Quail. When I was little, we'd go up to Carryville (Florabama), tiny nothing town where my great grandfather lived in this tiny wood house near the river and his old sawmill (that house flooded 3 times that I can recall, like 8 feet underwater). No air conditioning. Fun to visit, play at the river and on the railroad tracks int he winter. Hell to visit in the summer. My great uncle lived there too, paralyzed. Leave time in the military when he was 20, dove into a river....fallen tree under the water, broke his neck. But he would drive into fields and shoot the shit out of quail. Fried quail and bacon for breakfast. So damn good.
