When I remarked how un-tasty half a squirrel and salt pork was, Jim instantly replied, “Maybe I’ve said this before; if so, tough. Oatmeal’s better than no meal, Jack. Remember the Holiday Inn manager telling you that after you told him the boss hadn’t sent our money yet? You and your steak and lobster appetite… How much did you make that paycheck…? You got a letter from the boss. Not only do you not get paid, you still owe the company twenty-seven dollars.”

Volume Two: Murphys Diggins, chapter 11, page 96

Oh, there are a lot of stories I could tell you from my illustrious past, and the above really did happen. I have had a love of good food ever since my dad took us with him on the road a few times while he worked trouble-shooting in accounting for a large national dairy. He got a per-diam and we ate like royalty. Dad introduced me to those big crawdads, and I’ve been hooked ever since. I ate up my whole paycheck and then some on that trip, and we were painting water towers, we raked in the cash, and I still ate it up! I could adjust to the situation though. Jim’s dad was a veteran who went to the PX for food supplies. When we ran away, Jim stole a case of Vienna sausage, which we lived on for a couple of weeks. Lived is the operative word, not enjoyed. Rocky Mountain high was fantastic, those little wienies, not so much. And my taste changed, I got to where a big fat squirrel tasted pretty good over a campfire. There is something elemental in getting your own supper from the woods.