This fine holiday finds a whole pork tenderloin on my counter warming to room temperature and waiting on the spice rub yet to be mixed and applied before its final journey into the smoker around noon. I have a maple deadfall branch out back which should provide enough sugar maple to cook several, let alone today’s entrée. Since I’m burning maple I should probably set up a smoke condenser and collect some liquid smoke for the spice cabinet, but I digress.

I mention today’s agenda only because it gives me a chance to reflect. It’s the slow burn sort of task that all else is worked around, laying in a small fire, half hourly temperature checks, monitoring the firebox, laying in soaked wood which makes better smoke and keeps the gasses a little cooler, the chamber a little moister, resisting the temptation of opening the main box especially when it smells so good. It gives time for the mind to slow which allows room for ideas to percolate.

One notion that I’m wrestling with this holiday is the nature of the holiday itself. We are to remember and honor our war dead. A subject worthy of our reflection if more of us would actually take the opportunity, but, the notion that entered my mind yesterday is how many of our war dead are not with us because of the military industrial complex rather than some just cause? Surely precious few in my lifetime, I can think of none really. Nearly 50 years of wars, skirmishes, actions, intercessions justified by the manipulation of the public’s fears and implemented over the objections of mothers.

Thousands of our young men killed, for what? The bottom line of General Electric? Maybe Raytheon? Sperry? General Dynamics?

Yes, I remember and honor those who died, but I’ll be damned if I honor why because it feels like we the people are little more than my cut of pork experiencing the slow burn.

-Hoot