Growing up in the South

Growing up in the south was such an adventure. It seemed like I was living along side Huckleberry Finn.

I enjoyed our trips to see my grandparents who lived in the country. No matter what time of the year it was, there was always an adventure at hand. Living in the country has some advantages, but many ones I did not care for. The one that comes to mind is not having running water, so every time I got thirsty I had to go out to the well and run a bucket down and crank up a thirst quencher. I am here to tell you that was some of the best water I have ever tasted.

There was one thing my grandmother Ethel Lee could do very well, that was to cook. When it came to eating time that was one thing you did not want to miss. From the homemade biscuits and ham at breakfast to the table full of fresh vegetables and all kinds of meats at lunch.

When it came time to stock the dinner table with fresh meat, whether it was chicken, ham, or beef, it all came from the farm. To watch my grandmother prepare a chicken for dinner was not for the faint at heart.… She would catch one of those feathered critters and cut its head off with a very sharp double bladed axe. I never watched much past the head cutting thing as that was something I would rather leave to my imagination. All I needed to know was how good it smelled frying on the stove.

If you have never experienced having to use a true outhouse, well let me tell you, it is not something you will soon forget. I don’t know which is worse, having to enter that small shack in the winter or the middle of summer when the temperature seems like it is in the triple digits. What you might have heard about the old Sears catalog is true.

I used to like to go exploring. You never knew what you might get into. Like the time I tried to learn the fine art of milking a cow. I never quite got the hang of it, but I did manage to get a lot of milk on my shirt. I don’t guess many people have ever tasted fresh milk right from the source, with all the health cautions today. The only thing I can say, it really tasted good.

My grandmother would always seem to be making butter when I would come. I kind of like the task. Except all the churning you had to do before the butter was ready to remove from the milk. My favorite part was “kneading” the butter to remove the remaining milk and then mold it into some kind of recognizable shape. Some people would use a fancy mold, but it was more fun making your own shapes.

One summer while spending a few days at the farm, I learned what the locals called a pole cat, sometimes referred to as Mustela putorius. I think that is the fancy scientific name given to this rather unloved critter. What I most remember about my first encounter with one was the smell… They are supposed to have a sent gland under their tails that if alarmed, will give off something you only wish to encounter once per lifetime.

Coon Hunting

I first met Otis while working one summer at a company that specialized in analyzing dirt, if you can imagine that. That’s where I first learned that there is a special science for studying dirt. Anyway, Otis and I soon became good friends and he kept me laughing with his stories of coon hunting. This is one sport that I have to say, I have never done before.

One day, Otis asked me if I wanted to join him and a few friends for a night of coon hunting. We agreed to meet at his house at 7:00 one summer evening. I had only my experiences of deer and rabbit hunting to draw on as what I might expect that evening.

I arrived at 7:00 PM sharp and as I pulled up his driveway, I could hear the sounds of his six hunting dogs baying in the evening air. It was an exciting mix of sounds and brought up thoughts of what I might experience that night. I don’t know who was more excited, the dogs or me.

We loaded up the dogs in the truck and headed out for the swampy area on the edge of his property. Being a newbie to this pastime, I had lots of questions, and tried to get them answered in the first 5 minutes. I am sure this probably annoyed Otis, but he was patient with my inexperience and did his best to make me an expert in the art of coon hunting that evening.

Now you never know what you might encounter while out hunting in the swamp, so I learned you have to be prepared for anything. One example was when we were walking along in knee high grass, when Otis told me to stop in my tracts. I excitedly asked what was happening. He replied, do you smell that! to that I said No ! What is it? It is a rattlesnake. Now that got my attention. Not knowing where to step next, I just froze where my feet were planted. Otis explained that he could “smell them”, said they smell like cucumbers. I have to take his word for that, since all I could smell was the wet grass under my trembling feet. Otis said he always carried a walking stick with him. He said it served many purposes, other than poking snakes. For instance, knocking down spider webs and checking to see if there was quicksand under his next step in the swamp.

Otis began using his stick to poke around in the wet grass, and then suddenly stopped. He reached in his belt and pulled out his 22 cal Ruger pistol. With a quick aim, fired one single shot. Gotcha! He yelled, and reached down and picked up a nice “6 footer”. I have to admit, this was the first time I had come this close to a rattle snake in the wild. Otis called me over and began pointing our snakes finer qualities, like the inch plus fangs and the shape of its head. He said rattle snakes are known as pit vipers. I think this is due somewhat to the shallow grove between its eyes. He next turned the snake over to its other end and shinned the lamp on the tail. He started counting the rattles at the end of the tail. He said you can tell the age of the snake by the number of rattles it had. He commenced to cut off the rattle tail and gave it to me.

Now that that scare was over, be again walking trough the swamp in search of the illusive raccoon. Now let me tell you something about coons. They usually don’t stay on the ground when they sense trouble. In this case, a pack of 8 hungry coon hounds. We had walked for what seemed 5 miles, all along listening to the baying of the hounds. Suddenly, Otis said, whoa! “Hear that? No Otis, what am I listening to? “They have one in a tree. I guess you could tell, because the sound of the dogs seemed to be coming from the same place.

We followed the sounds and came to one of the biggest sweet gum trees in the swamp. The dogs were jumping on the tree, as to say He’s up there, you guys get him. We looked around for a few minutes with our lights, shinning the beams from limb to limb. There he was, perched up on probably the highest limb in the tree. He was so far up, the tree he looked like a baseball in far right field. It seemed that when the lights hit the coon, his eyes glowed, like some scary swamp creature.

Otis turned to me and said, OK this one is yours, and instructed me to take my pistol and shoot him. Now I had to admit, I really admired my friend Otis. So much in fact that I had to go down to Oshman's sporting goods and buy my own 22 caliber Ruger. I learned the hard way about cleaning the Ruger. It is a great little pistol, but you better have the instruction book with you when you disassemble it for cleaning. I love it, but in 30 plus years of owning one, I still have trouble putting it back together.

I tried as best as I could to steady my arm and took aim at the distant spot up 50 feet in the air. Blam! Blam ! I fired twice. Great Shot boy! I think you got him. I really could not tell, as the small spot was still where I aimed. Otis said we now have a small problem, the coon is stuck up on the limb and someone is going to have to climb up after him. He was looking over at me while he was saying this…. No way I yelled. It’s the rules Otis yelled back. The one, who shoots him, is the one who gets him. We continued to argue about the coon, when all of a sudden, we heard over the baying of the hounds, Thud, Thump! The coon somehow came loose from the limb he was on and fell to the ground.

Now just imagine what that picture was…One dead coon falling in among 8 crazed hounds. If he was not dead after being shot and falling 50 feet to the swamp floor, the dogs would finish the job. What a sight.

Again, being the first time I had been on one of these hunts, I am a true novice as to the attributes of the raccoon and possums. All I can remember from my up bringing was that I never wanted to go to lunch on Sunday at my Cousin Katharine’s house. Mom always told me she cooked up a meal of Possum and sweet potatoes. That always scared me. Now don’t get me wrong, I am sure that dish may be a tasty meal, but I hope I don’t have to experience it.

We put the swamp creature in a gunny sack and began looking for our next conquest. It was not long before the dogs picked up another tail, and began running. Otis yelled to follow them, so we began to run after them.

If you have never run full bore in the middle of the night, with only a head lamp showing the way through a swamp, well you have an experience waiting you. Here is the picture; The 4 of us running in single file through the swamp, Otis was leading the chase, when patently he came upon a barb wire fence, yelling to Lawrence behind him, who yelled to Chuck behind him. Now reason would say, Chuck was supposed to yell to me, except he forgot. Wham! you guessed it. I hit the barb wire fence at terminal velocity. I picked myself up, my new blue jeans looked like they had taken a trip through the pulp wood grinder. I managed to yell out I am OK!! Keep going.