KERN POLAROIDS

 

ANTISEMITE DEER HUNTER?

 What am I going to do when I can't escape to the deer woods? There's only two more days to the season, one of which I probably won't be functioning enough to climb a tree or handle a firearm. Today I hunted above the Hassidic's again. As I parked the truck at the curve in the road two eyes stared back, reflected in the headlights. I flicked on brights. She jumped then stopped and maintained the gaze. Had it been fifteen minutes later I would have tried to cap the gun. I saw nothing after that, getting out of the stand around 10:00 I drove home.

I had a bath, re-heated some coffee and decided to drive to Mountain Dale to check on the Social Sculpture Park, and get something to eat. All was status-quo in the park. A nice relief. Sometimes I go to Mike's Quickie Mart for a bacon, egg and cheese and sometimes I upgrade with a lunch at Forage and Gather  (please note: business names appearing in HWS are correct. All others may not be.) I greeted my good friends Slick, Handsy and MS with smiles and hugs. This is all small town stuff. Slick said he was telling them about Piglet a guest's pit bull and how the dog latched onto his Alpaca's neck (animal not sweater) and was trying to kill it, and Slick fell down in the mud trying to save his Alpaca, and got shit spread all over his brand new clothes, as he had just come from a date with a girl who had converted to Judaism "on a hunch" that she was Jewish, even though her father was Protestant and mother was Catholic.....it's a long story and I didn't want to interrupt. 

I hadn't seen MS since last summer. You remember the bare breasted sculpture and how it got toppled over and stolen? MS put the Borsht Belt Plaque up around the same time. She's all about the Jewish history of the Catskills. Then Oct. 7th happened. I think I called for a ceasefire on the 9th. I got Covid on the 14th. After that I don't remember much. Through the grapevine I heard that MS (and a few other Jewish friends) were hurt/pissed/outraged/disappointed at my overt pro-Palestinian stance that was not equally balanced with outrage over the atrocities of 10/7. Admittedly, I am never balanced. I'm an artist. I'm opinionated. Still, I like MS and the others and want to keep them as friends. But when I went in for a hug with MS I noticed a decided chill. I wasn't wrong.

What followed was a rather embarrassing display of.....what would you call it? "False assumptionism?" The word was "disappointment." Like a let-down second grade teacher MS took me to task (concerning the Gaza situation) for being "misinformed," "ignorant as to meaning of genocide....."no intent," and of all things an "antisemite." Now I've been called a lot of things in my life. "Stupid." "Braindead.""An obnoxious asshole." are just a few this month. But in all my years I can't ever remember anybody (seriously and repeatedly) calling me an antisemite. But MS did just that in Forage and Gather, right there on Mainstreet, across from Mike's Quickie Mart. Great soup and sandwiches!!! 

I told this story to Junebug and Savage on the speaker phone. I hate that fucking speaker phone! Savage said I just had a knack for pissing people off. He's right. It's a gift. That doesn't mean I'm not sensitive and never EVER want to be considered an antisemite or racist, or a pedophile or Trump supporter. I'm a pretty good deer hunter, not a bad artist, a decent writer, and try my damnedest to see all sides of an issue. What Israel is doing in Gaza and the West Bank to the Palestinian people is a genocide unfolding in real time before our very eyes. The language and actions towards a stated goal of "extermination"  was the same in the colonial United States towards the Indigenous population, in Turkey towards the Armenians, in Nazi Germany towards the Jews, etc., etc. ,,,,,,,,South Africa, Bosnia, Rwanda. These are only the most obvious examples. The only logical answer to the carnage is to stop the killing. 

As always, this is only my opinion. Tomorrow we put on drives at my house with Bird, Savage and UB. None of us are Jewish, but we all have some very nice Jewish friends. The deer don't care one way or another.

  

PUSSY RIOT

PHOTO: Marianna Rothen

HIT OR MISS? BUCK OR DOE?

 As the saying goes, "Can't eat horns." After searching for that buck for three hours yesterday my plan was to hunt the morning in the same stand. I wanted to give it one last look for a body. If I had hit that buck and could locate him the meat would still be good. It was a long shot.

I got in the stand around 7:00 am. No wind. No rain. Temps in the mid-forties. It was more like hunting October than late December. Around 8:30 I saw a deer moving my way. It moved like a buck. When I put the scope on it I saw it was a large single doe. At 30 yards directly below me I bleated it stopped with the hammer already back. She dropped with the shot. 

As I walked up on the deer I marveled at how big she was. Then I saw the faint medallions on "her" head. She was a he. The buck had already shed his antlers. Was this the same buck I shot at yesterday? Had I shot his rack off? I don't think so. Yesterday's buck was wary and I think bigger. Still, I was incredibly thankful to have more meat and a quick kill shot. 

After field dressing the deer and dragging it to the truck I made one last attempt at finding the buck. I crisscrossed the ridge once more looking for a white belly. Nothing. I think I must've rushed the shot and shot over his back. There's no way of being 100% sure but I think I missed that deer clean. I can live with that. 

The count so far:

1. Wounded a nice buck the day before Thanksgiving. Found a piece of jaw bone. Never found the deer. Must've shot tree branch.

2. Shot an eight point the day after Thanksgiving. Dropped him.

3. Shot a button buck thinking it was a doe. Dropped him.

4. Missed a good buck with the muzzleloader.

5. Shot a good size buck thinking it was a doe. Dropped them.  

P.S.

I found my car keys in the mud next to the woodpile. Three days left in 2023 deer season.  

UNCLE TED'S PANTS

 Photo: R. Kern

BAD LUCK, GOOD LUCK, THE UNKNOWN

 Here's some examples:

Muzzleloader Season 2021: 

Shooting from the cemetery stand on New Year's Eve I stop a doe with a "Bleeeeeeat!" I fire. The scope kicks back cutting a bloody half-moon from nose to eyebrow. Between the smoke and the cracked eye I have no idea which way the deer went or if I hit her. We find hair. Then a small drop of blood. Or was that mine? The three of us, Savage, Bird and I crisscross the cut. After about an hour Savage stumbles across the doe. The shot was right behind her shoulder. Perfect. She'd run 200 yds. I was unlucky to get cracked in the head and lucky to find the deer. If we had given up we would have been left with the unknown.

Muzzleloader Season 2022:

Hunting the stand above the Hassidic's I missed an easy broadside shot at a big doe around 8 am. A snow storm was predicted to hit around 1 pm. The deer were feeding where I was at. Around 10 am another doe presented a shot at about 50 yards. I could tell I had hit her and found blood in the snow. But then I lost the trail. I needed to find this deer before the storm hit. I walked in circles in the area I saw her last. Nothing. At noon I gave up. Around 2 pm I went back in the woods, completely dejected. It was snowing hard. I'd given up any hope of finding that deer. Then I almost stepped on her, already half buried in the snow. I hadn't looked in this direction. The unknown was now known, and I was joyous.

Muzzleloader Season 2023:

Hunting the same stand above the Hassidic's this morning in the rain. I woke up late thinking the morning would be a washout. When I couldn't detect raindrops the guilt got me out of bed at 6:45 am. No  coffee. I threw on my hunting clothes and drove down to the curve in the road. I parked the truck and was in the stand by 7:15 am. Then it began to rain. I hadn't fired the gun during the entire (very wet) season. I said a little prayer for ignition, given the opportunity. Things looked bleak. Then, at 8:30 am I spotted a deer coming towards me through a bunch of deadfalls. At 200 yards i could tell it was a buck.....a nice buck. Then I lost him. I raised the gun. Fogged scope. I pulled out my napkin and cleared it. It was only a matter seconds before the buck was standing, head up, facing down the hill, 100 yards broadside. A few more steps and I wouldn't have a shot. I settled the crosshairs on his shoulder and fired. KA-BOOM! My prayers were answered.......well not entirely. All I saw was smoke. When it cleared the deer was gone. Had I dropped him? I climbed down from the stand without reloading. The rain was coming down harder. No deer. No hair. No blood. How could I have missed? I have no idea which direction the deer ran. I searched for hours. Nothing. Forget blood. It's been raining all day. Tomorrow I'll expand the search area towards Julie Picasso's, just looking for a body. If nothing else, the two previous years have taught me a hard lesson. Never give up. Now for the unknown. To be continued....   

REMOVED

 

X-CALIBER

 

THEIF

 

HUMANITARIAN PAUSE

 What the UN can't do in Gaza, the DEC has no problem instituting in the NY deer woods. The deer got a break from hunters from Dec. 19-25. Yesterday we were back in the stand.

Without hunting to occupy my manic side I went back into the Social Sculpture Park with some new work. One piece is called THEIF. In a rather obvious reach out to Little Bill (and others) the piece is a hand and arm from a mannikin resting on a log with an ax driven between into the top. It's a shout out to the practice of cutting one's hand off for theft. Get it? 

Well it only took 24 hours before I got an email from the Dale (my friends policing the park). They included a picture of an angry woman stalking across the park. This woman (who lives across the street) is well known in town. Spotted trying to wrench the ax from the log, when told it was "art," she screamed "IT'S DANGEROUS!" The next morning the ax was gone.

Usually this would piss me off. But when I saw the piece without the ax I realized that the crazy, old, bag had done me a solid. THIEF looked much better without the ax. So, instead of replacing it I bought another ax and designed and installed X-CALIBER (see above). Two pieces are always better than one. Thanks for the curatorial edit Mrs. Schimdt. Let's see how long this lasts.....

The other thing that was occupying my time was a steady diet of Aljazeera English's coverage of the Gaza genocide and various relevant postings on Instagram. These pro-Palestinian (sometimes nipple displayed) posts also became problematic as the pause continued. On Xmas day I posted an old invite for Pussy Riot Church with a solidarity reach out to the artists of Gaza and Russia. It was immediately removed. The reason for the removsl was "sexual content." Huh? Mystery Girl's nipples had sent off alarms across the internet. I appealed. My appeal was also rejected. How appropriate. I've been silenced AGAIN for another pair of nipples. This is American social media at its worst. When told it was "art" they responded "IT'S DANGEROUS!" I think I'm done with insta AGAIN!

I hunted yesterday afternoon behind the shack. I kicked one out going in and never saw a deer from the stand.  The weather today and tomorrow sucks - warm and rainy. It's not looking good for more meat.        

MORGANE DUBLED

 

100 CLICKS

Everybody's seeing shooter bucks these days. A neighbor said he saw a good buck crossing the road somewhere between the bridge and my house. I hunt both sides of the road. Carlito said he saw a 10 in the field below Diamond Dave's about two weeks ago. Add to that the early sighting of the 12 crossing the river and there is at least one very good buck still in the area. I'm seeing nothing. 

Yesterday I hunted Bird's hoping to get a doe. I had my choice of stands and chose his #1. He sat in Wader's stand. He had deer in front of him all afternoon. I saw three tails bounding over the ridge at 4:30 pm. That was it. At dark we got in his little green gator and rode down the hill. That's when he told me that he'd seen one of the biggest buck he'd ever seen. "I was watching the does in Grasso's field when I turned to the right and saw the ass end of a deer less than 50 yards out. When he raised his head all I saw was horns." "Did you have a shot?" I'd spent the afternoon without so much as a squirrel sighting, while 300 yards away Bird had the hammer back on a slammer. "I was on him, but all I had was ass." In this situation I would have bleated, hoping he would stop, turn to the sound, and give me a front shoulder." Bird was too rattled by the rack to remember the effective technique. "Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa." I instructed obnoxiously. "Works every time." Bird stared straight ahead in silence.

This morning I hunted above the bridge. I pulled out early to come home and butcher up my button buck. I didn't see anything. At 11:00 am I called Savage. He and his brother-in-law UB were hunting Paradise Pond. "I just had a doe rocket by." Savage said over the phone. We made it short. "Come by my house and bring your bolt cutters." He said they would. Along with my house and truck keys I'd also lost my mailbox and shul keys. I had to cut the padlock off the shul. Anyways.......at about 1:30 I called back. "Get anything?" I asked. He had. Like me, Savage had shot a "doe" only to discover testicles. Another button buck. But the big news was that UB had five does and three bucks (two shooters) in front of him. He had a perfect broadside shot at less that 50 yards. "The sun was shining on his vitals. I had a steady rest. I pulled back the hammer and shot. I thought for sure he would drop." UB explained. "But all he did was jump and stand there. THEY ALL STOOD IN FRONT OF ME MILLING AROUND." "Why didn't you reload?" I asked. That's when it got interesting.

It's incredibly difficult to reload a muzzleloader in front of eight deer and get off a second shot. But that's not why UB didn't attempt it. No. He had another excuse. "I remembered that last year when I was putting the gun away it slipped out of my hand and fell down the cellar stairs." "You didn't sight it in this year?" I asked. He had not. "What the fuck? Who is your brother-in-law?" I couldn't believe my ears. We are all old, experienced, well seasoned deer hunters. It was out of character for UB. "I just forgot. It's on me 100%." he admitted. At least he didn't take out the jaw with a gun that was dead on, like I did. So after loading up Savage's button buck they drove to my house to sight in UB's gun.

The first shot was a foot low. UB had luckily shot right under that buck, leaving him unscathed, unlike the one I clipped. Bird did not take an ass shot, instead hoping for another crack at him before the season ends. It took 100 clicks to raise the crosshairs to the bull's eye for UB. As frustrating as late season muzzleloader hunting can be, if you gun is on you have a good chance of scoring a mature buck. Some of my biggest bucks I've gotten while doe hunting with the muzzleloader. If you drop your gun down the cellar stairs and don't sight it in, or your powder gets wet or the bullet falls out of the barrel, you are fucked.  As UB once said, as I repeatedly tried to fire a fouled load at a deer, "It's sounded like two rocks clacking." That looks like 100 clicks to me. That's the beauty of deer hunting. You never stop making mistakes. Tomorrow's another day in the woods. I can't wait for daylight.      

THE JENIN HORSE

 

CHEEK-ALIKE

 So far no luck on getting another buck or a mature doe. Yesterday i hunted the afternoon with Savage in the cemetery stand. I went in the woods on RNButch's side and hunted from the ground. The plan was to do a half-ass drive through the woods behind Little Bill's and hunt from the ground. Because of recent ongoing negotiations regarding payback for my sculpture removal and destruction I inched closer to Butch's  fields.

Just to give you an idea of my rig. One florescent orange turkey sack. Contents: deer drag, seat cushions, shooting stick, safety harness, extra jacket and leafy camo. If my legs are cold I use the jacket. Muzzleloader, knife, and Muck boots. I still hunted and sat. Moved and sat. I never saw a deer and hardly any tracks. At one point I pulled out the jacket and draped it over my knees. The afternoon was a bust. 

(As an aside, my truck and house keys are now missing. Did they fall out of my jacket pocket?)

This morning I found an extra truck key and hunted above the Hassidic's patch. A downwind deer snorted in alarm at dawn. Around 9:30 am a mama and baby appeared below me and a spike to my left. I had a shot at mama but decided not to take it. They also worked downwind and snorted in alarm. I must stink.

I came home, washed my clothes, and decided to hunt the antenna (top of the mountain) for the afternoon. The wind was whipping out of the NW. I froze and only saw a porcupine. Giving up early, I drove up the hill towards home at 4:45 pm. At the school house I saw a woman in the middle of the road in front of her car. I stopped and asked if she was OK? She pointed in front of her  car at a dead cat and said "The cat....from up the road." I looked down and there was Cheeky -  dead in the middle of the road. I cried. "THAT'S MY CAT!!" as I fell to my knees sobbing, picking up Cheeky''s still warm, limp, dead, body. The poor young woman just stood there silently, unable to speak as I sobbed in grief. I never said anything to her, picking up Cheeky and putting him on the seat next to me.

I parked the truck in my driveway, picked up Cheeky's corpse and fell on the floor of my porch, racked with the reality that I had just lost my beloved cat. I don't know how long I rolled around on the floor. It wasn't long. Suddenly I caught sight of something crossing the door. What? How? OH MY GOD! It was Cheeky. The cat I had been cradling and crying over was a complete stranger. He could have been Cheeky's twin, a bit oranger.....but not much. Same size. I didn't know what to do. After seeing me cradling a strange cat, while sobbing uncontrollably on the floor, Cheeky would not come in the house. I had to grab him by the scruff of the neck under the picnic table and lock him in the house.

 I'm a fucking mess.     

GIRLS and GUNS

 Photo: Richard Kern

WHAT ABOUT BILL?

 This past Saturday I invited the congregation over to the shack to partake in the consumption of the buck I shot, along with copious amounts of alcohol and squigglies. The fire was roaring on the porch as the crowd took on all the issues of our time. Of course I invited RNButch and his lovely wifey Jinelle. Taking a break from the kitchen I sat down next to RNB and asked "What are we going to do about Bill?" He frowned, shook his head and said that's what his father says every morning, "What are we going to do about Mike?" 

A little recap: Almost all the art that had remained in the Social Sculpture Park for the winter disappeared. RNB was called. He knew nothing. The police were called. They knew nothing. I put two and two together and suspected Little Bill had ordered his worker Frankie to complete the scorched earth sweep of the park. I was right. RNB reamed out his old man (now safely in Florida) as the cop looked on. Most of the work was returned, minus YESTERDAY'S RAINBOW and STOLEN DOGHOUSE. I located STOLEN DOGHOUSE destroyed and tossed in the woods. Frankie admitted trashing YESTERDAY'S RAINBOW and said he knew nothing of the SDH destruction.  "Little Bill told me to throw the umbrella in the garbage." he confided over the phone. "I'm sooooo sorry Michaleeto. I thought LB asked you...."

Back to the party: RNB and Jinelle hung out as we discussed LB and his future. "I told him that you were going to make him your next art project." Butch confided. "You know I have the DA's phone #?" I told RNB. "My father thinks I'm going to pay for his lawyer. This is what I'm dealing with. Like I didn't have enough to deal with." As an aside, RNB (well lawyered up) had recently been sentenced on a Federal indictment. He didn't have to "go away" until June, leaving us plenty of time to throw him a proper going away church. CHAIN GANG GOING UP THE RIVER CLGM is tentatively scheduled for Memorial Day Weekend. Dress the kids in black and white stripes and ball and chains. Burn your debt to society at the door.

So, this is where it stands: I've yet to call the DA. I'm weighing my options. Do I want money or to see Little Bill in shackles? It's a tough call. People are saying Little Bill was behind all the theft and vandalism in the summer. Was he? I have no idea. But if he was, he threw the Orthodox community under the bus is so doing. A shanda.

Thanks to everyone who brought food, booze and drugs to the shack on Saturday. We ended up eating most of that deer. Today I'll butcher up that little button buck and try to put a bigger deer on the ground. Muzzleloader opened yesterday in the snow. Stay tuned Little Bill. I know you're reading this.....or at least looking at the pictures. Don't forget the sunscreen.  

Doe-eyed KERN GIRL

 Photo: Richard Kern

PROUD POT HUNTER

My grandfather didn't hunt. He'd stopped the practice long before I was born. As we both butchered up the townsfolk's deer when I was a kid, I asked him why he no longer hunted? He said that when he was young he had to hunt to eat. Born in 1900 and growing up along the Wallkill River in Montgomery, game was scarce. Centuries of unregulated subsistence hunting, the clear cutting of woodlots for farms had decimated the wild game population. Even in my youth in the 1950's turkey, bear, coyote and deer were almost non-existent in Orange County. To see a Canadian goose was a rarity. There were rabbits, squirrels, ducks and stocked pheasants. That's what we hunted. If one wanted to hunt deer you came to the mountains of Sullivan County. So, in response to my query my grandfather put it simply, "It's no fun hunting on an empty stomach." By the time he no longer had to worry about where his next meal was coming from he'd lost the killer instinct. He fished, loved to watch birds, and joined my father and his buddies at deer camp as chief cook and bottle washer. The only mammals I knew him to kill were contracted livestock in his role as butcher. 

Since I shot that little buck I've been trying to put a doe on the ground. The past few years have been so lean, that this year I resolved to get meat....become a pot hunter. The term, like "Jersey hunter" (sorry Mr. C and nephew Waders), was always used by my old man as a pejorative. "Jersey hunters" wore bright orange, lived anywhere south of Orange County and shot any thing that moved. We avoided them at all costs. To be a "pot hunter" was also looked down on by the "buck hunters." They were the hillbilly meat hunters. I never saw it that way. Of course the term doesn't have the hipster cache of "field to fork" but it means exactly the same thing. Pot hunters hunt for the freezer, not the living room wall.

This morning I hit the woods at 6:30 am hoping for a clean shot at a doe. Because of crazy DEC regs. I was forced to hunt 3M. I can't tell you where. Facing east I watched the sunrise. By 7:00 am it was light enough to shoot. No wind and temps around 24 degrees made for a loud, crunchy entree to the stand. Within minutes I thought I caught sight of movement off to my right, but nothing materialized. Then, about 7:30 am I saw a doe feeding about 50 yards to my left. I pulled up the gun. Then it stepped behind some thick branches and disappeared. I kicked myself for not taking the shot. About 5 mins. later a heard a branch snap. The deer had worked her way through the thicket and was now closer, moving behind my stand. I swung my leg and she caught me. I froze. The standoff didn't last long. When she lowered her head and presented me with a clear broadside shot. I settled the crosshairs behind her shoulder and fired. She dropped.

The many thanks I uttered were tempered when I turned her over and saw testicles. It was a button buck, not even sporting spikes, only two little bumps under scalp hair.  He was medium size for a "doe" and because he had no horns, completely legal. I rejoiced at the prospect of more meat. I've planned a big venison dinner for the congregation this Sat. and was hoping my freezer would not be emptied by my largess. This little buck will help with the larder. The challenge of hunting a big mature buck will always be part of the deal. There's nothing that can compare to hunting a wise old deer with a big rack and actually succeeding in harvesting him. But, the older I get the less I need that adrenalin boost. To drop a deer with a clean shot, drag it out of the woods, butcher it up, cook it and share it with the community is just as good as dropping a slammer these days. Thank the LGM. I'm a proud pot hunter.   

GUILTY!

 

OSTERHOUT AND ASSOCS.

 I'm not a lawyer, but I've played one in court. The whole system is a silly pantomime that can be studied and imitated in a few sessions before the bench. But that doesn't mean it always works. Sometimes the old saying of "anyone who represents himself has a fool for a client" is germane to the circumstance; sometimes not. After successfully representing myself in NYC landlord/tenant court I got arrested for LSD and pot in Rockland County. After I was booked, fingerprinted and got my mugshot taken I asked the arresting officer how worried I should be? "If it was the city," he explained "it would be no big deal. A desk ticket. But this New City. The judge here likes to fight the Drug War from the bottom up. You are ripe to be knocked off the first rung." It was 1994. Still, I paid no attention, going to court ready to represent myself. 

"How do you plead Mr. Osterhout?" the judge asked. "Not guilty, your honor." I stated clearly. I had this. "Sir, do you have counsel?" the judge asked peering over his specs. "No sir." I said. "Do I need one?" The judge was obviously tickled by the question. "Well, not necessarily." he said, straightening his robes and leaning back in his chair. "I can decide on this case right now if you like...... if that's what you wish, but...." I caught the twinkle in his eye. "....but, if I were you I'd get a lawyer. If you can't afford one the court will appoint one for you." I weighed my options. "I think I'll get a lawyer." I said in defeat. He hit the gavel on his little block of wood. "Next case." I called the Public Defender the next day.

Representing one's self in small claims or landlord/tenant court is one thing. Taking the risk with one's freedom, thinking you have the cojones to prevail is something else. And this brings me to today's case load. Because of Little Bill's recent desecration of my SS Park and the fact that two artworks have yet to be returned, I'm once again dusting off the empty briefcase, looking for my lace up shoes and grey suit. The emails have already started. Just like last year's 500 Capp debacle (what is it about Dec. and legal problems?) this most recent battle could have easily been avoided with a little honesty. All Little Bill had to do was call me or his son. I would have gladly removed all the work with a little help from Francisco. LB's actions were stupid, unnecessary and as another lawyer friend put it, "kinda cruel." 

The ball is in Little Bill's court. I emailed him in Florida, explaining my position and my willingness to drop the whole thing if the work is returned or he financially compensates me. As Milawyer put it, "he may be liable for both civil and criminal penalties." I'm weighing my options. Litigation? Arrest? Money? These are his choices. If it goes to court do I represent myself or seek outside counsel? We'll see. For now I'm still trying to shoot a doe. Priorities.     

  

FUCK US ALL

 

LUCKY MIKE

 After butchering that little buck, I finally had time to reflect. But it didn't work. The adrenalin brought on by the Social Sculpture Park drama had worn off. So instead of reflecting (or hunting) I fell asleep. 

Now well rested, I can take stock. The buck is in the freezer. I've had no luck getting a doe. Last night I hunted the Picasso farm again. It's a comfortable sit. Even if I don't see deer, I love the view. And I did see deer. A high spike stepped out by the curve in the river and ran across the full length of the field, finally halting nose up at Savage's old high stand. I lost sight of him, as a small doe stepped out. A dink - too small to shoot. I watched her for an hour. Just before sunset a tiny spike appeared from behind me, ran toward the dink as a large doe stepped out giving me a clear shot. 

I forgot to describe what had happened as I was watching the dink. A thick carpet of fog about three feet high had slowly drifted from the curve in the river towards GNJohn's property line, almost erasing the two deer in the field, but not the large doe. I settled the crosshairs on her shoulder as the fog crashed (ever so slowly) into the tree line, folding back on itself. The dink raised her (his?) head as the doe made a beeline for them. If I was going to shoot I had to shoot NOW!

I couldn't. The dink licked her mamma's neck. They nuzzled each other gently at 125 yards broadside, exhibiting offspring/parental affection and real "deer" connection...... as I fidgeted the safety on my 30-06. The fog was quickly engulfing them. I'd already decided not to shoot by the time they disappeared. I was good with that. Tomorrow morning I'll go back. Patience. Leave the Social Sculpture drama and pending lawsuits in the truck. I'm getting back in the groove. I think my luck is about to change. 

For historical reading try www.luckymike.blogspot.com               

YESTERDAY

 

TODAY

 

DECONSTRUCTION RECONSTRUCTION

 What a 24 hours! Here's the timeline:

11:59 pm Dec. 1 - After learning of the removal of my artwork from the Social Sculpture Park I jumped in the truck and drove to Mountain Dale.

12:15 am Dec. 2 - My worst fears confirmed I drive home (past the deputy sheriff tucked in his prowler off Old Glen Wild Rd.) to call the Fallsburg Police Dept. They know me by name by now.

12:45 am - After a frustrating call with Officer Gonzalus, we agree that I'll call back at 7:00 am and meet somebody in Mountain Dale to take my report, again.

1:00 am - Crawl back in bed with Cheeky. He doesn't stir.

5:30 am - The alarm goes off. Unable to calm down enough to hunt, I make coffee and wait for sunrise next to the wood stove.

8:00 am - Call the cops again. This time the guy is friendly and knows the whole deal. He sends out another officer at shift change to take the report.

9:00 am - Meet a young white guy in bullet proof vest, driving an unmarked black Chevy SUV. He patiently listens as I explain Social Sculpture and the Resnick family dynamic. He promises to interview Little Bill and RNButch.

10:30 am - The SUV pulls up as I'm skinning out the eight pointer on my porch. The officer reports that Little Bill is in Florida and that he stood by as RNButch called his father and reamed the patriarch out for removing my work without so much as a how do you do?. 

Noon - RNButch calls and apologizes for his old man's behavior. "This was his parting gift to me." RNB explains, promising to get his worker Frankie to put the work back.

1:15 pm - Frankie calls. "Micaleeto.....I'm so sorry........Little Bill told me......." I knew Frankie had no culpability here. "Do you want me to stand up the big pedestal?" "No." I explained, "I want the park to look just as it had before the removal." Frankie was down.

2:00 pm - Finish quartering and removing the backstrap from the deer. Call Shewho and promise to cook dinner and bring beer and wine. She'll supply the edibles and bourbon. Then I take a nap.

5:00 pm - Drive to Shewho's in the pouring rain. We eat, drink, and party. She's tired of hearing me harp on my experiences in Social Sculpture, but puts up with me like the trooper she is. We eat, drink, argue, laugh, and listen to music. 

Midnight - The Cure is on the turntable as we decide to go to bed half-lit and......... 

THE END

THE EXPERIMENT CONTINUES.....

 

YES, BUT IS IT ART?

 Readers of the blog know how much deer hunting and art mean to me. Sometimes they are intertwined. Sometimes not. Last year at this time I was looking forward to a large one person show in SF at David Ireland's House, only to have the whole thing go belly up. Milawyer guided me through a painful process that gave me some financial, if not artistic, relief. Bridges went up in flames and long friendships dissolved. The whole thing was painful and so unnecessary, yet at the same time needed for closure. It's funny, no matter how many times I go through these things it always takes me by surprise. Last night is a case in point.

Buddy Budde and I were sitting in my living room, having a couple of drinks and discussing my most recent attempts at changing the county name. It's an old battle, but one I still think is worth fighting. When Mrs. Birka Budde joined us the conversation turned to Mountain Dale Social Sculpture Park and the community's disappointment that I had removed all the work. After all, they had ponied up $500 at the Bikini Car Wash last summer for new work. WTF? I was confused. I had removed some work after more thefts, printed a book, and vowed to continue the battle in the spring. Why the rub? Then Buddy explained that the concrete pedestals and other work were now gone. They all assumed I removed them. Again....WTF?

After getting sufficiently oiled up on Modelo, the Buddes left and I tried to sleep. No luck. Could someone have stolen my 2000 lb. toppled pedestal? It made no sense. So, I got out of bed, threw on a jacket and drove to Mountain Dale. Buddy was right. My pedestals, among other work, had disappeared. Could it be the "JEWS?" Just kidding. No Hassidim was going to hire a man with a backhoe or forklift to remove my pieces. It wasn't their M.O. They were happy just to tip it over. No, it had to be an inside job. My prime suspect: Little Bill Resnick.

A little after midnight I emailed RNButch.      

Butch, 

I know you have your hands full but….. somebody stole, removed, destroyed tens of thousands of dollars worth of art work from the Social Sculpture Park. After all I went through this summer, people rallying behind me and now this! Concrete pedestals as sculpture and other work all gone. I will file a police report in the morning. This is insane!!!! 

I got this back 

"Mike, I don’t know anything about it but I’ll call today and find out."

I hardly got any sleep and met the Fallsburg cops (again) at the SS Park at 8:00 am. My suspicions were correct. Little Bill (now safely in Florida) had ordered my work removed without son RNButch's knowledge. What is about this time of year and my artwork being dismissed, diminished, stolen, and/or denied? The cop was pleasant enough, although a bit confused. I gave him a book, explaining my "practice" and watched as he glazed over. The officer told me later that RNButch called Little Bill in Florida and reamed him out as he looked on. I have a knot in my stomach and feel completely misunderstood by almost everyone. It turned out the work had been removed weeks ago on Little Bill's orders. Why had nobody informed me? Once again, I have to go to battle for my art. I should have been a stockbroker like my old man. At least he got some respect. I know Milawyer reads the blog. Busy?