Getting older is just a part of life and you don't really appreciate the old and what they have to say until you get older. Sometimes we are to late in our appreciation for the old as some have passed on. There are some great aunts and uncles, grandparents, and older friends I would love to go back and sit down and have a cup of coffee with and just sit back and listen to their stories. It says in the bible we are to take care of the elderly because they took care of us when we were younger when we needed it.
Senior citizens that retain their sanity in their older years are unusual because of the outbreak of Alzheimer's. It is a terrible disease that reverts adults back into a child. Some become to tough to handle for their children to care for and some are moved on their final vacation spot.
I remember visiting a vacation spot for the elderly for the first time with my Aunt Jan and Uncle Ricky and their children Russ and Kimberly when I was about eight. We were visiting one of their elderly kin that was on vacation in a nursing home in Greenwood, Ms. That was what my Aunt called anyway. She called it a vacation place for seniors. I had never been to a nursing home and I remember thinking if this was where all these people vacationed we were in for some fun. She laid out all the ground rules for us kids as we made our thirty minute trip from our boring old town of Tchula to the wonderful, fun, nursing home in Greenwood, Ms. If this was such a wonderful vacation spot as she made it out to be then there shouldn't be any rules. I remember thinking these people have been living by the rules their whole life. I bet they were bouncing off the walls, partying, dancing, playing games, living it up the last years of their life. The rules were as follows:
1. No Running- I can understand this one. These people were probably a little slow because of their age and we didn't want to show them up, make them feel bad for being old.
2. No wandering around- I really understood this. Probably with all of the chaos of vacationing people we could get lost in all the commotion.
There were two rules and they seemed simple enough to follow. As we pulled into the nursing home and got out of the car Aunt Jan reminded us of the two rules once more. I remember walking up to the front door there were a few of the vacationers sitting outside on a bench and a couple in their wheelchairs. I remember thinking they looked tired and and worn out. This was understandable seeing how this was a Sunday and yesterday was Saturday the most partying day of the week. I was sure they were pooped from all of the excitement of last night. One even had slobber running down the side of his face and he just grunted when being spoken to by one of the nurses. We entered the front door and the smell was just like hitting a wall. It was like a mixture of urine, feces, and fried chicken. It was one of those smells you never will forget. It stopped me and my cousin Russ dead in our tracks. Russ was known for a lot of things, but the one he was most known for was he hadn't smelled anything because of allergies since he was two. He could this funk though. Kimberly shouted somebody had stepped in dog doodie and went about checking every ones shoes. My uncle pulled her up from the floor and drug her down the hall. We followed slowly behind observing all the inhabitants in the home. We began to figure out this wasn't a vacation spot. There were no parties, no excitement, no games, we had been fooled by Aunt Jan. We were discussing this game being played on us while walking down the hall when all of a sudden this one older gentleman jumped in front us in the hallway. He stuck out his hand to shake and being the children we were and how we were raised we obliged and stuck out ours. The next thing that happened is something I will never forget. He stuck what looked like an electric razor to his throat and began to say " Hello, How are you boys doing", but it didn't sound like anything I had ever heard. It sounded like a robot from a sci-fi movie with some vibration added. At first it kind of scared us, but I thought this is what they must do for fun around here. From the looks of it they needed some jokes and this must be the comedian of the home. So we shook hands with the older man and went on. Every person we met we did just as he did. We stuck our fake electric razor to our throats and in our best robot voices we shook hands and asked "How are ya ll doing?". When I mean every person we met, I mean every person we met we did this to. We even went in some rooms of the guest we didn't know to bring a little cheer. We had lost my Aunt and Uncle while making the rounds. We made our way into the dining hall where most had gathered and introduced ourselves in our new robotic fashion. Some laughed and some looked on at us like they wished they had a belt to whip our butts. Uncle Ricky had been watching our whole production from the side and needless to say he wasn't happy. We walked over to him and introduced ourselves to him in our new way of talking. He was so mad I think his black beard turned red. He introduced his self as the one that was gonna tear us up when we got home. I remember sitting in the room of their great aunt and not thinking of much else but what we had done. The trip was cut very short due to the problems we had caused. I think we were even asked to leave because we had upset some guest.
I remember the car ride home was a quite one and not much was said. Nothing really needed to be said. That was one of the worst spankings I think I have ever gotten in my life. Thank goodness Uncle Ricky had about an hour to cool off before he got us alone or I think it really could have been bad. I have a grown into a man that loves the elderly. God wants us to love, listen, and serve them. This day helped me grow in my love for seniors. It also was another great memory for me and my Aunt and Uncle. They still get a little cracked up when we talk about it.
The Leflore Family-est 2/2006
Lilypie Third Birthday tickers
Lilypie Second Birthday tickers
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Raising Kids is Like Growing a Garden
Dads are very important to a child. Time spent with that child is just as important for a father as it is to the mother. I have been reading a lot lately to what a father means to a child since I am destined to be a dad. What I have learned so far a father is to give is love, communication, affirmation, prayer, praise, and discipline. Everyone tells me a book won't help me be a good parent. I agree to a certain extent, but being prepared can't hurt.
My Dad and Mom spent a lot of time with us as children. One of the ways we spent a lot of time together was our family garden. It saved a lot of money having a big garden for my parents and it also was a good way of sharing with other families around the community. Our family garden was my Dad's pride and joy. Sometimes I remember him sitting in the shade after a long day of working in it and just smiling while overlooking it. I think sometimes he was as proud of that garden as he was of his two sons. The man could grow the biggest tomatoes anyone had ever seen.
I still remember the first time my father ask me to work in the garden with him. I had grown up playing in the dirt around the garden while my family worked preparing, weeding, and harvesting until I was old enough to go to work myself. Until that point my brother would always argue that I was old enough to work just as hard as him. My dad would always tell him my time was coming. It finally arrived. One night while sitting in the den after supper, he asked me to get up early the next morning and help him chop the garden. It was like a early Christmas present. I was six and ready to get working in the garden that my dad took so much pride in. Maybe I could win some favor by helping him make his garden in to a showpiece. During the hot summer months we only had one A/C in our house and we utilized it to its fullest. We all made pallets on the den floor where it was located and put up a bedspread separating the rest of the house from the arctic den. It was like the equator on one side in the rest of the house and the top of a mountain on the other side. I slept on a twin bed, my brother on the couch, and my parents on a full size bed on the floor. I couldn't sleep the whole night thinking about the work that had to be done in the garden the next day. I may have slept a couple of hours all night and I saw the dawn breaking through the front windows as the windows faced the east. Getting up without awaking anyone was a task in itself in our old creaky house. My plan was to beat my dad to the garden and have a lot of the work done before he made it out that morning. I shucked the covers off and eased to my room to change clothes. We had wood floors in our house and they would creak with every movement. No sound seemed to move my family as I eased out the front door and went for my garden tools. I grabbed my dad's old faithful hoe out of our tool shed/chicken house. My family hadn't had chickens in years so it got converted into a tool shed. I ran through the morning dew to the 2 acre plot of growing vegetables next to our house to put my plans into action. I had made plans the whole night while lying in the bed about what all had to be done. I couldn't remember my dad's plans though. From the time he asked me to help him hoe the garden, I hadn't heard anything else. I started out with the peas and moved on to the butter beans. My dad finally made it out from his bed and he stood there in disbelief at what he saw. I knew he was so proud of his little man by the look on his face. I had the Barney Fife swagger and nose sniff. I was so proud of the job I had done. Remember my dad asked me to help him chop or hoe the garden. That is exactly what I had done, I had chopped the garden. I had chopped down two rows of peas and was working on the first row of butter beans when he caught me. The look of disbelief turned into one of disappointment. I knew from his look what I had done was wrong. He stopped me and told me to go in the house. I think he sat in the garden for a few minutes as his nerves cooled off. It was the only time right before I got a spanking during the pre-spanking speech that I wasn't sure if he was crying about spanking me or over the death of some peas and butter beans.
Either way I learned a lot from working in that garden as I went through life. We learned hard work, responsibility, and learned that taking care of something and nurturing it would reap great rewards not only for our family but also all who we shared with. Gardens are a lot like kids, spend the time with them and work hard at being a parent and try and weed out the bad, and give them encouragement like fertilize and water in the garden and they will bring great rewards not only to you but all they come into contact with. Thanks Mom and Dad for the life lessons and I hope to pass them on one day to my kids.
My Dad and Mom spent a lot of time with us as children. One of the ways we spent a lot of time together was our family garden. It saved a lot of money having a big garden for my parents and it also was a good way of sharing with other families around the community. Our family garden was my Dad's pride and joy. Sometimes I remember him sitting in the shade after a long day of working in it and just smiling while overlooking it. I think sometimes he was as proud of that garden as he was of his two sons. The man could grow the biggest tomatoes anyone had ever seen.
I still remember the first time my father ask me to work in the garden with him. I had grown up playing in the dirt around the garden while my family worked preparing, weeding, and harvesting until I was old enough to go to work myself. Until that point my brother would always argue that I was old enough to work just as hard as him. My dad would always tell him my time was coming. It finally arrived. One night while sitting in the den after supper, he asked me to get up early the next morning and help him chop the garden. It was like a early Christmas present. I was six and ready to get working in the garden that my dad took so much pride in. Maybe I could win some favor by helping him make his garden in to a showpiece. During the hot summer months we only had one A/C in our house and we utilized it to its fullest. We all made pallets on the den floor where it was located and put up a bedspread separating the rest of the house from the arctic den. It was like the equator on one side in the rest of the house and the top of a mountain on the other side. I slept on a twin bed, my brother on the couch, and my parents on a full size bed on the floor. I couldn't sleep the whole night thinking about the work that had to be done in the garden the next day. I may have slept a couple of hours all night and I saw the dawn breaking through the front windows as the windows faced the east. Getting up without awaking anyone was a task in itself in our old creaky house. My plan was to beat my dad to the garden and have a lot of the work done before he made it out that morning. I shucked the covers off and eased to my room to change clothes. We had wood floors in our house and they would creak with every movement. No sound seemed to move my family as I eased out the front door and went for my garden tools. I grabbed my dad's old faithful hoe out of our tool shed/chicken house. My family hadn't had chickens in years so it got converted into a tool shed. I ran through the morning dew to the 2 acre plot of growing vegetables next to our house to put my plans into action. I had made plans the whole night while lying in the bed about what all had to be done. I couldn't remember my dad's plans though. From the time he asked me to help him hoe the garden, I hadn't heard anything else. I started out with the peas and moved on to the butter beans. My dad finally made it out from his bed and he stood there in disbelief at what he saw. I knew he was so proud of his little man by the look on his face. I had the Barney Fife swagger and nose sniff. I was so proud of the job I had done. Remember my dad asked me to help him chop or hoe the garden. That is exactly what I had done, I had chopped the garden. I had chopped down two rows of peas and was working on the first row of butter beans when he caught me. The look of disbelief turned into one of disappointment. I knew from his look what I had done was wrong. He stopped me and told me to go in the house. I think he sat in the garden for a few minutes as his nerves cooled off. It was the only time right before I got a spanking during the pre-spanking speech that I wasn't sure if he was crying about spanking me or over the death of some peas and butter beans.
Either way I learned a lot from working in that garden as I went through life. We learned hard work, responsibility, and learned that taking care of something and nurturing it would reap great rewards not only for our family but also all who we shared with. Gardens are a lot like kids, spend the time with them and work hard at being a parent and try and weed out the bad, and give them encouragement like fertilize and water in the garden and they will bring great rewards not only to you but all they come into contact with. Thanks Mom and Dad for the life lessons and I hope to pass them on one day to my kids.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Most Wanted! Can Be Seen On Post Office Wall!
I told Royann when we found out we were pregnant I would write some of my funny childhood stories just in case something happened to me and I couldn't be around to tell them to my kids. Here is another example of one of those stories for every ones entertainment.
I grew up having a normal childhood like most boys in the Mississippi Delta. I had a Mom and Dad that believed in God and tried hard to raise my brother and me right and provide us with any needs we may have. Notice I said needs. I didn't say with all of our wants. I tried hard to keep my nose clean because I knew what would happen if I didn't. Whoa!! Here is another one of those crazy quotes. "Keep my nose clean" Do bad people have dirty noses? Do bad people not have tissues? Just another quote we say that I guess and we don't have a clear meaning. My dad possessed a brown belt that my butt met a few times throughout life. I swear when I think back on my dad, I think my dad was like Andy Griffith. He would talk to me about what I did for a few minutes and tell me how much he loved me. How it hurt him worse to spank me than it did me. That is a load of crap. He should have given me that belt and let me get in a few good swats. After all that the spanking would proceed. I had a dance while I was getting a spanking and it was known far and wide like the "Twist" of the old days. It was called the "Mississippi Jig". At least that is what my Dad called it. It wasn't a dance you could learn step by step. It changed each time I would break it out.
So as you can see trouble was something I didn't go looking for, but a lot of times it found me because of the people I hung around with. I think sometimes it was my cousin's best friend. There wasn't a lot for boys to do in the country besides hunting, practicing sports, or work. One or the other we were going to be doing one of them or something related. One of the more exciting things to do for a country boy growing up and having a license and truck was to go spotlighting. It was a legal thing to do back in the old days as long as you didn't have gun. It was amazing the deer we would see at night never seen in the daytime. I think some of these deer lived in underground caves during the day. On into my college days it was something my cousins and I would do on a regular basis in the fall after work.
This one particular night myself, Heath, and Keath or better known as the "Bubbas" were riding around looking at deer and drinking cold beer. The Bubbas were twins and my third cousins. They loved fighting, hunting, farming, and women and they were a little on the short and stocky side. I have seen these two while sitting in between them at church have wrestling matches on the back pew of the church. One of the fights was so bad the preacher even stopped his sermon to watch. While riding around that night we started to run low on the liquid beverage while spotlighting on their Dad's land. It was small plot of land in the hills right above the delta that had a cabin and a barn and a few cows and goats. Well we put our money together to make the beer run into the town of Tchula just a few miles away. We had three dollars and some odd change. We knew that wouldn't buy hardly a can of cheap beer so we had to come up with a plan. There was an older man we could always take our extra meat to and he pay a premium price for any thing we brought him. Armadillos, raccoons, fish, deer, turkey, just about anything that was wild and breathed oxygen he would take it. We knew better than to shoot deer or anything at night that was illegal to kill. The last thing we needed was to get in trouble with the game warden. We devised a plan to kill one of the goats that was nestled in the stack of hay sitting in Heath and Keath's Dad's barn. As we pulled up to the barn all the goats gathered around the hay woke up and gave out a few neighs. I had my bow in my truck from the previous days hunt and it was the weapon of choice. I knew killing something that innocent was wrong and I still feel bad till this day. As the Bubba's held the light I thought to myself I would kill the oldest and meanest looking one. I drew the bow back and released my arrow to the biggest and meanest looking billy in the group. He was atop the hay stack and when I hit him he let off a scream that I will never forget. All the rest of the goats spread out around the barn as my kill rolled down the haystack. They knew something wasn't right. We loaded him on top of my Ford Explorer and tied him down with some string we found laying on the ground. I had a white Explorer most of my teen years that I drove. We got back in the truck and made our way towards the bank with our check on top ready to cash with Ole Chester. Chester lived on the outskirts of Tchula and was always ready for any wild game we would bring him. He had the crispest cash money I had ever seen. We discussed our going rate for the goat on top of the roof while going down the road. I would have been happy with five dollars. The Bubbas said we taking no less than twenty for him. In this discussion I heard a rumble from atop my roof of my car. It sounded like a bad tap dancer dancing on top of my roof. We pulled over to the side of the road to check it out. The goat was alive and kicking. Before I could say anything Keath had pulled out a knife and finished the goat off. I got back in the truck and sat there a little astonished at what I had just witnessed. I don't know what he hit on that goat because the next thing I knew my white truck was blood red. Blood was going down the sides, the windshield, and the back glass. I tried the windshield wipers and misters and it didn't help. It just smeared across the glass. We rode all the way to Chester's driving with our heads out the side windows.
We arrived at Chester's just before ten at night and to no surprise Chester was already in the bed. He was a bit of an early bird when it came to sleep. The real funny thing about Chester was anything we took to Chester he would just drag right into his sharecropper's house. He would dress it out right there in his living room. We awoke Chester from his sleep and he slowly made his way to my truck to check out what we brought him. "A goat", he screamed! "I don'ts eats no goats". This is the first meal I had ever seen Chester turn down. We drove away with our heads hung low in our blood covered truck with the goat still attached and wondering where we would get rid of this thing. Who would take this thing off of our hands? We drove into Tchula hoping somebody would pay a fair price for a fresh billy. We pulled into the gas stations talking this thing up. I think we even went as far as telling some people there in town this was a rare Russian Meat Goat. What we were selling nobody was buying. We rode for a couple of more hours trying to rid ourselves of the old goat. The town had grown quite still. The doors we knocked on nobody came to greet us. The last house we went to was across from the railroad tracks at the main crossing that ran through the middle of the town. Nobody answered the door of the house of one of the farm hands of the Bubbas. They were our last hope for getting rid of the thing. I told the Bubbas I was ready to end the night and told them I was ready for bed. We unstrapped the goat from the top of the truck and said we would leave it for the farm hand to find the next day to get and dress out and feed his family. We tied it up by his neck across the railroad crossing sign right in front of the man's house. How could he miss it the next day when he came out that morning?
We made our way home to the Bubba's house in Lexington to to get some rest from our exhausting night. I arose early the next morning because it was Sunday and there was only one place to find our family on Sunday and that was church. I made my way from Lexington to Horseshoe to get home for some Sunday morning breakfast. Tchula was a midway point to my parents home from Lexington. I started getting closer to Tchula and noticed there was a traffic jam a mile long. Tchula is not New York. It is not known for its traffic jams. I inched my way closer into town to see what was going on. I made it all the way to the stop light across from the railroad crossing and saw that was where the traffic jam was. I thought did somebody have a wreck or did a train hit somebody? With all the law enforcement lined up around the railroad crossing something bad had to happen. I made my way to the black police officer who I knew and played basketball with on occasion who was directing traffic. I saw local police, sheriffs deputies, highway patrol, FBI, railroad FBI, and media photographers everywhere. They were all standing around our goat and taking pictures and writing on their little notepads. I questioned my buddy the police officer what was going on? His exact words were "The damn KKK came through town last night and we gonna find out why they came here and what they were doing and where they are". He told me if I heard anything let him know. I told him "Dang KKK does some crazy stuff" and I wished him luck in finding the culprits who hung that goat there.
Little did I know that hanging a goat in some body's yard meant the KKK was coming for them. If I would have I sure wouldn't have hung it up there. It made the local news that night, all the local papers, Clarion-Ledger, and I even think the AP writers had it written up across the US in a few choice papers. Headlines read: "KKK strikes in Tchula, Ms". The last time I talked to my buddy the case had been closed and I hope it stays that way. I don't think I could have claimed stupidity especially us being white in an almost 100 percent black town.
I grew up having a normal childhood like most boys in the Mississippi Delta. I had a Mom and Dad that believed in God and tried hard to raise my brother and me right and provide us with any needs we may have. Notice I said needs. I didn't say with all of our wants. I tried hard to keep my nose clean because I knew what would happen if I didn't. Whoa!! Here is another one of those crazy quotes. "Keep my nose clean" Do bad people have dirty noses? Do bad people not have tissues? Just another quote we say that I guess and we don't have a clear meaning. My dad possessed a brown belt that my butt met a few times throughout life. I swear when I think back on my dad, I think my dad was like Andy Griffith. He would talk to me about what I did for a few minutes and tell me how much he loved me. How it hurt him worse to spank me than it did me. That is a load of crap. He should have given me that belt and let me get in a few good swats. After all that the spanking would proceed. I had a dance while I was getting a spanking and it was known far and wide like the "Twist" of the old days. It was called the "Mississippi Jig". At least that is what my Dad called it. It wasn't a dance you could learn step by step. It changed each time I would break it out.
So as you can see trouble was something I didn't go looking for, but a lot of times it found me because of the people I hung around with. I think sometimes it was my cousin's best friend. There wasn't a lot for boys to do in the country besides hunting, practicing sports, or work. One or the other we were going to be doing one of them or something related. One of the more exciting things to do for a country boy growing up and having a license and truck was to go spotlighting. It was a legal thing to do back in the old days as long as you didn't have gun. It was amazing the deer we would see at night never seen in the daytime. I think some of these deer lived in underground caves during the day. On into my college days it was something my cousins and I would do on a regular basis in the fall after work.
This one particular night myself, Heath, and Keath or better known as the "Bubbas" were riding around looking at deer and drinking cold beer. The Bubbas were twins and my third cousins. They loved fighting, hunting, farming, and women and they were a little on the short and stocky side. I have seen these two while sitting in between them at church have wrestling matches on the back pew of the church. One of the fights was so bad the preacher even stopped his sermon to watch. While riding around that night we started to run low on the liquid beverage while spotlighting on their Dad's land. It was small plot of land in the hills right above the delta that had a cabin and a barn and a few cows and goats. Well we put our money together to make the beer run into the town of Tchula just a few miles away. We had three dollars and some odd change. We knew that wouldn't buy hardly a can of cheap beer so we had to come up with a plan. There was an older man we could always take our extra meat to and he pay a premium price for any thing we brought him. Armadillos, raccoons, fish, deer, turkey, just about anything that was wild and breathed oxygen he would take it. We knew better than to shoot deer or anything at night that was illegal to kill. The last thing we needed was to get in trouble with the game warden. We devised a plan to kill one of the goats that was nestled in the stack of hay sitting in Heath and Keath's Dad's barn. As we pulled up to the barn all the goats gathered around the hay woke up and gave out a few neighs. I had my bow in my truck from the previous days hunt and it was the weapon of choice. I knew killing something that innocent was wrong and I still feel bad till this day. As the Bubba's held the light I thought to myself I would kill the oldest and meanest looking one. I drew the bow back and released my arrow to the biggest and meanest looking billy in the group. He was atop the hay stack and when I hit him he let off a scream that I will never forget. All the rest of the goats spread out around the barn as my kill rolled down the haystack. They knew something wasn't right. We loaded him on top of my Ford Explorer and tied him down with some string we found laying on the ground. I had a white Explorer most of my teen years that I drove. We got back in the truck and made our way towards the bank with our check on top ready to cash with Ole Chester. Chester lived on the outskirts of Tchula and was always ready for any wild game we would bring him. He had the crispest cash money I had ever seen. We discussed our going rate for the goat on top of the roof while going down the road. I would have been happy with five dollars. The Bubbas said we taking no less than twenty for him. In this discussion I heard a rumble from atop my roof of my car. It sounded like a bad tap dancer dancing on top of my roof. We pulled over to the side of the road to check it out. The goat was alive and kicking. Before I could say anything Keath had pulled out a knife and finished the goat off. I got back in the truck and sat there a little astonished at what I had just witnessed. I don't know what he hit on that goat because the next thing I knew my white truck was blood red. Blood was going down the sides, the windshield, and the back glass. I tried the windshield wipers and misters and it didn't help. It just smeared across the glass. We rode all the way to Chester's driving with our heads out the side windows.
We arrived at Chester's just before ten at night and to no surprise Chester was already in the bed. He was a bit of an early bird when it came to sleep. The real funny thing about Chester was anything we took to Chester he would just drag right into his sharecropper's house. He would dress it out right there in his living room. We awoke Chester from his sleep and he slowly made his way to my truck to check out what we brought him. "A goat", he screamed! "I don'ts eats no goats". This is the first meal I had ever seen Chester turn down. We drove away with our heads hung low in our blood covered truck with the goat still attached and wondering where we would get rid of this thing. Who would take this thing off of our hands? We drove into Tchula hoping somebody would pay a fair price for a fresh billy. We pulled into the gas stations talking this thing up. I think we even went as far as telling some people there in town this was a rare Russian Meat Goat. What we were selling nobody was buying. We rode for a couple of more hours trying to rid ourselves of the old goat. The town had grown quite still. The doors we knocked on nobody came to greet us. The last house we went to was across from the railroad tracks at the main crossing that ran through the middle of the town. Nobody answered the door of the house of one of the farm hands of the Bubbas. They were our last hope for getting rid of the thing. I told the Bubbas I was ready to end the night and told them I was ready for bed. We unstrapped the goat from the top of the truck and said we would leave it for the farm hand to find the next day to get and dress out and feed his family. We tied it up by his neck across the railroad crossing sign right in front of the man's house. How could he miss it the next day when he came out that morning?
We made our way home to the Bubba's house in Lexington to to get some rest from our exhausting night. I arose early the next morning because it was Sunday and there was only one place to find our family on Sunday and that was church. I made my way from Lexington to Horseshoe to get home for some Sunday morning breakfast. Tchula was a midway point to my parents home from Lexington. I started getting closer to Tchula and noticed there was a traffic jam a mile long. Tchula is not New York. It is not known for its traffic jams. I inched my way closer into town to see what was going on. I made it all the way to the stop light across from the railroad crossing and saw that was where the traffic jam was. I thought did somebody have a wreck or did a train hit somebody? With all the law enforcement lined up around the railroad crossing something bad had to happen. I made my way to the black police officer who I knew and played basketball with on occasion who was directing traffic. I saw local police, sheriffs deputies, highway patrol, FBI, railroad FBI, and media photographers everywhere. They were all standing around our goat and taking pictures and writing on their little notepads. I questioned my buddy the police officer what was going on? His exact words were "The damn KKK came through town last night and we gonna find out why they came here and what they were doing and where they are". He told me if I heard anything let him know. I told him "Dang KKK does some crazy stuff" and I wished him luck in finding the culprits who hung that goat there.
Little did I know that hanging a goat in some body's yard meant the KKK was coming for them. If I would have I sure wouldn't have hung it up there. It made the local news that night, all the local papers, Clarion-Ledger, and I even think the AP writers had it written up across the US in a few choice papers. Headlines read: "KKK strikes in Tchula, Ms". The last time I talked to my buddy the case had been closed and I hope it stays that way. I don't think I could have claimed stupidity especially us being white in an almost 100 percent black town.
The Life!!
One of the first questions always asked of me by hunters in camp is how I got into the duck hunting business. The answer is always I love people and I love duck hunting, so what a perfect fit for me. I know this is the short answer, but there is a little bit longer one also.
In January of 92 best friend of my life, Russ Pullen asked me to go duck hunting with him. The quick answer I gave him was a big, fat no. I had been a deer hunter all my life by the raising of my father. My father duck hunted in the seventies when they ran from the law with kroger sacks full of ducks. What the heck is a kroger sack anyway? It must be a big sack because they would put hundreds of ducks in them. The only reason he ever gave me for stopping duck hunting was not being able to use lead shot anymore. Back to my story of Russ asking me to hunt, My thoughts of standing in water in the chilling cold to kill a big dove was dumb. I killed enough flying birds with the opening of dove season each year in September and it was done in the warmth of summer. Water and cold is not a good mixture.
I finally agreed to go on a hunt though about the hundredth time he asked me. You pester me long enough on anything I will finally give in. I went on the pre-evening scout that afternoon with him to find where the ducks were. We pulled up to an old family friend's house where there was a an old slough running right behind. She came out to check what was going on as to somebody being in her driveway. With hundreds of dogs barking and roosters crowing, I felt like I had drove up to a barn than somebodies house. She was older lady that loved her animals and it showed. She came out to greet us and to see what we were doing. We informed her we were going hunting in the morning in the slough behind her house. A look of desperation and anxiety came across her face. Her next words I never will forget was "You shoot my pet ducks and I am going to shoot you". Wow!! This coming from an old family friend. Wonder what she would do to somebody she doesn't like that shot her pet ducks? I carried on the conversation with her as Russ scouted the hole. Russ came walking back up as the sun went to bed with a big grin from ear to ear. He motioned me to lets go. The older lady made her way back to the barn, oops trailer and turning around as she walked in the door and saying "You shoot my pet ducks and I will shoot you". We climbed into the truck and I noticed Russ was shaking with excitement. "They are thick as thief's", he said. What does that mean? I never have figured that one out. Do thief's stick really tight together? If so why don't we arrest everyone of them while they are so thick?
The morning had arrived of my long awaited first duck hunt. Let me tell you it was cold. Hold on a minute. Cold doesn't even begin to explain it. It was so cold I my dad had passed on going deer hunting that morning. If my dad wasn't hunting because of the cold you had to be an idiot to be hunting. He could withstand anything. He woke me that morning for my hunt. I layered the clothes on and was really trying to talk myself out of going hunting that morning. Letting my friends down was something I was not into doing. I promised him I would go this one time and I was gonna follow through with my promise. Headlights hitting the den windows was my call to the Arctic cold. The thing I really remember about that morning was Russ's windows were so frosted over that we had to drive to the hole 3 miles away with the windows down to see.
We made our way to our parking place and began to unload. I didn't really have to get use to the cold because I was frozen from head to toe. The hardest thing for a hunter to do is get out of a warm truck and jump into the cold dark morning. That is the point you start talking yourself out of a hunt. It wasn't this morning. I put on some frozen waders that belonged to my Uncle. These waders must have been made for hunting in Mexico. They were made from rubber and as thick as a Ziploc bag. The only thing they were made to do was keep you dry and from the patches on them I didn't think they would do that. I agreed to carry the decoy bag and Russ would carry guns and and shells. Russ led the way through the dark woods. He never was a good leader. One under written rule of hunting with a partner is you always hold any branches that might get in the way of the following hunter. He missed hunting etiquette classes. He let a limb that seemed the size of major log come back and hit me right in the face. Even if it had been a warm morning this thing would have made a grown man cry. With it being cold it quadrupled the pain. I laid on the ground in excruciating pain, Russ laughed. I laid there as he walked on and started throwing out decoys. I finally regained my composure and mad my way to the water.
The pink of the sunrise broke the eastern sky. The sounds of whistling wings and the occasional quack circled our heads like fighter planes Di-bombing a battlefield. I loaded my gun and quickly got ready. Excitement filled my veins and the pain of the limb on my face and the blistering cold throughout my body deceased. I saw a black outline coming right ahead of me and kicked my gun to my shoulder and let the fire fly. It was a direct hit and it made its way down from us. I went to trail my kill down edge of the slough. Ice crackling under my feet from the frozen water made lots of noise and my hunting partner screamed to get on the bank to make my chase as I would be scaring of any incoming ducks. I found the crippled duck lying on the edge of the water already frozen in the ice where it had hit. I picked it up and in disbelief I saw I had killed one of the lady's pet ducks. The thought of the previous days conversation with the little old lady rang through my head. "You shoot one of my pet ducks I will shoot you." I dug a hole in the frozen ground as fast as I could to bury the evidence. With my fingers pink from being frozen and mud frozen to them I tried to warm them in my pockets. I had so much mud on my hands they would barely go in my pocket. I made my way to my hunting partner. With questions flying I felt like I was being questioned for a crime. Really I could have been, thinking to myself. I finally told him I had killed one of the lady's pet ducks. I explained it was a mallard hen just like in her back yard. "How do you know it was one of hers", he asked? I muttered it had some kind of silver band on its leg with writing and numbers if you kill this duck call this number. I didn't think to look to see if it was the old lady's number or the number to the local sheriffs department to turn yourself in for killing a poor old lady's pet duck.He asked where I had put the duck and I proceeded to tell him I had buried it in the frozen tundra. With that my friend walked on water. Jesus and Peter weren't the only ones to walk on water. Russ Pullen did it. I was a witness. You want to find Al Capone, Russ Pullen is your man. He found the duck in a matter of seconds in the camouflaged hole I made for its final resting place. He went on to tell me what I had done was what most duck hunters had been trying to do for years, kill a banded duck. I didn't realize what I had done till later on in the day as Russ paraded the trophy around to all the local duck hunters.
I gave that band to him to remember that hunt with him and we still laugh till this day as we look on at his single band on his call lanyard. I have numerous pieces of jewelry on mine now, but none will be as special to me as that one and it couldn't be with a better person than my best friend. He still tells the story to all who will listen. I went on to make a career out of duck hunting and every hunt as I am throwing out decoys I think back to that hunt.What if I hadn't gone? What if I had laid there on the ground after being struck with a tree? What if? Make every moment in your life a what is, because you never know when one single moment is gonna change your life forever. Russ had shown me that taking people hunting and sharing a moment like with others is what life was all about. I didn't realize it to later on though what that hunt meant. Thanks, Russ I will be forever grateful for a moment that changed my life forever. A moment that led into a living and the birth of Mossy Island Outfitters.
In January of 92 best friend of my life, Russ Pullen asked me to go duck hunting with him. The quick answer I gave him was a big, fat no. I had been a deer hunter all my life by the raising of my father. My father duck hunted in the seventies when they ran from the law with kroger sacks full of ducks. What the heck is a kroger sack anyway? It must be a big sack because they would put hundreds of ducks in them. The only reason he ever gave me for stopping duck hunting was not being able to use lead shot anymore. Back to my story of Russ asking me to hunt, My thoughts of standing in water in the chilling cold to kill a big dove was dumb. I killed enough flying birds with the opening of dove season each year in September and it was done in the warmth of summer. Water and cold is not a good mixture.
I finally agreed to go on a hunt though about the hundredth time he asked me. You pester me long enough on anything I will finally give in. I went on the pre-evening scout that afternoon with him to find where the ducks were. We pulled up to an old family friend's house where there was a an old slough running right behind. She came out to check what was going on as to somebody being in her driveway. With hundreds of dogs barking and roosters crowing, I felt like I had drove up to a barn than somebodies house. She was older lady that loved her animals and it showed. She came out to greet us and to see what we were doing. We informed her we were going hunting in the morning in the slough behind her house. A look of desperation and anxiety came across her face. Her next words I never will forget was "You shoot my pet ducks and I am going to shoot you". Wow!! This coming from an old family friend. Wonder what she would do to somebody she doesn't like that shot her pet ducks? I carried on the conversation with her as Russ scouted the hole. Russ came walking back up as the sun went to bed with a big grin from ear to ear. He motioned me to lets go. The older lady made her way back to the barn, oops trailer and turning around as she walked in the door and saying "You shoot my pet ducks and I will shoot you". We climbed into the truck and I noticed Russ was shaking with excitement. "They are thick as thief's", he said. What does that mean? I never have figured that one out. Do thief's stick really tight together? If so why don't we arrest everyone of them while they are so thick?
The morning had arrived of my long awaited first duck hunt. Let me tell you it was cold. Hold on a minute. Cold doesn't even begin to explain it. It was so cold I my dad had passed on going deer hunting that morning. If my dad wasn't hunting because of the cold you had to be an idiot to be hunting. He could withstand anything. He woke me that morning for my hunt. I layered the clothes on and was really trying to talk myself out of going hunting that morning. Letting my friends down was something I was not into doing. I promised him I would go this one time and I was gonna follow through with my promise. Headlights hitting the den windows was my call to the Arctic cold. The thing I really remember about that morning was Russ's windows were so frosted over that we had to drive to the hole 3 miles away with the windows down to see.
We made our way to our parking place and began to unload. I didn't really have to get use to the cold because I was frozen from head to toe. The hardest thing for a hunter to do is get out of a warm truck and jump into the cold dark morning. That is the point you start talking yourself out of a hunt. It wasn't this morning. I put on some frozen waders that belonged to my Uncle. These waders must have been made for hunting in Mexico. They were made from rubber and as thick as a Ziploc bag. The only thing they were made to do was keep you dry and from the patches on them I didn't think they would do that. I agreed to carry the decoy bag and Russ would carry guns and and shells. Russ led the way through the dark woods. He never was a good leader. One under written rule of hunting with a partner is you always hold any branches that might get in the way of the following hunter. He missed hunting etiquette classes. He let a limb that seemed the size of major log come back and hit me right in the face. Even if it had been a warm morning this thing would have made a grown man cry. With it being cold it quadrupled the pain. I laid on the ground in excruciating pain, Russ laughed. I laid there as he walked on and started throwing out decoys. I finally regained my composure and mad my way to the water.
The pink of the sunrise broke the eastern sky. The sounds of whistling wings and the occasional quack circled our heads like fighter planes Di-bombing a battlefield. I loaded my gun and quickly got ready. Excitement filled my veins and the pain of the limb on my face and the blistering cold throughout my body deceased. I saw a black outline coming right ahead of me and kicked my gun to my shoulder and let the fire fly. It was a direct hit and it made its way down from us. I went to trail my kill down edge of the slough. Ice crackling under my feet from the frozen water made lots of noise and my hunting partner screamed to get on the bank to make my chase as I would be scaring of any incoming ducks. I found the crippled duck lying on the edge of the water already frozen in the ice where it had hit. I picked it up and in disbelief I saw I had killed one of the lady's pet ducks. The thought of the previous days conversation with the little old lady rang through my head. "You shoot one of my pet ducks I will shoot you." I dug a hole in the frozen ground as fast as I could to bury the evidence. With my fingers pink from being frozen and mud frozen to them I tried to warm them in my pockets. I had so much mud on my hands they would barely go in my pocket. I made my way to my hunting partner. With questions flying I felt like I was being questioned for a crime. Really I could have been, thinking to myself. I finally told him I had killed one of the lady's pet ducks. I explained it was a mallard hen just like in her back yard. "How do you know it was one of hers", he asked? I muttered it had some kind of silver band on its leg with writing and numbers if you kill this duck call this number. I didn't think to look to see if it was the old lady's number or the number to the local sheriffs department to turn yourself in for killing a poor old lady's pet duck.He asked where I had put the duck and I proceeded to tell him I had buried it in the frozen tundra. With that my friend walked on water. Jesus and Peter weren't the only ones to walk on water. Russ Pullen did it. I was a witness. You want to find Al Capone, Russ Pullen is your man. He found the duck in a matter of seconds in the camouflaged hole I made for its final resting place. He went on to tell me what I had done was what most duck hunters had been trying to do for years, kill a banded duck. I didn't realize what I had done till later on in the day as Russ paraded the trophy around to all the local duck hunters.
I gave that band to him to remember that hunt with him and we still laugh till this day as we look on at his single band on his call lanyard. I have numerous pieces of jewelry on mine now, but none will be as special to me as that one and it couldn't be with a better person than my best friend. He still tells the story to all who will listen. I went on to make a career out of duck hunting and every hunt as I am throwing out decoys I think back to that hunt.What if I hadn't gone? What if I had laid there on the ground after being struck with a tree? What if? Make every moment in your life a what is, because you never know when one single moment is gonna change your life forever. Russ had shown me that taking people hunting and sharing a moment like with others is what life was all about. I didn't realize it to later on though what that hunt meant. Thanks, Russ I will be forever grateful for a moment that changed my life forever. A moment that led into a living and the birth of Mossy Island Outfitters.
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