Kill a groundhog and put it in a quiche

If you went to my brother’s house to eat, he might serve you groundhog quiche. He did that, you know. The title of this post is true through and through.

I was telling our visiting relations about my brother’s rodent treatment policy and my sister-in-law said, “‘Kill a groundhog and put it in a quiche’—it sounds like the lyrics to a country song. He should write a song about it.”

I promptly emailed my brother: “Write a country song that has this refrain: Kill a groundhog and put it in a quiche. Sing it, record it, and put it on youtube. Thanks.”

The next morning the lyrics were in my inbox. A week later, he set them to music.

round about the time i turned 27
i thought back to my childhood in almost heaven
and i could smell the fresh boiled kale
and taste the fine fat cherries filling up my pail

so i set out to return to my roots in the garden
and i dug my whole yard up just to put some chard in
and tomatoes, squash, peppers and zucchini
i believed that i could be a veggie garden genie

Chorus:
KILL A GROUNDHOG and put it in a quiche
GRIND UP GROUNDHOG and put it in a quiche
put-it-in-a put-it-in-a put-it-in-a put-it-in-a
put-it-in-a put-it-in-a put-it-in-a quiche

well the seeds were in the ground and air was warm
then the plants began to sprout, why, this looks like corn!
i had shown my country light in an urban darkness,
i was superman with green hands fighting concrete starkness

but then a force more sinister than i had ever known
dug her hole by my yard and called it her home
before my eyes she grew in size as the squash disappeared
i felt used by this rodent, it was totally weird

Chorus

1 cup flour, splash of oil makes the crust
spinach, eggs, onions and cheese make the mush
add the de-boned corpse and turn the oven on high
bake it a while and you have yourself a groundhog pie!

Chorus

The tune is rollicking and catchy. I walk around the house belting, “Grrrrind up grrrroundhog and put it in a quiche…” I have no plans to try it, but my children are smitten. When our dog killed a groundhog (in front of our Fresh Air Boy‘s wide eyes, no less), Sweetsie came running in to beg me to please, please, PLEASE cook it and put it in a quiche. I declined. I have my limits and cooked groundhog is one of them.

This same time, years previous: SOS! And there are four bushels of apples sitting on my porch as I type this. Tomorrow we will turn them all into sauce and I will die. Sunday I will be resurrected. (I hope.)