We sharpen knives. We don aprons. We pull out very cold, very large quarters of venison. We turn on Pandora to the Bach station. Light conversation accompanies knife work.
We are slow. We wish Daddy were here with his flashing knives! Decades of practice for him. A handful of years for me. Patrick's first time to wield a knife on a deer carcass.
I tell him that slow is okay, especially as we wish no injuries to accompany this harvest.
A girlfriend pops in earlier in the day. "Wow, people sure do love you guys!" she says, as she looks at the amount of meat waiting to be processed.
And don't you know I know it.