Crispy kosher turkey, Drumsticks, dressing, thighs, The sweet Pope’s nose, oh yeah!

My parents left me in the car while they voted for President Roosevelt at the grade school. I had my jack-o’-lantern for company. There were three older kids, school kids, moseying my way. “Hey little boy,” a big girl said, knocking on the window. I was transfixed by the glovebox door. À big boy said,…

Summer’s officially done. The dogs and silvers are running in Union River, way back in the alders. Passing the football lazily back and forth in the upper pasture, Evers and I hear it, both at once, and pause to listen. The loud splashing is intense, periodic, and purposeful. “Salmon’re running.” “Seems too early.” “Late August.”…

Ko’olau sunrise, Gold Palolo morning, Full moon fading wearily maka’i.

Called Cornet Beach for the variety store just across Farrington Highway, its tide pools sparkle clear in the near-cool morning on the school side, across the bay from Mauna Lahilahi. An animated cluster of brown young people: “Get um! Get um!” “Trow’m now. Now!” “You wen’ got’m! ” A broad net, weighted at the edge;…

Roaches. Dung beetles. Spiders. We sometimes use our names for fellow terrestrials to characterize each other. Some might say those are our truest names and selves. I might say so. For about a year and a half of elongated appendages, I was called Spider but outgrew that in tenth grade and became Dog, which lasted…

My golf game Is starting to come around, Finally. I took it up six years ago, When I turned seventy, Sort of to honor Whitey, My father. I’m hitting solid drives Straight up the fairway Almost every time, these days, And I make the occasional par, Flirt with the occasional birdie. As they say, it’s…

She’s late, a half-hour, Grins naughty as sin, Smells like old fish. Little Willy John’s “Fever” Hisses, fades, in and out On nighttime AM radio From Seattle. My Chevy’s front seat Rhythms ‘n blueses one last time; Bob Summerise on the low and slow From his World of Music, “To real . . . cool…

Jim Harrison was The man Hemingway Ached to be. December 11, 1937 – March 26, 2016