Yooper Deer Camp Burn's Supper

[MacMullen]

Yes, it was that time of the year again. Kilted deer hunters came out of the woods dressed in kilts and flannel shirts for an out-of-season Burn's Supper. We gathered at a log cabin in the middle of the woods, accessible only by four wheel drive. I kilted up and drove down from Marquette, bringing my homebrews (Doggie Dubh Wee Heavy and a few bottles of IPA) and a collection of Burn's poetry.

As I reminded you last year, in the middle of the woods at deer camp, the kilt is sometimes combined with some odd bits of clothing, including long underwear and flannel shirts, although this year, more of us had our stuff together than last year. And yes, it's too early for a Burn's Supper, and we probably should call it a St. Andrew's dinner, but it is what it is.

Here's one of the hosts preparing his reading:


The neighboring camp arrives playing the pipes and flying the colors:


Our friendly neighborhood piper man:


The bloody Haggis:


The parade of the Haggis:


His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright...


The toast to the Lassies:


To the Lassies!


My rendition of John Barleycorn:




Then let us toast John Barleycorn, each man a glass in hand...


The piper gets ready to blow one more tune:


A good time was had by all. So good, in fact, we're planning on getting together again for some summer festivities.