The initiation

“Get to the reservation early enough and we’ll go “Elk hunting” in the morning,” my 78 year old uncle said. He makes a pot of caffeinated coffee in the old percolator just for me and cooks eggs by spooning hot bacon grease over them. “Birch Stream Eggs” he called them. Cooked the way that his Father used to make them for him and my grandfather at their hunting camp when they were kids. “These will put lead in your pencil.” He said as he put the plates down on the table. After breakfast he took his insulin shot and we got into his car in the crisp cool morning.

We drove a mile or so until we reached the Elk’s club parking lot. He shifts the car into park and turns to me with a sober look. “I’m not too popular around here right now. I’ve been winning to much. They might underestimate you though.” He shuts the engine down, lowers is voice to say “Alright, now let’s go take all the white folks money” followed by a mischievous chuckle. That day I learned that the cutthroat world of paired cribbage is all about feeding good cards to your partner, not being too friendly in the the opponents crib and mercilessly pegging them to death with fifteens, thirty-ones, runs and pairs. It could be said that the game was plentiful that season and we did not go hungry.