Last December I found myself worrying about all the things I'd been putting off all deer season. There were the leaves on the lawn, now 2 inches thick and the consistency of Red Man Chewing Tobacco. Bills that had begun arriving in specially colored envelopes with notices reading, "Your lack of response to our repeated inquiries in this matter has left us no choice but toÂ¿Â¿Â¿." I was just about to give in to my guilty conscience when the phone rang. It was Link, my sometime fishing partner, a self-employed carpenter who, unlike most of mankind, has never let the necessity of making a living interfere with the luxury of living itself.