Ire Gene Grovner stood behind his house on a recent morning, between chicken pens on one side and rows of winter collard greens on the other, holding a knife and skinning a raccoon splayed across a wood post.
“The meat is good roasted,” Grovner said. He pointed to the collards, a burst of green in the winter cold, and the chickens, with their eggs. “If you ain’t lazy, you can live good here,” he said, referring to Sapelo Island off the coast of southern Georgia.
