Speaker 1: Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves
Speaker 1: from coon hunting to trotlining 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 from the store More Studio on Meat
Speaker 1: Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast that
Speaker 1: airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair
Speaker 1: or drop that tailgate. I've got some stories to share,
Speaker 1: Cup Scouts and Chicken farmers. This week, I'm telling you
Speaker 1: a couple of stories from the archives of Buffoonry. I
Speaker 1: was a witness to the first one and just an
Speaker 1: eagerly interested listener to the second. They have stories. These
Speaker 1: two stories have nothing to do with each other, just
Speaker 1: a couple of yarns that live in my roller decks.
Speaker 1: Some memories. I'm gonna share them with you, and I'm
Speaker 1: not going to try to make you cry. This week,
Speaker 1: just forget about the world for a few minutes, relax
Speaker 1: and have a good time. Join me at the fire. Well,
Speaker 1: let's get started. We had our first cub Scout overnight
Speaker 1: camping trip in October of two thousand and four. My
Speaker 1: son Hunter and his two friends were very excited to
Speaker 1: be there, as was I. Three six year olds camping
Speaker 1: out in the wilds of Arkansas's boy Scout camping known
Speaker 1: as Camp DeSoto. We arrived on Friday evening and found
Speaker 1: our assigned camping spot. Setting up our camp, we had
Speaker 1: hours in order and no time at all as we
Speaker 1: waited for time to go to bed. Parents talked around
Speaker 1: the campfire and got more acquainted with each other while
Speaker 1: the three cup scouts got more acquainted with their new
Speaker 1: found surroundings. Each armed with a flashlight, they set off
Speaker 1: to explore the edge of our campsite, expecting danger with
Speaker 1: every turn our fairly six year old scouts where they
Speaker 1: searched for would be robbers until it was time for
Speaker 1: lights out. The next morning, we were up at daylight
Speaker 1: cooking a large breakfast over our campfire to fuel the
Speaker 1: coming events of the day. Our program included hiking, fishing
Speaker 1: with three legged rays, a tug of war, kickball, golf, canoeing,
Speaker 1: rock climbing, and the ever popular archery and BB gun shooting.
Speaker 1: The last two events excited our young scouts to the
Speaker 1: point of frenzy. The mere mention of the words archery,
Speaker 1: bow and era or BB gun and the three little
Speaker 1: outdoorsmen to be would shake with anticipation, their voices rising
Speaker 1: a couple of octors with each passing moment as they
Speaker 1: discussed the prowess that each would display with a bow
Speaker 1: and gun. After breakfast, we headed up to the main
Speaker 1: pavilion to meet, where the camp director would brief us
Speaker 1: all on the day's activities. He said we should each
Speaker 1: start in different events so not to crowd up the
Speaker 1: archery and BB gun range, which would no doubt be
Speaker 1: the most popular activity amongst two hundred six year old
Speaker 1: boys we found ourselves grouped with for the weekend. Getting
Speaker 1: the boys to start out at golf the opposite direction
Speaker 1: from the bow and gun range was akin to juggling scorpions. Finally,
Speaker 1: we managed to get them to realize that they would
Speaker 1: have to wait to shoot the bows and arrows and
Speaker 1: the BB guns, so they might as well be doing
Speaker 1: something else while they did. They had to complete, or
Speaker 1: at least attempt, each designated activity to receive the beads
Speaker 1: that would adorn their uniforms signifying their completion of the event.
Speaker 1: They quickly lost track of times. We made our way
Speaker 1: from station to station, some being a pretty good distance
Speaker 1: from each other, with the attention span of six year
Speaker 1: old boys being fractured, to say the least. We had
Speaker 1: completed every event and it was time for the be
Speaker 1: begun and archery range, and they didn't have a clue
Speaker 1: that it was coming. As we made our way along
Speaker 1: the mapped out route, our little scouts had no idea
Speaker 1: that they were going to finish up the day with
Speaker 1: what they had longed to do since breakfast. Eventually, one
Speaker 1: of them spotted a kid with a bow and the
Speaker 1: stampede began. They shot the b beguns first. It was
Speaker 1: fun and it kept them occupied and entertained as they
Speaker 1: plinked away at the targets. But when they finished and
Speaker 1: as a group then made the short, orderly walk entering
Speaker 1: the archery range, the level of unbridled enthusiasm leaked out
Speaker 1: of all their faces. Eight scouts at a time would
Speaker 1: shoot five arrows each after a safety briefing an instruction
Speaker 1: from the range master. Eight scouts were just finishing their
Speaker 1: turn when we arrived and got in line. Parents assisted
Speaker 1: their kids as well. It was one of the safer
Speaker 1: environments I have ever had the pleasure to be in,
Speaker 1: especially when more than one adolescent had been purposely issued
Speaker 1: individual implements of death. But the kids listened well and
Speaker 1: each was eager to take their time and hit the
Speaker 1: intended target. The range was approximately fifteen yards long by
Speaker 1: fifteen yards wide and had a large paper target at
Speaker 1: each end, with a life sized molded foam standing bear
Speaker 1: target in the middle. Eight kids all in line, forty arrows,
Speaker 1: three targets, and only one of which looked like a bear.
Speaker 1: Our kids anxiously waited for their respective turn to come.
Speaker 1: They hopped up and down, straining to see the targets, bows, arrows,
Speaker 1: and everything else that went with it. Man, this is
Speaker 1: so cool, I heard Hunter say. They were having a
Speaker 1: great time. Heck so was I. I was reliving some
Speaker 1: of my first scouting adventures all over again, and living
Speaker 1: this one vicariously through my new little scout Fathers and
Speaker 1: mothers with their kids, each with a huge smile on
Speaker 1: their face. How could you create a more wholesome atmosphere?
Speaker 1: What could happen that would dampen or bring anything other
Speaker 1: than a g rating to this event? Enter my son Hunter,
Speaker 1: fresh from his last outdoor adventure, the fishing trip that
Speaker 1: causes him to look both ways before attempting number one
Speaker 1: to this day. For those that are new to this
Speaker 1: weekly struggle, I'm going to have to give you a
Speaker 1: little a brief on a story I told way back
Speaker 1: on on episode one for one Kids and the Outdoors
Speaker 1: Part two for the newbies, get a load of this
Speaker 1: one earlier that same year, the hunter and I went fishing.
Speaker 1: The result of being hot and drinking water by the
Speaker 1: bucket full ultimately called for him to get some relief,
Speaker 1: and doing so, my fishing buddy exposed himself to an
Speaker 1: expanse of wilderness with the only witness being me and
Speaker 1: an ill tempered red wash that buzzed by at that
Speaker 1: exact moment. Now, what happened next was beyond my comprehension
Speaker 1: of how it played out and why it happened, and
Speaker 1: it still causes me to cover up and turn away
Speaker 1: while wincing with an expression of overwhelming sympathy. It's bad
Speaker 1: to get stung by a huge red wash. It's beyond
Speaker 1: brutal that gets stung while in the act of Numero uno,
Speaker 1: especially where he got stung. Yeah, I was. Anyway, that story,
Speaker 1: if you haven't listened already, is well worth going back
Speaker 1: and hearing it for yourself. Spoiler alert, to the surprise
Speaker 1: of every male listener that hasn't heard it yet and
Speaker 1: has put together the subtle clues I'm giving y'all of
Speaker 1: where it happened and what happened. He lived, Ah, I'm
Speaker 1: not sure how, but he did anyway, fast forward a
Speaker 1: month or so, and that calamity is well in his past,
Speaker 1: but maybe not so far out of his mind. Hunter
Speaker 1: and his group step up to receive their instruction and
Speaker 1: safety breathing at the archery range. After the short devotional
Speaker 1: from the instructor, whose voice nervously trembled somewhat when he spoke,
Speaker 1: and understandably so. For six hours, he just stood there
Speaker 1: and handed first grader's weapons. He turned and he sought
Speaker 1: shelter in a small closet as the children began assaulting
Speaker 1: the targets with their metal tipped missiles. Now I was
Speaker 1: so proud of Hunter. He had listened so intently and
Speaker 1: was trying to reproduce every aspect of the instructor's directions
Speaker 1: as he launched arrows toward his target. The first two
Speaker 1: were short, both falling harmless and silent to the ground
Speaker 1: like fall leaves in a cool breeze, but he was
Speaker 1: determined to take advantage of this opportunity to shoot a
Speaker 1: bow for the first time, and he gritted his jaw
Speaker 1: and he narrowed his gaze. The artificial brewin was posed,
Speaker 1: standing on his back legs in a threatening snarl on
Speaker 1: his face, showing his teeth in an aggressive manner. Pull
Speaker 1: it back farther and stick that bear before he gets us,
Speaker 1: I told him. And with what my turkey hunting mentor
Speaker 1: mister Billy Brant described as starvation aim, hunter knocked his
Speaker 1: third arrow. He drew back string and let the arrow
Speaker 1: and bowt settle. As he aimed, his breathing was controlled,
Speaker 1: and he released the arrow with the focus of a
Speaker 1: starving archer hunting for his supper. The arrow raced for
Speaker 1: its target, the yellow fletch and spinning the arrow in
Speaker 1: flight resembled a tracer around as it flew from Hunter's fingers.
Speaker 1: With a solid thud, the arrow found its mark. The
Speaker 1: shot placement was true to his aim, dead solid perfect,
Speaker 1: right in the center of where the bear's peeing parts
Speaker 1: would be had it been a real bear. As other
Speaker 1: attempts at hitting the bear sailed all over creation. A
Speaker 1: small snicker went through the crowd when Hunter's arrow landed.
Speaker 1: Hunter knocked another arrow. Aim a little higher, I whispered,
Speaker 1: I got it, Dad, was his determined reply. The era
Speaker 1: hissed as an arch along its flight path, coming to
Speaker 1: rest less than an inch from the one before. Now,
Speaker 1: small pockets of laughter emanated from the archery range as
Speaker 1: all eyes fell upon my son. All seven of the
Speaker 1: other scouts had flung, in rapid succession, all five of
Speaker 1: their arrows. The area between the boys and targets was
Speaker 1: littered with them, Some protruded from the paper targets. A
Speaker 1: few were stuck in the bear, but only two of
Speaker 1: which that would require a veterinarian urologist to remove. Now
Speaker 1: there was only one archer left, and he stood at
Speaker 1: the center of the five, directly in front of me.
Speaker 1: Those two arrows poking from the nether regions of that bear,
Speaker 1: directly at the culprit, who was seemilarly shooting them there
Speaker 1: on purpose. Hunter never took his eyes off his target.
Speaker 1: It was as if the bear were staring at hunting,
Speaker 1: like they were old enemies who were meeting for one
Speaker 1: final showdown where only one would walk away. If a
Speaker 1: bear could walk away after that, aim a little higher, Son,
Speaker 1: I said again, this time pleading for this to end
Speaker 1: so I could get those airs removed and get him
Speaker 1: in tow and get gone. He didn't answer. I don't
Speaker 1: think he heard me. I don't think he was aware
Speaker 1: of anything other than the bear that stood aggressively in
Speaker 1: front of him, with two ARBs poking out of the
Speaker 1: last place you'd want to poke a bear or be
Speaker 1: poked yourself. The snicker lapsed in the shared silent anticipation
Speaker 1: as Hunter pulled the air from his quiver with slow,
Speaker 1: deliberate and determination, all the while keeping a steely gaze
Speaker 1: at that bear. With all eyes and attention from parents, scouts,
Speaker 1: and volunteers directed toward my middle born child, he knocked
Speaker 1: and pulled the full draw with one fluid motion, his
Speaker 1: last remaining arrow that would be the final shot of
Speaker 1: the day, With all the strength and determination of six
Speaker 1: year old can muster, he paused and released the arrow
Speaker 1: wha that era drove home less than her hands width
Speaker 1: from the previous two. Immediately, Hunter turned to me with
Speaker 1: a huge smile on his face. He was proud of
Speaker 1: the shots he had made, and as I hugged him
Speaker 1: and told him that he had gotten the bear, he
Speaker 1: started giggling. Did you mean to shoot him in the privates,
Speaker 1: I asked, And to me, with the crowd listening intently,
Speaker 1: Hunter said, you said, get him before he gets us, right,
Speaker 1: I said, yeah, that's what I said. He said, Well,
Speaker 1: I figured that if a Waltz could sting me there
Speaker 1: and get me to holler and forget about fishing, then
Speaker 1: the air and the privates can make that bear forget
Speaker 1: about heating us. The crowd word with laughter. We had
Speaker 1: a good time. We made a memory, and that's just
Speaker 1: how that happened. My dad worked as a serviceman in
Speaker 1: the chicken farming industry for nearly thirty years. He worked
Speaker 1: for several companies, each eventually being bought out by large ones,
Speaker 1: until the granddaddy of them all Ties and Foods, ending
Speaker 1: up his employer back in the late eighties. Serviceman is
Speaker 1: someone who has assigned different farms to looked after, and
Speaker 1: the local farmers grow chickens on contract with the company
Speaker 1: who furnishes the feed and the chickens. The farmer is
Speaker 1: responsible for building the chicken houses to meet with company specifications,
Speaker 1: and once they are built, it is the serviceman's responsibility
Speaker 1: to see that the chickens are grown according to the
Speaker 1: company's regulations and procedures. Irvistmen are responsible for ordering the
Speaker 1: tons of feed needed to keep the future chicken nuggets
Speaker 1: fat and healthy. They must ensure the houses are kept
Speaker 1: in order, regulate any medication if it's needed to deter sickness,
Speaker 1: and basically work with the farmer on the company's behalf
Speaker 1: to provide a profit for both the company and the farmer. Now,
Speaker 1: my dad was more concerned with the farmer getting them
Speaker 1: the most for his efforts than the company, But to
Speaker 1: keep his job, he sometimes had to counsel or encourage
Speaker 1: certain farmers to try a little harder to maintain their proficiency,
Speaker 1: and once the chickens were grown for a period of time,
Speaker 1: the company would send crews under contract to catch the
Speaker 1: chickens and coops to be loaded onto trucks and transported
Speaker 1: to processing plants and eventually to your menu. For those
Speaker 1: of you unfamiliar with the chicken business, you've probably wondered,
Speaker 1: what's that got to do with this story? Well, absolutely nothing,
Speaker 1: but it never hurts to learn something new. But one
Speaker 1: of these farmers, an older man in his sixties at
Speaker 1: the time, had to pinch it and a reputation as
Speaker 1: being particularly hateful and not very easy to get along with.
Speaker 1: He treated his servicemen bad. He screamed and cussed at
Speaker 1: the feed truck drivers, and generally gave everyone associated with
Speaker 1: the company fits if they had to deal with him
Speaker 1: face to face or on the phone. But that's the
Speaker 1: only reason they tolerated this old man was because he
Speaker 1: was one of the top producers in the area that
Speaker 1: could grow a chicken in the back pocket of his overalls.
Speaker 1: And then one day a new feed truck driver was
Speaker 1: hired and sent to this gentleman's farm to deliver feed
Speaker 1: on his very first day of work. To give you
Speaker 1: a better picture of this situation, you got to realize
Speaker 1: that feed trucks are eighteen wheeled semi trucks. They are
Speaker 1: not the most ad conveyances and require practice and skilled
Speaker 1: the maneuver in the best of circumstances, much less in
Speaker 1: tight places and their roads normally found on local farms.
Speaker 1: The new guy pulls into the cranky old farmer's place,
Speaker 1: and in the process of backing and positioning his trailer
Speaker 1: to unload the feed, he gets his rig stuck and
Speaker 1: ruts up the farmer's new gravel drive something awful. The
Speaker 1: old farmer throws a terrible fit and cusses the man unmercifully.
Speaker 1: After several hours and a couple of big records, the
Speaker 1: truck is free from the mud and the feed is unloaded.
Speaker 1: The driver heads back to the mill, parks his truck,
Speaker 1: reports to his supervisor about what happened, and quits his
Speaker 1: job he'd only just started. The company sends out a
Speaker 1: serviceman to talk to the old farmer. And this guy
Speaker 1: is a good friend of mine, good friend of my father's,
Speaker 1: and my day actually trained him. We're gonna call him Jack,
Speaker 1: because Jack was his name. But he arrived and as
Speaker 1: gentle as possible, he tried to calm the old man down.
Speaker 1: He tells him that the company had just hired this fella,
Speaker 1: and because of his actions that day, that man had
Speaker 1: quit his job. They talked for several minutes, with Jack
Speaker 1: saying in the calmest and most respectful tone ever, that
Speaker 1: he just can't keep treating these people the way he
Speaker 1: has been. The old man starts to calm down, Jack
Speaker 1: can see that he's thinking about what he's done, realizing
Speaker 1: the consequences of his overreaction. Eventually calmly says, I didn't
Speaker 1: mean for that fellaw to quit his job. I was
Speaker 1: just mad because now I got to fix this gravel
Speaker 1: road again. That worked so hard on to get it
Speaker 1: just right. I'll help you and we'll fix it together.
Speaker 1: Jack told him that's all right, son, I'd rather do
Speaker 1: it myself. You know, I really ain't a bad fellow.
Speaker 1: But back in nineteen forty one, I was working for
Speaker 1: John Deere Tractor and making forty dollars a week. Now,
Speaker 1: I know that don't sound like much, but back in
Speaker 1: them days, that was a heck of a wage. Then
Speaker 1: Japan bombed Pearl Harbor and I got drafted, and for
Speaker 1: the next five years I wound up toting a fifty
Speaker 1: pound pack from the Belgium border to the Baltic Seas
Speaker 1: for forty dollars a month. And I'm still mad about it.
Speaker 1: It's kind of funny when you think about it now,
Speaker 1: but there's a lot of truth in what he said.
Speaker 1: It's because of the sacrifices of this greatest generation, just
Speaker 1: like this grumpy old chicken farmer and every ration since,
Speaker 1: who have answered the call and stood up to defend
Speaker 1: our way of life that we all owe an immeasurable
Speaker 1: debt of gratitude and at the very least a modicum
Speaker 1: amount of patience. Cooler heads usually prevail, and respectful conversation
Speaker 1: will always win in the end. In two days we
Speaker 1: will celebrate our two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of freedom
Speaker 1: and independence. Do it safely, with reverence for the past,
Speaker 1: and faith in our future. Until next week. This is
Speaker 1: Brent Reeves signing off. Y'all be careful