National Geographic : 1976 Mar
"It's kinda nice," he mused, "to know that work I did will still be around after I'm gone, still a-lookin' good." Often Jake's shop is closed on nice days. Like many of the men in these parts, he goes out and fishes or hunts to put food on the dinner table. ONE DAY before the leaves were on the trees, Rich Brault, a young hunter, fish erman, and mechanic from Hobbieville, came by to visit. His brother, a Marine on leave, was with him. Rich found that I hadn't had supper yet and asked if I liked rabbit. Very much, I replied. "I'll get you one," he said. The brothers went to their van. I thought they were going to get a rabbit out; instead, they let out a dog. With guns they disappeared into the woods. I'd always thought rabbit hunting had to be part luck, so I began wondering what else I might fix for supper. But in minutes they returned to the house with a kitchen-ready rabbit. They had bagged and skinned it as routinely as one goes to the supermarket for a chicken. Every Saturday morning from November through February, pickups, vans, and cars line Court House Square at Spencer, laden with pelts-muskrat, squirrel, fox, mink, raccoon.