IF I WERE sitting in a psychiatrist’s office today, and if he or she would ask me if I was in a good place, I wouldn’t waste a half-second in telling the good doctor that I am in the best of all places.

I am, as you read this, happily ensconced in my little white house on the prairie, located, as many of you know by now, in the greatest place in the world for 10 to 12 days each year: North Dakota.

I am in the 29th year of my love affair with the Peace Garden State. In my little slice of the state, I am in the very best part of it, the Prairie Coteau Region, also known, happily to me, as the “Duck Factory of North America.”

More ducks are born and raised in this prairie region of North Dakota than any other place in North America; millions and millions of them. I come here to hunt some of them and some of them each year wind up on a dinner table surrounded by duck hunters who love to eat them as much as I do.

Hunting for ducks in this part of the country requires hard labor. If convicted criminals were ordered to hike across harvested grain fields in neoprene waders, sometimes for a mile or more to reach a favored duck pond or if they were ordered to slog through cattails and muck-bottomed sloughs like I have for 28 years and will continue to do so at age 71 during this 29th year of my North Dakota treks, they would quickly ask to be sent to the electric chair instead.

It ain’t easy being a puddle-jumping duck hunter, but there is nothing I’d rather do every day I am in North Dakota. It is a part of my chosen way of life and of hunting.

Come this Friday, I will be joined by others of my ilk, most of them not quite as fanatical as I am. There will be four generations of Maines boys in the little white house, ranging in age from 13 to 83. Great-grandpa Hank, a nephew — yours truly — two of Hank’s sons, my son, one grandson and three great-grandsons. It promises to be a happy bunch. I’m guessing in the evenings when each day’s stories are being told it will be a noisy bunch as well.

One thing I know for sure, this will be a hungry bunch. I am ready for them. Each year, my gang of hunters, whoever they may be, measure up against the best in the world when it comes to putting away chow. My guys are on their own for breakfast and lunch, but at night it’s my time, after two or three hours of afternoon prep time, to serve up the day’s feast.

In all these years, no one yet has died from my cooking and under threat of capital punishment, no one has yet to even complain about it. If I do say so myself, many of the duck dinners I’ve prepared have been the highlight of my prairie day’s endeavors.

Some recipes I am commanded to prepare each year, most notably duck breast enchiladas, slow-cooker duck with everything you can think of thrown in the mix and German-style sauerkraut duck among them.

One new recipe this year will be a version of New Orleans style duck. Another new one will be a rendition of what I call Jambalaya a la Duck. A small batch last winter passed a trial run with flying colors.

Here’s my version of the jambalaya. Making enough to go around for normal people, this recipe will feed a dozen or maybe one or two more. The last guy to our table at duck camp will probably be scraping for the bottom of the barrel.

Ingredients include a 14 1⁄2-ounce can of diced tomatoes, undrained; a 6-ounce can of tomato paste; one 14 1⁄2-ounce can of chicken broth; a couple of green peppers and a couple of onions and some celery chopped up; minced garlic to taste, I like a bunch; a teaspoon or two of dried basil and the same for dried parsley flakes and oregano; a teaspoon of cayenne pepper; a dash or two or three of the hot sauce you prefer; and as many duck breasts as you think a gang your size will eat. Along with that you need a pound or two of smoked sausage chunked up in small pieces and a pound or more, your pleasure, of medium-sized shrimp.

Start by combining tomatoes, broth and paste in a 5- or 6-quart slow cooker. Add in the peppers, onion, celery, garlic and seasonings. Then, stir in the duck and sausage.

Cover and cook on low for four to six hours. Add in the shrimp and cook another 20 minutes or so. Cook up a big batch of rice, I prefer long grain or wild or a mix of the two, and serve the jambalaya over it.

The only groaning you’ll hear will be the painful ones from hungry hunters who overextend their bellies.

Then, the next morning, get back out on the prairie, watch a beautiful rose-colored dawn ring in the new day, wear yourself out yet again in the mud, muck and cattails, and consider yourself the luckiest person in the world.

That’s what I do.