Knimrod
11-23-2005, 12:17 AM
Hunters feed off hearty helping of camaraderie
November 22, 2005
By Christine Rook
Lansing State Journal
The biscuits get piled high with sausage and gravy and cheese. The eggs come with two kinds of meat.
Hunters talk like deer season is all about getting off a clean shot. But spend some time with these folks, and you can't help but wonder if it's really about gettin' their feed on.
The season is now starting its second week, but by 11 a.m. on opening day, 12-year-old Adam Senters of Sunfield had eaten biscuits and gravy, a couple of scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast, bacon, breakfast sausage, two 6-inch links of hunter's sausage, half a can of peanuts and an entire tin of Louisiana hot sauce sardines.
Deer? What deer? He hadn't seen any all morning and was contentedly parked in a booth at Swede's Restaurant in out-of-the-way Mulliken, west of Grand Ledge. He was there with his grandfather, Dave Brown, 63, and his grandfather's hunting pal, Dar Benjamin, 62, both of Sunfield in Eaton County.
Adam didn't even bother to take his hat off before digging in.
This should have been a momentous day - his first deer hunt and under the tutelage of grandfather. But what was the best part?
"Probably eating this," he said as he shoveled the last bits of gravy into his mouth.
Firearm season began a week ago today and extends into next week, which means that every day through the end of the month, plates will be piled and just about licked clean. And everyone in rural Michigan seems to understand that's how it is.
The Sportsman, a bar within walking distance of Swede's, baits hunters with this sign: "Deer Hunters Special, Burger and a Bud, $6."
As if the karaoke wasn't lure enough.
North of Mulliken in Portland, the Two Rivers Restaurant pulled 'em in with a 4 a.m. buffet on opening day.
About the last two to catch the buffet before it closed were Andrew Grabenstein, 26, and J.P. Villegas, 20, both of Lansing. They stopped in solely for the buffet, walking straight for it without first sitting down, said their waitress Mandy Reynolds, 23.
She cleared seven or eight dishes apiece from their table. That's hunters, though, she said.
Most hunters who visited the buffet did so at least four times, washing down what they consumed with vast amounts of coffee. Those who ordered from the menu loaded up with double toast and double potatoes.
"It's like, 'Give me my food and get out of my way,' " said Reynolds, explaining that the hunters weren't rude, just very, very focused.
They talk quietly with their hunting partners about the bucks that got away and the doe they didn't want to shoot and the dozens of turkeys and squirrels and the cold.
On a drizzly day last week, 38-year-old Jerry Bellant was hanging out at a deer camp in a friend's pole barn in rural Clinton County. His job was to make sure the beer stayed cold and the chili hot.
The Westphalia man set down his can of Busch Light to stir the chili in the crockpot. It was easy to see why he volunteered to stay behind, given the propane heater, the fridge, the color TV and that chili.
"I'm just waiting on everyone else, hear their high-tailed stories about the big one that got away," he said.
He seemed to dote over the chili - stirring it, offering a bowl to a reporter and assuming a nearby barn cat must be after it.
"At most deer camps you eat better than any normal day," he said. "Someone's always got snacks or venison - throw a couple of steaks on."
No one can deny that during hunting season there's an awful lot of non-hunting going on.
Back at Swede's, Dave Brown, 63, had consumed his share of sausage, biscuits, gravy and cheese. He, his grandson and his friend were getting ready to leave, but they weren't heading back out into the field.
Apparently, eating is work.
"We'll go home and look and see if my La-Z-Boy needs company," Brown said, "and then get back out."
Link to story (http://www.lsj.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20051122/LIFE/511220304/1079/LIFE)
November 22, 2005
By Christine Rook
Lansing State Journal
The biscuits get piled high with sausage and gravy and cheese. The eggs come with two kinds of meat.
Hunters talk like deer season is all about getting off a clean shot. But spend some time with these folks, and you can't help but wonder if it's really about gettin' their feed on.
The season is now starting its second week, but by 11 a.m. on opening day, 12-year-old Adam Senters of Sunfield had eaten biscuits and gravy, a couple of scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast, bacon, breakfast sausage, two 6-inch links of hunter's sausage, half a can of peanuts and an entire tin of Louisiana hot sauce sardines.
Deer? What deer? He hadn't seen any all morning and was contentedly parked in a booth at Swede's Restaurant in out-of-the-way Mulliken, west of Grand Ledge. He was there with his grandfather, Dave Brown, 63, and his grandfather's hunting pal, Dar Benjamin, 62, both of Sunfield in Eaton County.
Adam didn't even bother to take his hat off before digging in.
This should have been a momentous day - his first deer hunt and under the tutelage of grandfather. But what was the best part?
"Probably eating this," he said as he shoveled the last bits of gravy into his mouth.
Firearm season began a week ago today and extends into next week, which means that every day through the end of the month, plates will be piled and just about licked clean. And everyone in rural Michigan seems to understand that's how it is.
The Sportsman, a bar within walking distance of Swede's, baits hunters with this sign: "Deer Hunters Special, Burger and a Bud, $6."
As if the karaoke wasn't lure enough.
North of Mulliken in Portland, the Two Rivers Restaurant pulled 'em in with a 4 a.m. buffet on opening day.
About the last two to catch the buffet before it closed were Andrew Grabenstein, 26, and J.P. Villegas, 20, both of Lansing. They stopped in solely for the buffet, walking straight for it without first sitting down, said their waitress Mandy Reynolds, 23.
She cleared seven or eight dishes apiece from their table. That's hunters, though, she said.
Most hunters who visited the buffet did so at least four times, washing down what they consumed with vast amounts of coffee. Those who ordered from the menu loaded up with double toast and double potatoes.
"It's like, 'Give me my food and get out of my way,' " said Reynolds, explaining that the hunters weren't rude, just very, very focused.
They talk quietly with their hunting partners about the bucks that got away and the doe they didn't want to shoot and the dozens of turkeys and squirrels and the cold.
On a drizzly day last week, 38-year-old Jerry Bellant was hanging out at a deer camp in a friend's pole barn in rural Clinton County. His job was to make sure the beer stayed cold and the chili hot.
The Westphalia man set down his can of Busch Light to stir the chili in the crockpot. It was easy to see why he volunteered to stay behind, given the propane heater, the fridge, the color TV and that chili.
"I'm just waiting on everyone else, hear their high-tailed stories about the big one that got away," he said.
He seemed to dote over the chili - stirring it, offering a bowl to a reporter and assuming a nearby barn cat must be after it.
"At most deer camps you eat better than any normal day," he said. "Someone's always got snacks or venison - throw a couple of steaks on."
No one can deny that during hunting season there's an awful lot of non-hunting going on.
Back at Swede's, Dave Brown, 63, had consumed his share of sausage, biscuits, gravy and cheese. He, his grandson and his friend were getting ready to leave, but they weren't heading back out into the field.
Apparently, eating is work.
"We'll go home and look and see if my La-Z-Boy needs company," Brown said, "and then get back out."
Link to story (http://www.lsj.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20051122/LIFE/511220304/1079/LIFE)