I pretty much grew up that way too, Sour. Most of what we ate came from the fields, woods, lakes and garden. I can so clearly remember Dad deciding he wanted "Bugs Bunny Pie" and my sister Linda and I just cringing with dread. Oh, the pie was delicious, but it meant that Linda and I had to go out to the garden, pull away the snow, then the straw to find the carrot row. Then we had to dig those little boogers out of there. We each had little garden trowels to help dig, but even that ain't much fun when it's 10 degrees and the winds were "sweeping down the plain". After we had enough carrots and our fingers were totally frozen, we'd replace the clumps of dirt, then pile the straw back on and put the marker back. It was NOT fun.
Dad used to guide pheasant hunters to help with a little cash flow and Ma was working as the head bartender at the Holiday Inn in Sioux Falls, long before she ended up being a 4'11' bouncer in a rougher bar. We had some pretty well known folks stopping by the house for a bite to eat and a cup of hot coffee, but we were too little then to make a big deal out of it. I do remember 2 of them - Robert Stack and CW MacCall, who we just called Bill. Fun guys - Mr. Stack always had quarters hidden away and they'd appear after a lot of hoopla and flourishes of badly done magic. Didn't take much to get Mr. MacCall to grab my uncle's old guitar, tune it up, and give a ditty or two. I know there were more, but I honestly just don't remember who they were and the lore has been lost through the years. What was never lost was how good that pheasant tasted, and how Ma would cook a rabbit or two right along with it. Linda wouldn't touch the rabbit, even though it was in the same pot - she said it tasted "fuzzy".