Blue Bastards, Whatsits and the Grandmas of the Grande Ronde

“No one around here eats half of anything, and I don’t want any leftovers,” Barb said, throwing another biscuit on my plate next to the half-eaten one I’d already been working on. 

“Besides, we need to bulk you up a bit. You’re practically skin and bones!” she continued, delivering another scoopful of sausage gravy. 

Barb has been catching steelhead in southeastern Washington state since before my parents were born. She’s old enough to be my grandma and my relationship with her has been built almost exclusively on a strong foundation of home cooking…

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