Using a marble rolling pin, I try to evenly roll the dough out over the floured kitchen island but it keeps sticking to the rolling pin. No matter how much flour I sprinkle on the dough, the sticky texture attaches to the rolling pin instead of rolling flat.
I just don’t get it. I’m following the recipe exactly.
Exasperated and about ready to give up completely, I set the rolling pin down with a thud and throw my hands in the air earning the attention ofthe two men sitting at the table finishing breakfast.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dylan oh so helpfully asks.
I shove my hands toward the mess on the island as if I’m banishing it from existence. “The dough keeps sticking and I can’t get it to smooth out. It’s impossible.”
Much to my dismay, Jason snorts a stifled laugh I meet with a withering glare. Apparently, my agony is amusing to him.
“I’m trying here,” I insist. “What do you want from me?”
Jason stands, takes his plate and fork to the kitchen sink, then comes to stand at my side. He takes the rolling pin off the counter, a pinch of flour from the jar beside the dough, and spreads it over the rolling pin without taking his eyes off me as if to sayflour the pin, not the dough. Duh.
I meet his stare with one of my own and respond to his wordless chastisement. “Well, the instructions didn’t say to flour the rolling pin, it said to put flour on the dough.”
Another rub of flour into the rolling pin is Jason’s only response.Dick.
After using the trick Jason showed me, which worked like a dream even though I almost wish he’d been wrong, the crust is flattened and fully formed in the pie dish. I pour the pumpkin pie filling into the crust after poking the holes in the bottom like the instructions dictate. As I’m sliding the pie into the oven, I peer out the window and see a large deer with swooping antlers that come to five points on either side.
“There’s a deer outside,” I alert Jason and Dylan.
Dylan comes to stand at my side and informs me, “That’s not a deer. It’s an elk.”
He’s magnificent. If I remember correctly, only the males have antlers. His are almost as long as his neck and head. His mahogany fur lightens to the color of coffee creamer on his legs and belly. He just stands in the snow fifty feet from the back door near the barn, tall and proud, majestic in every way. I understand now why people are so enthralled with them, he’s truly a noble creature.
Click.
Boom.
I’m not even remotely prepared for the sound of the shotgun firing or the sight of the impressive elk dropping to the snow laden ground in a heartbeat. One minute he’s standing tall and proud, the next he’s dead as a doornail in the snow that’s now stained with his blood.
“What the actual fuck?” I shout over the ringing in my ears.
What is it about Thanksgiving that makes people want to shoot things?
Jason must have crept out the front door to the porch and circled around with the shotgun while I was transfixed by the elk. He’s already picking up the discarded shell from the wood porch and coming back inside to get his snow gear on.
How can he act so nonchalant about this? He just took an animal’s life and he’s just going about his business stuffing his legs into snow pants without a care in the world. As if this is just another Wednesday.
“Awesome, elk will be way better for Thanksgiving dinner instead of that damn chicken. We can have that Friday.”
“What?” I don’t even try to restrain my utter shock and horror at what I just witnessed. “You just shot that beautiful creature in cold blood.” I sound like a witness on a crime drama show.
“It wasn’t in cold blood,” Dylan laughs like my comment is a ridiculous notion. “That beautiful creature is going to feed us all winter long. Did you see how many points he had on each antler?”
This feels like a trick question but I answer anyway. “Five.”
“That’s a fully grown male elk who has spread his seed all over this mountain and lived a long life. He’s not a baby. He’s done his service to the ecosystem and his species. And his circle of life has come to an end to keep our lives going.”
Before I can argue any further, Jason holds my snow gear in front of my face silently demanding I suit up. I just stare at him, if he thinks I’m helping him butcher the elk he’s got another thing coming.
At my obvious refusal, Jason shakes my coat, hardening his expression to meet my defiance.
“No,” I exclaim, holding my ground with arms crossed over my chest and one hip popped, taking me back to my bitchy high school days.
But that backfired quickly. Jason swoops down bringing his shoulder to my stomach and an arm around the backs of my thighs and hoists me fireman style into the air.
