From our parlor to yours...

Because the cows don't take a day off to celebrate the birth of our Lord.

Merry Christmas, y'all!

Good shit paper

Figgered I'd throw this'n out while I'm bashin' on the Hildebeast.

My brothers and I saw these gems durin' our annual Christmas shoppin' trip* last week.

I'd be honored to wipe my ass with this stuff. Be the most fittin' tribute I could manage for those two crooks.

* Many moons ago, when I was still in college and Jesse was workin' nearby, we decided to meet up after class/work at the local mall to do some Christmas shoppin'. We've done it every year since, and have since included Joe, and Jesse's oldest son. We don't actually shop for the most part, but we do enjoy drinkin' coffee from the mall coffee shop and checkin' out women. It's usually a big deal when one of us actually makes a purchase.

Too true, unfortunately

Saw this over on T-Shirt Hell the other day. Sadly, a lotta idiots will, just because she does.

I'd love to see some sort of required civic testin' be done in order to vote (and breed, for that matter). At the very least, there should be some sorta qualifications other than breathin'.

A bangin' deer chili recipe

I'm usually lucky to get a deer or two every year, but I have to ration my venison stash so it'll make it through the followin' year. That sure as hell ain't gonna be a problem this year, so I'm gonna have to be a little less shy about takin' stuff out and doin' some cookin' with it.

Anyways, I wanted to whip up a batch of deer chili to take to work the other day, so I jumped online to find a base recipe, then proceeded to alter the hell outta it. I cheated and used canned stuff, for lack of fresh produce layin' around. I also used beans, which you chili purists are sure to hate me for. I was raised on beans in my chili, and I see no reason to shy away from that at this point.

•••

Ingredients:
• 2 lbs ground deer burger
• 1 lb deer or pork sausage
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• Salt, pepper and Old Bay to taste

• 28oz can diced tomatoes
• 4oz can Chipotle peppers
• 15.5oz can sweet corn, drained
• 15.5oz can Navy beans, drained
• 15.5oz can Kidney beans, drained
• 2-3 diced jalapeño peppers
• 2 tsp Cinnamon
• Hot pepper sauce to taste

Prep:
While enjoying a cold beverage, brown the meat in a large skillet on low heat. Drain, then add the onions and garlic and cook for five more minutes. Add more beer to the cook as necessary.

Meanwhile, dump all the other ingredients into your crock pot. When the meat mixture is done, add that in, mix everything up, and cook on low for 8-10 hours. Stir every hour or so. Again, add more beer to the cook as necessary.

Serve with shredded Cheddar cheese and sour cream.

•••

That's all there is to it. I suck at cookin', and my prep time was still only about 15 minutes. There is a super-secret ingredient that I added, but faced with the risk of Aunt Wanda forcibly removin' my manhood, I have omitted it here. One of these days, I'll try a batch without it to see if it makes or breaks the recipe. I also noticed well after the fact that my base recipe called for 3 Tbsp of chili powder, which I completely forgot to add in.

Regardless, the outcome was jolly damn delicious, and my coworkers are still ravin' about it several days later. Go ahead and give it a fair shake and tell me whatcha think.

Timber

Over the summer, my lady mentioned that one of the trees in the backyard was lookin' a little rough. Sure enough, it barely grew any leaves and the ones that did grow died quickly.

The problem was, it was leanin' dangerously toward the house. There was about a ten-foot space between the house and the sandmound that it could be dropped without damagin' anythin', but I sure as hell didn't trust myself to give it a whirl. Instead of riskin' a lovely hole in the dining room ceilin' or smashed sandmound pipes, we decided to call in a pro.

The fella showed up the other day to take care of it, and I gotta say, it was worth every penny we paid him just to watch him work. Within two hours, he had that thing down slicker than shit. I learned more about woodcuttin' in that two hours that I have from any amount of time I've spent behind a saw.

Gotta love a cheap education.

The huntin' nun

File this under "Things you don't hear about every day"...

By Marcus Schneck
on December 06, 2015 at 9:32 AM, updated December 06, 2015 at 9:33

Sister John Paul Bauer stood over the magnificent, 10-point buck, the largest deer she'd ever seen in the wild in Elk County.

The 60-year-old Benedictine nun recalled the events of the past few minutes, savoring a memory that deer hunters will ever experience.

Just before 9 a.m., about three hours after first climbing into her tree stand on a friend's land near Weedville on Nov. 30, the first day of the 2015 rifle hunting season for deer, she had finished praying the rosary.
"I always pray the rosary in my tree stand," she explained. "It's a tradition."

Hours in a tree stand are a contemplative time, when a hunter wants to remain as still and quiet as possible.

Sister John Paul had then started to pour herself a cup of coffee from her thermos, reinforcement for the leggings and the orange hunting coat she wore under and over her habit against the 23-degree air.
Suddenly a herd of does "came flying up this steep embankment," startling her to the point that she dropped her thermos. Strangely the clatter of the metal cup did not cause the antlerless deer to pause even a moment.

Something unusual was pushing those does, she pondered as she studied the scene.

Then she spotted the two bucks sparring behind the does. Her 10-pointer and an eight-point in pitched battle, actually rising on their hind legs, something few will ever witness first-hand. The sound of their rattling antlers came to her ears.

When the bucks backed off one another for a breather about a hundred yards from her stand, Sister John Paul leveled the scope of her Winchester 30-30 on the 10-pointed and triggered off a shot.

The big buck, which was later weighed at about 200 pounds, fell to the forest floor at 9:05 a.m.

After making sure of her kill, the theology teacher at Elk County Catholic High School in St. Marys retreated down the mountainside to the home of the landowner, Shirley Burke, for some help in retrieving the heavy animal.

They called Sister Jacinta Conklin, another nun at St. Joseph's Monastery in St. Marys who was hunting solo in another location, and together the three woman dragged the deer out of the woods.

Deer hunting has been a tradition among the nuns at the monastery for decades, just as it is with nearly the entire community in St. Marys. Sister John Paul bought her first rifle, the Winchester, soon after she arrived there and has not missed a first day for 15 years or so.

Sister John Paul professed her final vows with the Benedictine Sisters of Elk County in 2002. She earned her nursing degree in 1975, two years after graduating from high school, and then went on to serve as a nurse with the U.S. Navy and the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.

Growing up in St. Marys, she had watched as her father and brothers ventured out on many a first day, "but I was never invited."

She's bagged a few other bucks along the way, one from that same tree stand near Weedville, as well as a 200-pound bear. Her best buck prior to this year was a six-pointer with a much smaller body.

"You can tell the conservation efforts have paid off, because the deer are getting bigger," she noted.

Antler restrictions imposed by the Pennsylvania Game Commission in recent years encourage hunters to pass up younger bucks, allowing them to gain additional maturity and growth before being harvested.

A photo of Sister John Paul on the Facebook page of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Erie went viral, attracting more than a million views and the normal criticisms of anti-hunters.

She has taken the attacks in stride, noting, "In this area pretty much everyone hunts. It's good conservation.

"I'm a person first, a normal human being who likes to hunt and happens to be serving God."

On the website of the diocese, she further explained, "You have to maintain the population that can be fed naturally off the land. If you get an overabundance, then the deer starve. Likewise, if you overkill, then that's not good either. So there's a balance."
As a Benedictine, she believes that Christ is in everything, even the hunted. "You don't just hunt for the sake of killing. You are part of nature. You're part of a cycle. You're part of creation."

Most of the venison from the big buck was dontated to several local families, including one that has a Christmas tradition of eating deer stew as the main meal that day. The sisters at St. Joseph's share the prized and tender back straps.

Jeff Crawford of Whitetail Taxidermy in St. Marys will mount the 16-inch-spread, almost perfectly symmetrical rack.

Bear Camp

The weeks surroundin' Thanksgiving are some of the most excitin' times for us Pennsyltucky hunters. You catch the peak of the whitetail rut at the end of archery season, then sandwich Thanksgiving between rifle seasons for bear and deer. Meanwhile, ducks, geese and the full gamut of small and upland game are in for most of that time too. Whatever critters you like to chase, it's the time of year to do it.

I love goin' to bear camp, mainly because it's a fun style of huntin' with a great group of fellas. We don't do any stand huntin'... we are drivin' from dawn until some of the fellas start gettin' thirsty, which is usually around mid-afternoon. Some folks think it's a shit way to hunt 'em, but I think it's a helluva lot better than waitin' 'em out on stand or shootin' em over a barrel of doughnuts, which is standard practice in a lot of places.

We had a big group of guys for the opener, which was recently changed to the Saturday before Thanksgiving. We had four good chases, but the bruins managed to elude us.

The bad part about the Saturday opener is that PA still lives in the dark ages and doesn't allow Sunday hunting. The opener used to be Monday, and we'd have a fair group for at least Monday and Tuesday. With the new Saturday opener, the break between opening day and last three days of the season has proven to be a camp killer, with everyone showin' up to hunt on Saturday, then goin' home Sunday to go back to work.

I stayed up to hunt Monday, and was kinda disappointed when only four other guys showed up to hunt. Pushin' the big woods with five guys is foolish at best, so we drove out a few smaller patches, then called it a day early. I ate lunch, then headed back home to tend to the wood pile.

Although the second day was a wash, I still had a damn good time. I'm already lookin' forward to next year.

Grandma

While I was off galavantin' in Fulton County, my grandma on dad's side of the family passed on. It wasn't altogether unexpected, but it still sucks. Thankfully, it happened rather quickly. I had a wonderful visit with her the Sunday prior, and she was her normal animated, ornery self. Four days later, she was gone.

She wasn't without her flaws, but damned if she didn't love everyone who walked into her life. She was a great storyteller with a grand sense of humor. Every time I'd walk through the door, it was likely that she'd either be on the phone or bangin' away at a crossword puzzle, and there'd more than likely be a game show on the TV. Didn't matter though, as she'd excuse herself from her call so we could chat.

With Grandpa gone almost two years now, I think she was ready to go. We enjoyed one last Thanksgiving lunch at their house last week, as we have for decades, but I reckon that'll be the last time. It was a sad day to realize that part of my life that's been there from the beginning was coming to an end. Such is life though, I suppose.

•••

Marion Ann (Sprenkle) Murren, 81, died Thursday evening, November 5, 2015, at her home, surrounded by loving members of the three generations she leaves behind. She was the wife of Thomas R. Murren, whom she married almost six months to the day after they met in 1952. He died December 7, 2013, after they had shared 61 years of marriage, nine children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, lots of laughter and good travels, arguments and frustrations, heartaches and joy.

Marion was born in Menges Mills, York County, on April 19, 1934, the oldest child of Willis E. and Kathryn (Jacobs) Sprenkle.

She was a 1952 graduate of West York High School. She was a member of Annunciation Catholic Church in McSherrystown, where she sang in the choir for many years, and had been a longtime member of the Hanover Chapter of Take Off Pounds Sensibly (TOPS). Marion loved people and made friends wherever she went. She welcomed and loved all the friends her kids brought home. Always room for one more at the dinner table. Always OK to invite friends who would get "snowed in" with the family. A house full of people made her happy.

She did not always love being a farmer's wife, had once sworn she would never marry a farmer. But she loved her farmer. So she fed the farmhands after a long day, she drove the hay baler when needed – at least until the kids were old enough to take over – and she supported six decades of 4-H meetings and fairs.

From her grandfather and dad, she inherited wanderlust, never passing up a chance to travel near and far. Over the years, she and Tom visited Hawaii, Australia, and Alaska. They cruised the Mississippi and the St. Lawrence Seaway. They enjoyed great times at Notre Dame football games, quite a few "wine runs" to the Finger Lakes with dear friends, and searching out covered bridges in a dozen or so states. It was their tradition to take grandchildren, two at a time, along on their annual trips to Florida.

Marion was also near legendary for her love of animals. Over the years, she raised keeshond dogs, and nurtured mutts, ferrets, bunnies, and too many cats to count.

She loved her family beyond all else. She is survived by seven children, Anthony J. Murren and wife, Joyce of McSherrystown, Angela R. Murren of Hanover, Wanda M. Murren and husband, Darrell F. Crabbs, Sr. of Spring Grove, Terrence P. Murren and wife, Patricia of New Oxford, Ann R. Murren and companion, Steven Carroll of Kenneth City, Fla., Barbara J. Garman of Carlisle, and Peggy C. Clowney and husband, John of Gettysburg; 16 grandchildren; and 18 great-grandchildren. She is also survived by two brothers, Ralph "Jake" Sprenkle of Spring Grove and Thomas H. Sprenkle and wife, Rose, of York New Salem; and many nieces and nephews and "adopted kids." She never stopped mourning and missing her late daughters, Kathryn Murren Hippensteel and Susan Murren Roth; as well as three grandchildren, K. Benjamin Smith, April E. Clowney, and Renee A. Clowney.

A Mass of Christian Burial will be held at 10 a.m. Tuesday, November 10, at Annunciation Church in McSherrystown. Burial will follow in the parish cemetery. Relatives and friends will be received at Murphy Funeral Home, 501 Ridge Ave., McSherrystown, on Monday, November 9, from 5 to 7 p.m. with a prayer service at 7 p.m.

Memorial contributions may be made to Adams County SPCA, 11 Goldenville Road, Gettysburg, PA 17325.

The tradition continues

The are few certainties in life... death, taxes, and us Murren boys doin' some waterfowl huntin' on Thanksgiving mornin'.

I was a little concerned with a barron scouting trip, a full moon overnight and a bluebird day forecasted. Hardly waterfowlin' weather, but we never miss this opportunity to hunt together, regardless of weather.

Thankfully, Joe did a little scoutin' of his own and located some birds. We were treated to a beautiful sunrise, then got to lay into some geese. There was some questionable shootin', but we managed to leave the field with eight honkers. Definitely a day well spent with the ol' man and my brothers, and we got the icin' on the cake too.

Fulton County Adventurin'

Holy hell, had it been a busy few weeks. Reckon I'll pick up close to where I left off.

•••

In lieu of our annual Bowhunter's Weekend, Schlongie and his ol' man and I decided to change things up a bit a head to their cabin in Fulton County the first weekend in November. It'd been damn near ten years since I'd made my only trip there, so my memory was a little foggy about the place. Schlongie and his two uncles would be headed up the mountain to bowhunt, while Reds and I would try to put a whoopin' on some turkeys and grouse.

I gotta say, they have about a picture-perfect little cabin up there. The neighbors are a little close, but that ain't really a deal breaker. The place butts up against a purty good chunk of state ground, and it was damn nice to walk out the back door and go huntin'. The inside is everything you'd expect from a proper huntin' cabin. 

I spent the first day drinkin' beer and keepin' my feet up. There are some perks to havin' a full freezer. I did finally get my act together and cover a few miles durin' the afternoon lookin' for critters, but to no avail. The weather was a bit sketchy, but the view was nice. 

The second day, I hit the woods with Reds in search of some turkeys he'd gown into the day before. Naturally, the little bastards were nowhere to be found, but we explored a couple miles of mountainside and had a good time anyway.

We retired back to the cabin early to prepare a dinner of fresh backstraps for the rest of the crew, and enjoy a few cold ones, of course.

Sunday came too quickly, and we broke camp about midday and headed back to civilization.