I’ve been in the dove field since dawn, and the birds quit flying an hour ago.
By the time you read this, I’ll be home pulling that old canvas blind bag from the gear garage. The one with decoy lines tangled like Christmas lights and calls that haven’t sung since February. September does this - makes you clean dove while thinking about ducks.
But these October birds are different - flying higher, waiting longer, mixing migrants with locals. They know something we’re just starting to feel in the morning air. One day, they work that fence line like clockwork; the next day, it’s an empty sky.
Maybe that’s the lesson. Those doves aren’t anxious about duck season. They’re just doing October things in October time. We could learn something from that.
The heat’s making me philosophical. Also hungry. I keep thinking about Baeckeoffe - made it again last week—three wild meats, overnight in Riesling, sealed under dough. When you break that seal at the table, steam rises like fog off December water. Even our roughest friends went quiet.
That’s the thing about transition seasons. You need food that understands. Not quite summer, not quite fall. Like this morning - sweat through your shirt at 9 a.m., but you can feel winter coming in the way the shadows fall.
Soon, these fields will be empty, and I’ll be setting decoys in the dark. But right now? Right now I’m between things. Between seasons. Between birds.
Some dishes get that.
-J
P.S. - Baeckeoffe feeds eight hungry hunters. Three hours sealed in the oven while you sort gear. If you need the recipe again, here it is. Until we hit the field again, enjoy some photos from South Texas.
