A message from Tony…
Welcome! I do hope you enjoy your visit to this web site. All involved with this project will do our best to make it interesting and informative.
Life is an amazing journey. And while this next statement is a blatant cliché, I use it here without reservation: It seems only yesterday the journey began! This observation is likely a function of growing old, but it is accurate. Those early years of childhood that fashioned my entire being are yet fresh in recall; I visit there regularly. I remember those days of work in the family garden and the poor-dirt row crops and the ragged barn. I recall that simple wood-frame house that was home. I can even now almost hear and see and smell the farm animals and yard dogs that were ever present and key players in life as we then knew it. All are gone now, but they remain fresh in some quiet, reflective corner of memory. Read more here…
That Perfect Day in the Squirrel Woods: Unexpected Gifts
Faint praise would be grossly inadequate. A mindless cliché would be wholly insufficient, irreverent. Most likely spoken with no depth of thought, that often heard It could be worse would be an affront. None of these; not for this day. This day was spectacular, its perfection melding with a lonesome fog that resisted the sun and gave naked oaks to the east a more foreboding appearance than normal. January; 48 degrees; sunrise; exhaled breaths puffing and pushing a gentle cloud into windless surroundings; no noise save the symphony of nature....
read moreBison Hunting as It Was and Should Be
A stiff wind howled across short-grass prairie as we unpacked gear and placed it in chosen quarters: Two tipis and two dugouts, housing common to the 1800s on this Kansas landscape. The sky scowled and postured threat of rain, perhaps even a scattering of snow to decorate these haunting hills and arroyos. Dust peppered exposed skin and coaxed any human recipient to tug on a jacket collar or felt hat for protection. The horses didn’t seem to mind; they simply turned away from it and munched corn. The first order of business after getting...
read moreIn Search of Myself
The setting is virtually silent. Save a gentle gurgle where river water pours over a log jam and the cold rustle of January wind through cypress and disrobed willows, there is quiet. But that is good. There is far too little silence in this world. I am looking for wood ducks. The drone of that tiny outboard that propelled my passage to this spot had caused a steady eruption of woodies. They burst from clear waters at every bend and tangle, their high-pitched squeal filling the air, those gaudy colors flashing in a winter sun. And now I am at...
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Tony Kinton is a native Mississippian, where he grew up on a small farm. Hunting and fishing were regular parts of his life, and these pursuits produced much of the food found on his family’s table. Read more here...
