Jack of Harts

My great grandfather started off with a pair of twins who decided it was their job to grow up just like dear old dad and his brother. Family tradition has it that they fought each other even before they were born. And once they realized they could rumble with the people out there, “Those Dang Carter Twins” went into that with smiles on their faces. They terrorized every playground in Northern Minnesota until one very rare day. A hog had escaped from a farm and went feral. It attacked a playground full of kids and the twins played tag with it until the adults showed up to suitably deal with the threat. That was the day those genuine troublemakers decided they wanted to hunt dangerous animals when they grew up. Or earlier as it happened.

My family and all the others that came to Northern Minnesota tamed it to be our kind of wilderness. We drove the predators who knew no fear away, leaving behind the docile and those that tasted good after a year of feasting on the wilderness we kept alive through careful conservation. Never forget that the Minnesota State Seal incorporates a farmer with a plow and a gun. City folk see our great lakes and our great forests and think our lands are wild. They have no idea how many generations we have spent tending the land to make certain it has just the right amount of balance to support all the animals and all the crops we rely on to live our lives. I grew up in that land, showing rich city folk the “wild lands” on the edges of civilization.