal dome on it. I can feel my anticipation building as I recall the many years of tradition surrounding John Madden’s Thanksgiving Day turkey.
Finally, the waiter places the silver plate before me and I gaze longingly at the chef’s newest creation. Inspired by, and dedicated to, the rainforests of the Amazon Basin. Tarantula, Under Glass.
14 Saturday Oct 2023
Posted in Short Stories, Uncategorized, Writer
On My Own Time is a regional visual Arts and Literary contest organized by the North Texas Busines Coincil for the Arts and sposored by variousn companies across north Texas like Heritage Auctions . The contest is open to employees and their immediate families, and provides a fun venue for amateur and professional creatives to showcase their work.
This year I was recognized for my short story “A Coyote Well”. Please enjoy.
A Coyote Well
by
Michael Morgan
The Mercedes on the shoulder of the road was dust shrouded like the road itself. Walter almost rode by without a glance, but he pulled up and Horse protested by side-stepping nervously, “Ho, boy. Nothin’ to worry over.”
Walter stepped down and Horse trailed behind at the limit of his reins. His hat brim scraped away the dust caked on the window. The car was unoccupied, but the bundles and boxes mixed with children’s toys told of a family on the move. “Humph. More pilgrims.”
Walter thought about what Grandfather told him. “All over the world people go through life believing in stuff. Somewhere else is better than what they have. Some idiot on TV hustling the secret to happiness for $99.95. All kinds of stupid notions. Ideas that will lead them off the edge of the Earth firmly convinced God or Buddha, or some other some such hogwash is lookin’ out fer ‘em. They’re Pilgrims, and they is all the same. Sick folks waitin’ to die ‘cause they is too afraid to live.”
No tracks lead away from the car. A shattered plastic box with the name Garmin embossed above the cracked screen. Walter turned the device over in his hands. “Guess they believed in GPS…” The box made a new dent in the sand. He stepped up, “Let’s go.” A gentle touch of his heel and slacking of reigns set Horse in motion again. The boxes and suitcases stuffed into the abandoned SUV receded in distance and memory, but the gas cap dangling from the open fuel door stuck in his memory.
Horse hesitated as the soft ground sagged beneath his hooves. “Go on,” Walter coaxed. “Just step on down.” Horse picked his way down the crumbling embankment to the floor of the wadi. Walter headed him upstream. The channel narrowed ahead and Walter leaned in the saddle noting the tracks of Mouse and other locals tracing the sand. Finally, the collapsed bank he sought.
The outside curve of a bend turned below an old cottonwood. Erosion left roots clawing at the air. A few more years and some flash flood would carry this tree away, but for now it stood as a marker to life itself. “Whoa, Horse.”
Walter’s knife shaped the end of a fallen cottonwood limb into chisel point and crouching next to the crumbled bank, he studied the story before him. Coyote came for water two days ago, and dug here. The little creatures came after to drink. Now it was his turn. A stick makes short work of a small hole, and his questing fingers soon found damp and then water started filling the burrow. Walter stood to stretch his back as he studied the horizon, “Horse, where do you think those folks got to?”
Walter’s daughter used to kid him about talking to animals as if they were people. “They are people,” he had explained. “Every creature operates on its own level. Each has thoughts and feelings just as valid as mine. Why shouldn’t I treat them with respect?” She refused to understand. Walter opened a saddlebag and retrieved his steel cup before unlooping the canteen strap from his saddle horn. “Hold on Horse. You’ll get yours too.”
Hot pink and neon yellow. Two and then three specks of colors God never made clumped together under some dead trees. Horse traded the road for packed sand following Walter’s lead. The hard-shell roller bags would have been fine on a paved road. In sand, they would have to be carried as much as dragged. Dead weight either way. “Well, Horse, they made it further than I expected.” A fading black scar and the stubs of burned branches turned the cases into seats around the campfire. “Momma Bear, Papa Bear, and Baby Bears.” Walter alighted and tied Horse off on a tree.
Walter circled the last moments of some family he would never know. Two empty plastic water bottles rolled back and forth with the wind. “Guess this was as far as they could go.” He looked up to study the trees. “Broke off all of the limbs they could reach.” Charred page fragments stirred at the edge of the black. Walter leaned over and picked up a tattered book left too close to the fire. ‘Casting all care upon Him for He careth for you…’ The rest of the verse was lost with the remainders of the charred page. At least their faith kept ‘em warm for a while, he thought. Turning toward Horse, the corner of a cheap synthetic sleeping bag almost lost beneath the drifted sand caught his eye. Another bag was nearby. “They had enough sense to zip them double. The cold probably got ’em.” Walter shook his head, “We didn’t miss them by more than a day or two. More peaceful than the usual alternatives.” He walked back and petted Horse’s neck before swinging up, “Let’s go call the Sheriff.”
“mis…mister?”
Walter almost hung himself in his stirrup trying to dismount. Glassy eyes tried to focus, on his weathered face as Walter lifted her from the huddled remains of her family.
“Hold on,” Walter laid her on the ground. “I’ll get some water.”
He started to rise, but her hand stopped him, “God said you’d come.”
Hogleg Press 