In The Deer Pasture, Rick Bass writes about a family tradition: each year, for more than fifty years, three generations of men in the Bass family have leased the same tract of land in the Texas hill country. More than a place to stalk the white-tail, this is a place to get together, chase armadillos, swap campfire stories, listen to quail, make biscuits, and enjoy the antics of ringtails. It's the sort of place where a man is only as good as his dog, where memories last longer, where the hunter's moon is the perfect light for chasing raccoons. Most important, it is a place to recharge the spirit and renew family ties.