Mid-February. Yawn. Here in coastal Southeast it is that quintessential mean low plateau that nestles quietly between the winter holidays and herring season. Sitka in February: a time and place where the word zen falls between holidays and herring…. It’s the calm before the fleet.
For many of us, funds are low, business is slow, and significant others (including children and animals) are starting to get moldy and/or annoying. Way too much time is spent updating your status on Facebook, and not enough time is given to routine housekeeping and maintenance. While the coastal environment continues to eat itself, and the perpetual Palin debacle persists ad nauseaum, I am resigned to enjoying the remaining days of winter by utilizing the least amount of energy necessary. Usually….
The other night, however, we enjoyed a feast of tarted-up cornish game hens replete with all the fixings. Instead of doing the beer can-chicken on the grill, Mr. BBQ stuffed apple juice cans up their miniature posteriors and I dressed them up in Chictoria’s Dirty Little Secret Foil Fashions for a decadent meal of unprecendented sumptiousness. In this case, the picture tells the story.
To read about fowl that left a different legacy, check out Mike the Headless Chicken. As for me, I am going back to sleep. It’s only about four more weeks until all hell breaks loose and the spawn is on. By golly, a girl needs her rest.
*Thanks to Cyn for the pic! And to Scott for the grub!