The Reasons I Don’t Cook

I am capable of warming up leftovers or pitching hotdogs in boiling water, but full-fledged prepping and cooking a meal is asking a bit much of me. To begin, throwing both adjustments to time and temperature considerations at me in a single process is optimistic at best and more likely perilous. And then when you throw cups, qt., tsp., tbsp. in my lap or suddenly flip over to mL, I’m likely to forgo eating or simply drink down a couple of raw eggs.

Cooking is hard.

I am always wanting to shake rather than stir, and I don’t want to flip anything. I also struggle with being forced to let this cool or that rise. And my idea of chopping is a bit too “western” for a lot of stuff. With hotdogs, I boil them until they split and call it good.

Nonetheless, when Desiree is preparing several dishes at once, I sometimes offer to help. “I’m fine,” she’ll sing. If I grab a knife or make a bold move in the kitchen, she’ll wince and say, “Jeez, I think I just saw something outside the window.”

“Something?”

“Yeah… a weird thing flew by. Maybe you should go out there and look around.”

“Okay, I’ll go look. That’s a good idea.”

Thankfully, Desiree is a great cook. It’s also surprising how often she spots weird stuff outside the window when she’s cooking.

Desiree Prepping

—Mitchell Hegman

Hope (On the Easy Side)

It doesn’t take much to trigger hope within me. The other day, for instance, I witnessed a spider-killing wasp hunting along the foundation of my house. That’s enough to buoy me for a spell. Adding to my hope is the fact that they prefer going after big spiders.

—Mitchell Hegman

A Neighbor Crossing Through

The game camera I have posted in the meadow just south of my cabin picked up one of my neighbors crossing through just yesterday morning. A rather chunky-looking black bear, this one.

—Mitchell Hegman

The Worriers Club

Welcome to the second annual gathering of the Prairie Edge Worriers Club. For those of you worried about getting interrupted by heavy rain, it seems the Rocky Mountains have whittled down the storm front and left it limping along.

To begin, we would like to welcome the red ants representing Hill Number Three. They have recently expressed concern about a sudden spike in radio-frequency radiation from nearby cell towers. Some have linked this to a reduction in mandible size.

For those of you worried about an early onset to winter, the chickadees have stashed extra seeds in several northside ponderosa pines.

In descending order, the mule deer wish to express concern about an ear mite infestation, the loss of access to Desiree Hegman’s perennials, and the general unease that pervades the local population during waking hours.

The lower-end bumblebees continue to worry about a worker-bee shortage, and the click beetles worry about landing upside down.

For those with nothing to fret about, red-legged grasshoppers invite everyone to join them in a discussion about long-term drought.

In closing, have a great day.

—Mitchell Hegman 

Abraham Lincoln at the Coffee Shop

Abraham Lincoln stopped at a small coffee shop to grab an espresso. After a few oblique glances, the barista, a young woman with a ring in her nose, recognized her customer.

"I know you," she said. "You're the guy on the penny."

"Heads it is," replied Mr. Lincoln, nodding. "I'd fancied to land my profile on the nickel, but George Washington swooped in on that. I suppose he is a mite more handsome. And deserving."

"You look better in person, if that matters," the barista noted. "You have an aura of kindness about you. Are you into crystals?"

Lincoln considered for a moment. "I'm afraid crystals have largely evaded me. I do enjoy Aesop's Fables, though, and recently I've been taken by Bob Dylan's music. I enjoy his weave of narrative and song. And I appreciate that his voice has not fully come in from the wilderness. It's honest."

As Abraham Lincoln was talking, the young woman made change and handed it over.

"How weird is it to get paid with pennies?" she asked.

"At first, it made me uncomfortable. Now, the oddity of it walks directly through me untouched," Lincoln admitted.

"When things got weird for me, I got a nose ring. That's what I did."

"Interesting. I will keep that in mind."

Ten minutes later, Abraham Lincoln found himself rolling down the sidewalk with a newly minted penny in his pocket and a coffee in hand.

—Mitchell Hegman

Conglomerate

Conglomerate is the natural geological presentation of concrete. Long before we figured out how to mix cement with gravel, nature was doing much the same thing. Rivers rounded stones into smooth pebbles, layers of sediment buried them, and mineral-rich groundwater slowly cemented everything together into solid rock. The process took thousands to millions of years rather than an afternoon with a concrete truck and an ample supply of beer, but the result is surprisingly familiar.

One of the first "keeper" rocks in my collection is a time-worn conglomerate specimen I collected no more than 100 yards from the spot where my house presently stands.

I was 6 or 7 years old the day I found this treasure. Honestly, it still ranks as one of the most thrilling finds of my life. I gasped when I first spotted the rock amid a few nondescript stones. It was a perfect representation of nature's concrete and an ancient story told in stone.

"Look at this!" I said after trotting back to find my father and show him my discovery.

Though I proved a disappointment to my father when I revealed a propensity to pick up random stones rather than a baseball, he did his best to share my enthusiasm.

The conglomerate specimen has been on display on a shelf somewhere near me ever since. Every time I pick up the stone, I feel a certain earthy energy in the weight of it. It is of immeasurable value to me.

The photograph below is that very rock.

Conglomerate Specimen

—Mitchell Hegman

The Slide

I woke from a dream in which death was, literally, a long slide. Two women with indistinct facial features and I were stationed at the top of the slide so we could shove people off when their time arrived. As was bound to happen, someone I knew, an apprentice I once taught and liked immensely, appeared beside us.

When the time came, I helped push her down the slide without question.

I woke immediately after this and now sit on my sofa in the pre-dawn, wondering why my brain does this to me.

—Mitchell Hegman