Later the team will gather at my house full of smiles and purpose. I know them all, the plumber the welder, the paver, etc., each a tradesman and hunter alike. They may be weary from a day’s labor but they’ll pile into one pickup or another and head out to the farm, while the widow and children wave proudly from the porch. We’ll wait at home for the phone call or picture message declaring a recovery. This ritual always precedes the boy’s return. As they back into the driveway, my girls run to the door, pulling on coats and hopping into their boots. This is a family affair and congratulations and admiration is due. More neighbors and friends along with their children will stop by to admire the harvest. Soon the deer is weighed and points are counted. What follows is backslapping and tall tales of monster bucks that got away. My girls chat with the other children and remind each other of times they too have ventured into the woods with their fathers. I myself hang back and chat with the other widows as we discuss the recipe possibilities that this harvest will yield. Like many sportsmen, mine will butcher this deer himself and I will welcome the addition to our freezer.
When the deer has been broken down and our friends have gone back to their homes, we begin preparation for the next morning in the stand. As the excitement abates, I set the timer on the coffee pot to 4 am and place his hunting gear by the back door. It occurs to me that while a football widow may eternally search for the cure to “game fever,” my “team” and I are seeking no remedy for the “buck fever” that infects us all. We relish this season not by obsessing over a game we’d like to play, but rather over game we’d like to harvest. This parallel causes me to pause and reflect. I am not a forsaken football widow desperately rooting, not for a team but for the clock, at the end of the fourth quarter. I am an essential component of something larger than just myself or my husband and his hunting buddies. We are, in fact, all part of legacy left to us to maintain. Our legacy may be less common in this modern world, but it is rich in heritage and more steeped in tradition. When you stop to consider the community of friends and family that regularly rally to our side, it becomes clear that I am hardly a widow at all.
Below, I have included a recipe for Swedish meatballs. This is a favorite of my family’s. In fact my 8 year old daughter brought this to school for a holiday party. She was excited to share our harvest with her friends and was delighted to find they all enjoyed it. In honor of the season the children called them reindeer balls.
1 1/2 lbs. of ground venison
3/4 cup of stuffing mix
1 cup sour cream
1 egg lightly beaten
2 tbs. chopped onion
1/2 tbs. onion powder
1/4 tsp. pepper
2 boullion cubes
2 cups hot water *Can be substituted for with 2 cups of broth
2 tbs. flour
Combine meat and stuffing mix. Mix in half of sour cream, egg, onion, onion powder and pepper. Mix well. Shape tablespoons of meat into balls. Brown well in the butter.
Dissolve the boullion cubes in hot water. Pour over meatballs, cover. Simmer for 30 minutes. Remove meatballs. Mix remaining sour cream, flour and onion powder until smooth. Stir briskly into hot liquid. Cook over moderate heat, stirring constantly until thickened. Add meatballs and heat gently.
Yields approx. 35 meatballs.
Serve over buttered egg noodles.
Add one can or one package of fresh sautéed mushrooms to sauce.
If you’d prefer to use your slow cooker I suggest browning the meatballs in the oven on 350 for 12-15 minutes. Then place them in the slow cooker and top with a mixture of one can of cream of mushroom soup and remaining sour cream and seasonings (omit flour). Cook on low heat for up to 8 hours.
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