My time in Clarksdale has
come to an end but not before I got to experience my first Thanksgiving.
Taken to a friend’s family
hunting cabin on the banks of a tranquil oxbow behind the mighty Mississippi,
we feasted on deliciousness and drank happily in the crisp Autumn
afternoon. Deer nibbled placidly from
the feeders scattered around, prancing gracefully out of sight when approached
too closely. The walls of the cabin were
lined with the stuffed heads and polished skulls of those deer who did not
prance away – one deer can feed the family for almost a year and they use it in
everything.
