Bitter Man with a bad Atttude

I have done virtually all my hunting on my rancher friend Lee Henderson’s land for years. He one of the funniest people i know, if you appreciate dark and cynical humor. A supervisor at one of his very rare off- ranch jobs once called him “a bitter man with a bad attitude.” We were both delighted, and I urged him to start a blog of that name. Since then, he has acquired a Facebook Page which fills the niche.


I could no† ge† the video I wanted in but here is a taste.


One of the most interesting discoveries I made in Provence years ago was how close their language and culture was to that of my grandparents. Not only is my grandparents’ “patois”– their word– virtually identical to Provencal French- “ing “and “ung”´endings (wine is Ving and bread pung” {this is true to an extent in Medeieval French too- see Villon). The physical resemblances can be startling too, even in things like gestures give you my friend Pierre Stoyanovich, Fabre’s heir (he is entirely Provencal ethnically; the name is from his mother’ renmarriage) and my Dad.

Silly Bird

The Aplo Tri- bryd is still ridiculous and still brainless but he is TRYING, and not squawking so much. Working him high, VERY high, is the key. Fire chief Mike Bisbee (who is married to my distant cousin Nina McCabe, and hails from NY) took these good pics the other day.

The Blog

Many people think I have lost interest in the blog, or that I am too sick to keep it up, or that there is no longer anything to say.


The fact is that my blog host has become increasingly hard to use, comments are no longer enabled, and most of the archives are inaccessible.

So, soon, with the help of my editor, friend, publisher (of my forthcoming novel Tiger Country ) Karen Myers, I am moving to a new blog, with EVERYTHING included.It will probably be called “Notes from Tiger Country”– which is, of course, Querencia Country.

Please be patient-it will take some time, and there will be plenty of notice…

And why TC? Perhaps this will help…

You ever meet my karate instructor? He doesn’t talk much. He’s a big
Korean, probably about sixty-five, and still moves like a cat. His body
looks like it was built with an axe out of hardwood, and his face is like a
granite boulder. He has about as much hair as a bowling ball. We were
driving from Silver City to a ranch in northern Catron County that day
and stopped at the Aldo Leopold Overlook to stretch our legs and see
the country. We went back to the truck for the binoculars and spent a
long time looking over the land, glassing it carefully. Finally he said to
me “You got tigers up there?”
“No, Sir”, I said. “Lots of deer and more elk, and we got more
antelope than anyplace but Wyoming. Little bears that go up trees, and
we used to have big bears that won’t. We have a thing they call a lion,
but it isn’t really, and a rare thing called a jaguar–it’s more like a leopard.
We used to have big wolves. What we don’t have is a tiger–never had
and never will.”
He spat at the ground, looked me in the eye like I was a little slow ,
and growled, “Looks like tiger country to me.”