Speaker 1: Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves
Speaker 1: from coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living.
Speaker 1: I want you to stay a while as I share
Speaker 1: my experiences in life lessons. This Country Life is presented
Speaker 1: by Case Knives on Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you
Speaker 1: the best outdoor podcast the airwaves have to offer. All right, friends,
Speaker 1: grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I've got some
Speaker 1: stories to share. A first and last, A first and last,
Speaker 1: the beginning in the end. If there is a start
Speaker 1: to anything, there will most definitely always be an end.
Speaker 1: We can plan for the beginning, but the end is
Speaker 1: hardly ever known. From a first world hunt to a
Speaker 1: last deer hunt, we never know when they'll end, but
Speaker 1: we hope that the last one will be as memorable
Speaker 1: as the first. I've got what I believe are great
Speaker 1: examples of each and I'm going to share them with
Speaker 1: you now, starting with this story. There are four states
Speaker 1: in the US that refer to themselves as Commonwealth states, Kentucky, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania,
Speaker 1: and Virginia, the home of this country Life listener who
Speaker 1: shared the following narrative from forty four years ago. So
Speaker 1: when his words in my voice. Here we go. My
Speaker 1: name is Howard Howie Toler from Bluefield, Virginia. My story
Speaker 1: takes us back to nineteen eighty when I was ten
Speaker 1: and October was quickly approaching, and I was eagerly awaiting
Speaker 1: the time to come when my dad, my uncle, older
Speaker 1: cousins hitch up my dad's camper to the white jeep
Speaker 1: grand Wagoneer with wood grain panels and head out to
Speaker 1: Greenbrier County, West Virginia for my first squirrel hunting trip.
Speaker 1: I've been hearing the guys telling their hunting tales for
Speaker 1: as long as I could remember, and I absolutely could
Speaker 1: not wait to get out in the woods. I remember
Speaker 1: being on the top bunk. I thought I had won
Speaker 1: the toss and got the best sleeping position, but I
Speaker 1: was soon reminded that heat and the exhaust of the
Speaker 1: other guys following chilly with beans for dinner, rises and
Speaker 1: hangs out right on top with me, and being a camper,
Speaker 1: there were only a few valuable inches of airspace between
Speaker 1: my nose and the ceiling. I certainly didn't I get
Speaker 1: much sleep that night before opening. The morning excitement and
Speaker 1: the strange smells and lack of sounds except for the
Speaker 1: occasional acron bouncing off the roof of our camper kept
Speaker 1: me from getting much more than a few non consecutive
Speaker 1: hours of sleep. Bout the time I got good and asleep,
Speaker 1: the mallet on that old wind up alarm clock started
Speaker 1: banging away at its two bells. Someone, and I'm not
Speaker 1: sure who, smacked that obnoxious clock and bounced it off
Speaker 1: the wall, putting an abrupt end to all the racket.
Speaker 1: Now I shot up, I sung the covers off, and
Speaker 1: I swear it seemed like I had my boots on
Speaker 1: before it hit the floor. Everyone was squeezing past each
Speaker 1: other in the narrow camper, stepping over boxes and duffel bags,
Speaker 1: trying to get dressed, getting the day's snacks packed, and
Speaker 1: slurped down a cup of coffee. Except Dad. He just
Speaker 1: laid in his bunk, looking at his foot that was
Speaker 1: sticking out from under the cover. Two things to know
Speaker 1: about my dad. Everyone called him Fudd, and because of
Speaker 1: an unfortunate accident in the coal mine, he had only
Speaker 1: nine toes. Sometime during the night someone had tied a
Speaker 1: game tag who his toe next to the one that
Speaker 1: was missing, and rode on it. Fud gone to market
Speaker 1: be back soon. It was probably the the funniest thing
Speaker 1: I had witnessed in my ten years, and Dad was
Speaker 1: quick to say it's not many people to get to
Speaker 1: see their toe tag and live the tell A Mountain. Well.
Speaker 1: Soon after me and Dad were parked on the lot,
Speaker 1: me looking uphiling him downhill. Or at least that's what
Speaker 1: he said. I had no idea because it was still
Speaker 1: dark to say I was a little uneasy sitting in
Speaker 1: the pitch black in the woods was an understanding. I
Speaker 1: was sure every twig and falling up with some unseen
Speaker 1: toothy beasts planning to make breakfast out of me. The
Speaker 1: Dad kept scooting me down, saying if I get any closer,
Speaker 1: I had to get in his pocket. Soon enough that
Speaker 1: old son did what it does and started to rise
Speaker 1: above the ridge. I got my first looks at where
Speaker 1: I'd been sitting, and even though it was really no
Speaker 1: different than the woods I played in behind the house,
Speaker 1: I was certain that our four feet were the only
Speaker 1: ones to ever leave tracks in that portion of the wilderness.
Speaker 1: And even though that wagoneer that we had rode in
Speaker 1: on was within sight just to hundred yards away, it
Speaker 1: was shooting like now Dad pulled out a three inch
Speaker 1: number five four to ten shell from his pocket and
Speaker 1: told me to load up, but don't close the breech
Speaker 1: on my single shot. We sat there on that log
Speaker 1: for what seemed like days but was probably only an
Speaker 1: hour or so, and Dad reached over and took the
Speaker 1: shell from my gun and told me come on, close
Speaker 1: her up. And we stood up, and I snapped the
Speaker 1: four tenth closed, and I followed him over the ridge
Speaker 1: to another spot, where we repeated the process of finding
Speaker 1: the log and looking in the office of directions again,
Speaker 1: not so much as a chipmunk made an appearance. My
Speaker 1: dreams of shooting herds the squirrels from the tree off
Speaker 1: were quickly fading and bored them cold, and my butt
Speaker 1: getting numb on that damp log started setting in. By
Speaker 1: now it was close to time to head back to
Speaker 1: camp for lunch. I think my dad knew I was
Speaker 1: losing a little my excitement, so since we were leaving anyway,
Speaker 1: we found an old vial in the sausage can, stuck
Speaker 1: it on the branch and stepped off a few paces,
Speaker 1: added me a shell. Let me shoot my gun and
Speaker 1: kill that camp. I was glad to do it. We
Speaker 1: headed back to camp, and after lunch, Dad knew another
Speaker 1: place where he had found squirrel cuttings under some hickory trees.
Speaker 1: We parked ourselves on another log, looked in the opposite
Speaker 1: directions again, and I got my shell in my open breach.
Speaker 1: Four to ten and I'm ready. I was beginning to
Speaker 1: question repeating this same approach to squirrel hunting. Walk and sit,
Speaker 1: walk and sit, walk and sit. My thoughts were wondering
Speaker 1: where everything ten year old boys ponder on, namely Daisy duke,
Speaker 1: and watch that weird bug? And can't I squish it
Speaker 1: with a stick that I'm playing with. I pretty much
Speaker 1: giving up on looking for squirrels and basically just keeping
Speaker 1: Dad company while he hunted. Suddenly, a flash of movement
Speaker 1: and a tree caught my attention. I'm thinking, sesh, another
Speaker 1: stupid bird. Ain't gonna minute. That bird has a fuzzy tail,
Speaker 1: be Dad, it was a squirrel. Dad slowly glanced over
Speaker 1: his shoulder and began scanning to locate what I was seeing,
Speaker 1: and in short order he locked on Son, get ready,
Speaker 1: that's a big one at a snail's pace. He swung
Speaker 1: his legs over that log and it was now facing
Speaker 1: the same direction as me. We watched and waited while
Speaker 1: that squirrel worked its way closer and in de range
Speaker 1: and my shotgun. Finally it was close enough and stopped
Speaker 1: while it sat in the crotch of a limb on
Speaker 1: a tree, just nibbling at a hick or none. Dad said,
Speaker 1: go ahead and shoot, and for whatever reason, I stood
Speaker 1: up and got down on one knee like I was
Speaker 1: going to ask that squirrel to marry me. I rolled
Speaker 1: the hammer back, I settled the bead, and bang. I
Speaker 1: recovered from the shot, and my squirrel was still where
Speaker 1: it was when I shot, only now it was on
Speaker 1: the trunk, pointing upward toward the kenomy. Dad handed me
Speaker 1: another shell, but that squirrel lost his grip and fell
Speaker 1: with a thud walking up. I knew it was a
Speaker 1: whopper of a fox squirrel, but it wasn't dead. Dad
Speaker 1: got it by the tail and entered it suffering by
Speaker 1: swinging it and thumping its head on a tree. I
Speaker 1: was a little shocked by the violence of it all,
Speaker 1: and I remember feeling slightly guilty for what we just did. Now.
Speaker 1: Later on, my dad remarked that if there ever comes
Speaker 1: a time when you don't have a little remorse for
Speaker 1: taking a life. It's time to quit hunting. We got
Speaker 1: back to camp first, and I couldn't wait for the
Speaker 1: others to make it back so I could show off
Speaker 1: my price. Soon enough, everyone started straggling in. I had
Speaker 1: it all planned out. I'd wait for everyone to get back,
Speaker 1: and when they all pulled up today's squirrels and began
Speaker 1: the cleaning process, I'd throw my whopper down on top
Speaker 1: of the pile and soak in all the adulations in
Speaker 1: the backslaps. And just like I planned, my uncle cousins
Speaker 1: had a pile of gray squirrels and on wase a
Speaker 1: nice fox squirrel that they were proud of. Everyone was
Speaker 1: telling the stories of how their squirrels came to be
Speaker 1: in the game vest Now they just commenced to clean
Speaker 1: the squirrels when I walked up and dropped mine on
Speaker 1: top of the pile like an old West gambler throwing
Speaker 1: down a straight flush, and said, bam, boys, sure enough,
Speaker 1: the holy cows, the good gullies, and the way that
Speaker 1: goes started just like I planned, and I finally had
Speaker 1: a hunting tale to share. Now that old fox squirrel
Speaker 1: ended up in a pot with dumplings, and Dad always
Speaker 1: regretted not having that squirrel mounted for me, but I
Speaker 1: never really cared that he didn't. I had a memory
Speaker 1: and a tale to tale that has stayed with me
Speaker 1: for nearly forty five years. I had more adventures and
Speaker 1: taking bigger and better game, but that fox squirrel back
Speaker 1: in nineteen eighty is my favorite memory. Dad and my
Speaker 1: uncle are gone now, but they are with me every
Speaker 1: opening morning the squirrel season, and sometimes I'll chuckle out
Speaker 1: loud thinking about Dad's to tag and a note from
Speaker 1: the little piggy went to market. And according to Howie
Speaker 1: Toller of Bluefield, Virginia, that's just how that happened, now,
Speaker 1: how We included a picture of that day of him,
Speaker 1: a skinny ten year old boy, his dad, a pile
Speaker 1: of squirrels on the ground, a normal sized fox squirrel
Speaker 1: in his left hand, and trophy in his right that's
Speaker 1: as big as a small child. Thanks for sharing, Howie.
Speaker 1: If you're interested in seeing that picture, check out my Instagram.
Speaker 1: It was open the day of gun deer season in
Speaker 1: Arkansas over twenty years ago, and I was working uniform
Speaker 1: patrol as a lieutenant and the day shift supervisor. My
Speaker 1: sheriff was deer hunting, my major was deer hunting, and
Speaker 1: the Captain was deer hunting. They were all only a
Speaker 1: phone called away from working, but if nothing happened, they
Speaker 1: would only see the reports about what took place in
Speaker 1: their absence. So why was I working on opening Day? Well,
Speaker 1: I just answered my own question. All the admin folks
Speaker 1: were off. The standard operating procedure was anything that happened
Speaker 1: requiring additional personnel to be called out, like CID or
Speaker 1: narcotics or the coroner. My immediate supervisor would have to
Speaker 1: be notified, and then he would determine if it was
Speaker 1: to be passed on up the chain of command and
Speaker 1: so on. Also, I was leading by example and showing
Speaker 1: the deputies in my charge that I was willing to
Speaker 1: work so one of them could enjoy the on set
Speaker 1: of firearm season at their family's camp. It was an
Speaker 1: excellent example of leadership. It was also a testament of
Speaker 1: my misreading the schedule weeks before when that deputy had
Speaker 1: put in for his request to be off duty. Nice job,
Speaker 1: Stephen Vestel. Anyway, there I was working when I didn't
Speaker 1: have to, and on a day when I didn't have to,
Speaker 1: I wanted to be off hunting with my but it
Speaker 1: would turn out to be one of the best days
Speaker 1: at work ever, not the best, but ride up there
Speaker 1: close the day that stands out in the top ten
Speaker 1: percent of a thirty two year career. Of that in
Speaker 1: itself speaks volumes of how it affected one singular event
Speaker 1: out of literally thousands of interactions that to this day.
Speaker 1: When someone asks for a story, this one comes to mind,
Speaker 1: but I seldom tell it, not because I don't think
Speaker 1: they'll appreciate it, because I don't know if they'll appreciate
Speaker 1: it enough. Besides, most folks only want to hear the
Speaker 1: stories when someone winds up not being amongst the living
Speaker 1: before it's overwhet. Those are the ones that I wish
Speaker 1: I could forget, the ones that I don't talk about
Speaker 1: unless it's to someone who was there in a setting
Speaker 1: where folks that weren't can't hear us, and even then
Speaker 1: no details, usually just to pass and mention of remember
Speaker 1: such and such, Yep, that was a bad one, and
Speaker 1: then we go on we talk about something else, but
Speaker 1: I think about them often. Then there's this story, and
Speaker 1: it's one where someone passes away and you hear it
Speaker 1: in a few moments, and if you see it in
Speaker 1: your head the way I saw it that day, I
Speaker 1: think you'll agree. Why it's not one that I choose
Speaker 1: to share in the idle conversation deserves some reverence. I
Speaker 1: wrote this today. It happened when I got off work.
Speaker 1: I would eventually find out that all my assumptions in
Speaker 1: the text of the story proved to be true. So
Speaker 1: clear your mind and walk with you. Here we go.
Speaker 1: I didn't know the old man. I had never met
Speaker 1: him or even heard his name before when they told
Speaker 1: me who he was. But I'll never forget him. The
Speaker 1: old man's obituary, we'll read that he was in his
Speaker 1: eighties and that a wife, chill, and grandchildren survive him.
Speaker 1: It may mention that he was a veteran of World
Speaker 1: War Two and was retired after a long career in
Speaker 1: a mundane job somewhere that he worked to provide for
Speaker 1: his family for the majority of his adult life. It
Speaker 1: may even remark that the old man was an outdoorsman.
Speaker 1: But they'll never be able to convey on a pamphlet
Speaker 1: handed out by an emphatically somber suit wearing funeral director
Speaker 1: the way that old man went to Heaven. I know.
Speaker 1: I know because I was fortunate enough to be able
Speaker 1: to see what the old man saw. The call came
Speaker 1: out from dispatch to meet up with a reporting party
Speaker 1: at a deer camp in a rural portion of the county.
Speaker 1: The ten coach she relayed to me over the radio
Speaker 1: was one that meant there was an unattended death, Someone
Speaker 1: had died alone. I was in that district and answered
Speaker 1: the call this morning and met with one of the
Speaker 1: camp members who would lead me to the place with
Speaker 1: the the old man was. I got there, and I
Speaker 1: walked the short distance to where the old man had
Speaker 1: been hunting out behind the camp. The sky was clear
Speaker 1: and the sun was shining through the trees and the
Speaker 1: little oak flat where his ground blind was. The air
Speaker 1: was crisp and just cold enough to stay warm wearing
Speaker 1: a jacket if you were moving around, or if you
Speaker 1: were sitting a thick wool lined antiquated canvas coat like
Speaker 1: the old man had on. A short distance away was
Speaker 1: a lean up stand that the members of his camp
Speaker 1: had told me that they convinced him to abandon in
Speaker 1: his failing health. One of the members built the ground
Speaker 1: blind that faced this little flat where the cool breeze
Speaker 1: blew water oak leaves from their limbs. They rustled around
Speaker 1: like ripples in a pond, settling into a patchwork of
Speaker 1: sunlight that dotted the area where we stood. There was
Speaker 1: a small buck scrape in front of a blind, and
Speaker 1: a few small red oaks that showed signs of where
Speaker 1: a bucket recently rubbed his arms. Beside the blind was
Speaker 1: a browning rifle leaned against an oak tree. The rifle
Speaker 1: was old but immaculate. The bluing was worn, and there
Speaker 1: was a few scratches here and there, but one could
Speaker 1: see that this rifle belonged to a hunter. Maybe the
Speaker 1: old man carried a different rifle many years ago when
Speaker 1: he served our country. I don't know, but you can
Speaker 1: bet that if he did carry one, it was kept
Speaker 1: just as clean as this one. A short distance in
Speaker 1: front of the blind lay a buck that was dropped
Speaker 1: in his tracks by an old man using this old rifle.
Speaker 1: And laying beside the deer was the old man. The
Speaker 1: deer had been expertly feel dressed by someone who had
Speaker 1: done it more than once, and among the old man's
Speaker 1: few possessions inventory from his clothes was an old man's
Speaker 1: pocket knife stained with the blood from his latest and
Speaker 1: last deer, A single blade trapper sharp as a razor,
Speaker 1: the blade thin from many trips up and down a
Speaker 1: wet rock. I held it in my hand, and I
Speaker 1: saw the pocket war that had rented, the logo, almost unreadable,
Speaker 1: and the scales slick and polished from years of being
Speaker 1: carried in his pocket, but immediately recognizable as to what
Speaker 1: it was to anyone in my circle. I imagine the
Speaker 1: old man sitting at the campfire at night, telling stories
Speaker 1: or listening to him while he drank coffee and sharpened
Speaker 1: his knife. Now I feel like he saw heaven twice
Speaker 1: that day, the first time around nine fifteen in a
Speaker 1: little oak flat where his body rested when I first
Speaker 1: saw him. Nine point fifteen was the time recorded by
Speaker 1: the old man on the tag that hung from the
Speaker 1: bucks antlers. The second time he saw heaven was a
Speaker 1: short time afterward, when he walked the wooded trail home
Speaker 1: to be with his maker. What a beautiful day, in
Speaker 1: a beautiful way to go to Heaven. I think about
Speaker 1: that day now, over twenty years later, and while I
Speaker 1: know there are folks who I'm sure still mourn the
Speaker 1: loss of the old man. I feel privileged to have
Speaker 1: been there as a witness to his last act of
Speaker 1: being as close to creation as one could be while living,
Speaker 1: And then a moment later, beside the one that created it,
Speaker 1: he'd accomplished what he loved to do. He filled his
Speaker 1: final tag in a place he'd hunted all his life,
Speaker 1: the place he loved the most, And when he finished
Speaker 1: the field work, he put everything in his place and
Speaker 1: laid down to rest forever his heart for over eighty years,
Speaker 1: faithfully matching the pace of his life, that simply played out,
Speaker 1: And that was the end. That was the last. You know.
Speaker 1: I shared that story on a private hunting group form
Speaker 1: from back in the day, right after it happened, and
Speaker 1: when you know it, a friend of a friend of
Speaker 1: mine saw it and shared it with the old man's family.
Speaker 1: A week or so after his passing. They reached out
Speaker 1: to me and thanked me and told me they took
Speaker 1: great comfort in hearing how I had interpreted the old
Speaker 1: man's last morning. I'll never forget it, And as I
Speaker 1: sit here now, I can still hear the cool wind
Speaker 1: and the rustle of the leaves as they tumbled across
Speaker 1: the ground, and feel the peace that was around us
Speaker 1: all that November morning. Thank y'all so much for listening.
Speaker 1: It is my absolute pleasure to bring these stories to
Speaker 1: you each week and share them with you. Keep sharing
Speaker 1: and spreading the word Old Clayboa and I appreciate it
Speaker 1: very much. Until next week, this is Brent Reeve signing off.
Speaker 1: Y'all be careful, King,