Right, left, it makes no difference to me, I can go for days without shaving. Then I will get all scrubbed up and go split wood. I’m not afraid of the dark, being awake at 1 in the morning, or taking a nap at ten am. In my coffee with an unmeasured dollop goes maple syrup or honey, depending on my mood. My favorite color, is the sky over a wheat field in Canada in late October, and there has to be at least two skeins of honkers flying, almost, in the same direction. Don’t seem to have preference for which quarter the wind is blowing out of, like, east the least, or west the best, but I do like a breezy day over still air. Now say a blue sky and 82 degrees with no humidity is a number ten kind of day. The kinda day you not only see bluebirds, you hear them as well. Then a bottom of the list minus one day, would be a thirty mile per hour wind with sleet and ice crystals stinging my face so I can’t see. Well it’s been my experience that neither one of those days are too good for fishing or duck hunting. The apples aren’t ripe on the trees and I can’t deer hunt. I like the fives in a weather day and I get more 4’s, 5’s and 6’s in life anyhow. I’m a regular guy, who likes regular weather. So not too many mosquitoes or any wood ticks, and not to hot or cold with respect to my porridge, coffee or weather. I take my corners tight canoeing down a river. Nothing like a cliff side hike to amp up your heart beat. Try a hard boiled egg without fresh ground black pepper. My daughters face on the first day I took her to the school bus. That aint a neutral feeling, that’s a ninety mile per hour emotion, all while I was standing shakingly still. Buck fever duck fever, trout trauma or twitter pated it’s me brothers and sisters. Coffee jitters, campfire calm. Falling star awe struck, or aura borealis’s soothing pulse in the sky and through me is a shot in the night or the ebb and flow of myself. One sky, two different attitudes. Some nights its nothing but a candle’s flickering, and the next morning the sun is bursting across miles of open blue water. Maple wood for smoking those fresh herring, Ash for toasting my feet, and a piece of hickory for a cribbage board that gets pegged and tongue oiled in the same afternoon. Oak leaf on the flag, or maple leaf floating to the ground? Crab apple blossom in spring, or the crabby apple that lives at the dead end road, with the best brookie fishing for twenty miles and he won’t let ya fish it. Rose hip wine, cranberry chutney, pecan pie or prime rib. Country style crock pot ribs, bar-be -cued ribs or spare ribs. I may be a meat on the bone guy if you throw in t-bones or a pork shoulder roast with some sausage gravy. Bones, good for the dog, bad in my fillets, bones, sore when I work mine too hard, and I have never been lucky with seven come eleven dry bones. Since I’m Irish and I can only speak for me, I’m all things liquid. Don’t much matter if ya used hops, barley, malt, double malt, rye, or……. or potatoes, you get the bigger fish, I’ll toast you and me with either hand. the trout whisperer justnorth.com