An Introduction to How to Cook a Coyote
I’ve known Betty Fussell for almost 60 years. I first met her kitchen, which was resplendent with terra cotta tile and copper, because it belonged to the home of Betty’s daughter Tucky, my classmate, friend and neighbor.
The kitchen was so gorgeous and ahead of its time that the New York Times did a feature on it. I was only 12 and it was something I’ve coveted ever since. I also coveted Betty’s long, thick blond braid. When it became time in my middle age for helmet hair or some kind of labor- intensive ’do, I adopted the easy, flattering plait.
Many, many years later (did I say many?) Tucky reached out to me to meet up at her mother’s place, which she’d seen was just down the road from me in Ventura. I hadn’t seen Tucky for a very long time and we had a great time catching up. I also was able to invite her and her mother to come over to my nearby home. I wanted them to meet my husband and granddaughter Joy, who was visiting. Because Betty is an acclaimed food writer, I made all of my favorites: Swiss cheese pie, fried chicken, a pavlova and fresh fruits and veggies, which she seemed to appreciate.
Thus began a cycle of inviting Betty over and being invited back in return. We had her over for Mother’s Day one year. We went on a picnic at a Santa Barbara beach on another excursion. Betty and my granddaughter Joy seemed to really hit it off.
Joy was especially taken by Betty’s animal pelts. Betty had some coyote skins from her son Sam that fascinated Joy. I have a photo of Joy peeking at the coyote’s butt in horror and fascination, which tickled Betty endlessly.
Ultimately Betty found out that Joy is an artist. Even though Betty has lost most of her sight, she hasn’t lost her appreciation of colors and shapes. She commissioned a painting by Joy.
So one summer day, Joy and I headed out to paint my garden. Joy painted her rendition of the greenery, sunflowers and the pale blue house behind for Betty, and I painted my version of the bright yellow Van Gogh flowers and intense green squash leaves, which I gave to my stepmother on her 90th birthday We delivered Joy’s painting to Betty at a luncheon at her assisted living facility, where Joy received her first payment as an artist. During that lunch, I asked Betty what it was like to be in her 90s. How does one cope with the lack of a future? She told me about the coyote and its role as a portent of death. She and my daughter Lindsay had discussed various attitudes toward death during one of their long conversations.
While we Americans tend to fear and loathe death, others celebrate death as just another step in the process of life. This time she and I discussed her unique perspective as she nears life’s end. Betty told me that she was writing a book about the coyote and what it means to her now.
There was a book launching party and Joy painted another work for Betty. I was able to catch up with Tucky and some other friends from school. Joy and Lindsay were able to give Joy’s painting to an overwhelmed Betty, as the endless line of Betty’s fans received their signed books.
How to Cook a Coyote: The Joy of Old Age was written via transcription. Betty is almost totally blind, which she hates because she’s always been a visual person. She chats about the various indignities she’s facing as bits and pieces of her abilities fall away. Betty dances with death at her assisted living facility’s various staged productions— a dance that comes easily to a woman who’s been dancing and performing her entire life when she’s not writing.
Many years ago Betty wrote about the end of her marriage in My Kitchen Wars, which I reviewed unkindly for the newspaper that employed me. I was annoyed by the endless complaints about the ex-spouse.
Over time, Betty has regretted this book, among the many that she’s written. She loved her husband, even as she regretted the marriage. How to Cook a Coyote: The Joy of Old Age is bright and bubbling with humor. This is the story of a life well-lived. There is no regret now.
