Places Along the Way----The Hidey-Hole

Have you ever read The Yearling by Marjorie Kennan Rawlings? Yes I know…it is an ‘Old Yeller’ story that people do not like to revisit. I have enjoyed re-reading this book over the years, not necessarily for the plot, but for the character development and the incredibly descriptive language that Ms. Rawlings used in portraying life in the Florida scrub. Her book Cross Creek is also a gem as it tells of her transition from New York to a 72 acre Florida scrub orange grove. 

The first chapter of The Yearling captured me immediately, as the young protagonist, Jody, built his first ‘fluttermill’ on a clear creek bank: He watched the fluttermill indolently, sunk in the sand and the sunlight. The movement was hypnotic. His eyelids fluttered with the palm-leaf paddles. Drops of silver slipping from the wheel blurred together like the tail of a shooting star. The water made a sound like kittens lapping.  It is the kind of writing that is truly American---full of simple symbolism without trying to impress by going to a thesaurus. 

I had a place like Jody’s creek bank when I was a kid at Ft. Rucker. Below the man-made small reservoir, Lake Tholocco,  Four Mile Creek ran north to south through Ft. Rucker. My buddies and I found it frequently in our explorations through the heavy hardwoods and piney forests of the Army post. Many times I would simply go by myself. Today, parents would demand an Amber Alert for the amount of time I would disappear into the solitude of the gurgling creek. I usually told my mom that I was going ‘to the woods’. That was enough. No cell phones, no GPS, just, ‘I am going to the woods’. It was a different time. I wrote this description many years ago of my little hidey-hole. Hope you enjoy it:

Carved out of the sandy red dirt, hardwoods and pines of Dale Co., Ft Rucker was a young explorer’s dream. I had a secret place, a familiar junction, where I would steal away in the woods near our home.  It was a quiet haunt by Four Mile Creek, a refuge from the summer heat, tranquil with the placidity of an early Sunday morning. The water had worn the sand into and fine, clean, grain, cool to the touch. I loved sitting with my shirtless, tanned back resting on the swollen trunk of an old cypress, listening to the soft gurgling of the eddy pool that provided cool relief for my toes.

The water moved slowly, much like the pace of everything in the Deep South in the summer months. Never the boisterous sound of rushing water, it was more like that beautiful guttural cluck that a turkey-hen makes during the spring ritual of finding her tom.

I spent hours leaning against that old cypress, digging for smooth rocks, examining them and then tossing them in a long lazy arch to produce that perfect ‘kaboomp’ sound as they hit the eddy pool. Looking up, I admired that classic contrast of a thick humidity laced blue sky against the green of the tall pines. Oh sweet memories...let your mind take you to one of those places for a moment..a heartbeat or two away...you can spare the time...I know you had your own hidey-hole. 

In closing, this is not a generational thing. Don’t think that kids can’t have these experiences now. My son is 23 and he knows every nook, crook, creek, and cranny of my folk’s farm in Coffee County, MUCH more than I do. He is making his own memories in his own generation…with his iPhone, and other conveniences that were unknown to me. And that is ok. I am not one to ‘down’ the current generations because they do things different from the way I did it. I suppose my point is, we all need a time and a place to reflect, to meditate, to pray. Ms. Rawlings said it best: “I do not understand how anyone can live without some small place of enchantment to turn to.”
 
Given the many environments we live, my creek bed may be your coffee shop. Whatever the setting, I love what my son says, ‘Dad, I can get in a deer stand and just not think about anything’. I truly understand that; it makes me think of cut-offs, Keds, and creeks.

Dogs Along the Way----Physical Therapy

Is there another animal like a dog? I think not. My connection with canines goes back to my first memories. Mr. Krinkles, an English bulldog, was my first dog buddy.  My mom tells me that she caught me in a pantry with a big bag of kibble saying, “One for you, one for me.” That is when it started. I was three. 

There has always been something comforting about a dog. Cats are OK, but expressing emotion is not their strong suit. Exotic pets---(snakes, spiders, lizards, etc) forget it. I don’t want any part of a ‘pet’ that can kill me. Fish? They are for the big stainless fryer. 

 

Truth is, (with the possible exception of cats---OK cats are pretty cool) snakes, fish, hamsters, turtles, lizards, Guiana Pigs, ETC are in the category of pets, but a dog…but a DOG…forget the word ‘pet’. 

The dog has the warmth of a family member. He can smile AT you, talk TO you, play WITH you, and be there FOR you. If you are not a dog person, you won’t get this: There is a magical connection dogs have with humans. It is beyond comprehension and that is what makes it so deep, so meaningful, and so great. I can look into the eyes of a dog I have just met and see an old friend. Somehow he sees it too. 

I have had this connection with dogs for as long as I can remember.  It reminds me many times of the great mystery of life; a deep connection between creatures of incredibly different DNA makeups but somehow the Lord saw fit to allow man and dog to come crashing into each others lives to love and support one another like no other human and animal relationship.  

My dogs provide ‘physical therapy’; that is, the very touch of their fur, the moist lick of their tongues on my wrist, the sound of their groans as they roll over in their sleep, and yes, even their many smells…this beautiful mixture of  the senses…this great connection…it has kept me at peace for many years. 

People ask my advice frequently about matters relating to dogs. I suppose if I could say anything to make a terrific family dog, is it begins with ‘physical therapy’. The same connection I had with Mr. Krinkles in the food pantry is the same connection I have with a brand new foster dog. It is the touch, the sound, the smell, the look…the connection of a man with a dog. Embrace it all. 

 

Oh, and rub their cheeks. It reminds them of their mama.

 

My dad in the mid 1980's with Otto. A weimaraner that wandered up to our farm and stayed. Just another in the long line of lost, drop-offs, and strays that have found a home with my parents. We was one fine farm dog.

Life Along the Way----Collisions with Cows

It is true what they say about seeing stars. 

My folks have had cattle, mainly Brangus, on their property for about 40 years. Some of the memorable ones had names---Hornhead, for instance was not a Brangus, but a weird gray speckled heifer with horns that spanned close to 3 feet. She delivered many calves over her life and most had a remnant of her dapple and her nutty personality. She was a bully, as she was the only cow with horns and she moved the others away from the new hay bale quite easily. She died after many years of calving and Pop saved her horns. They stare at you now in the barn, daring you to cross them.

On the other side of that coin was Betsy. She could only be described as a pet. She came running to humans whenever we approached and loved big hugs. She was especially fond of my sister when she was very young; I remember Betsy following her around in the pasture on many occasions. Betsy also delivered many calves and a number of them had her gentle nature, unafraid of humans but never quite approaching the pet quality of their sweet mama. 

My first collision with a cow was a close one. Pop and I were worming the cattle and I was moving one down the corral into the head catcher. As soon as Pop closed it on her neck she kicked the ever loving stew out of me. She hoofed me on the inner thigh just missing my chance to sing 1^st soprano in the church choir for the rest of my life. As usual, Pop declared it my fault and said, “Boy, quit stirring up the cows!” 

I limped around for about a week with a black and purple bruise on my left inner thigh and made a note to myself: “Before the head catcher slams, back off you idiot.” 

Of course this injury was minor compared to my ‘encounter’ with Black Jack.  A Brangus bull who was the Big Man on Campus, he knew his place and his place was good. Big Boy swaggered through the Bahia grass like he owned every seed pod on every stalk of grass and his harem of heifers were lucky to share the pasture with him.  Black Jack’s motto was based on the immortal words of James Brown: “I’m single and ready to mingle. I look good, I smell good, and I FEEL GOOD!

I suppose the general public has a fear of bulls due to movies, bullfighting, ETC, but my experience was far from that, although my most memorable injury came from Black Jack. 

He loved to have his head scratched. He would nod with approval anytime you put your hand between his eyes and scratched. He also loved it when you pushed on his head; he would push back with great power, and would always win, gently easing my hand and my body backward.

So, I get the bright idea that I am going to put my head against his head, in one of those, "Hey y’all, watch this!" moves.  Instead of the 'pushing game', old Black Jack decided that this was like a scratch and nodded with approval. I might as well have run head long into an anvil. The nod resulted first in my teeth clacking together so hard I thought they were all broken. The next thing I felt was a major excruciation to my forehead and finally a visual of the Milky Way in broad daylight. I looked at my Dad, who was laughing, as far as I could tell, but the Big Dipper was in the way. It is true what they say about seeing stars.  

I did my best, ‘that didn’t hurt’ but it was totally unconvincing. My vision eventually cleared, but I made another note to self: Newton’s Third Law of Motion is true. There is no point in testing it with a 2400 pound bull. 

One more cow collision story: My Dad and I have an ability to attract rather odd individuals. Now don’t misread this like we don’t have our own oddities. Remember I am the guy who rides a bike with a dog trotting on either side of me on leash. 

One day, I was down at the farm and a couple of locals were buying a bull from Pop. One feller begins to tell me just how ornery these ol’ Brangus can be.

"Me and the wife dang near give out a while back chasin’ one of them heifers ‘round our place!" he said.

"Yeah? Tell me about it!” My Dad looked at me and rolled his eyes.

"We couldn’t git that durn cow in the corral, so we figured we’d just chase her around with the 4-wheeler until she was tard. I tol' the wife to git on and bring the lasso. Well, we worked her all the way down to the river bottom and figured we had her cornered, so the wife, she gits off the 4-wheeler and starts swingin' the lasso, but you know wut happened!?’

"NO! Wut happened!?" I asked. ( My Dad is shaking his head.)

"That ol’ heifer started pawing at the ground and snortin' and the next thing ya know, she’s fixin’ to act like we was in a bull fightin’ ring! I tol’ the wife to git the heck outta the way, I wuz gonna take care of some bidness. So the dang cow charges me and I fire up the 4-wheeler and head right fer her. She smashes her haid into the front gun rack the first time and the fender the second. That did it. After that, she wuz tuckered out and the wife threw a rope over her haid and we tied her to the 4 wheeler and took her on back to the barn."

"Man! I bet that 4 wheeler was messed UP!"  I replied.

"Naw, not too bad. The wife got a ‘lectric drill and we drilled some little holes in the plastic and got some war (wire) and stitched that fender back together. Looks good a new...."

Country folk are smart. They match pound for pound with Newton’s 3^rd Law, with a little stubbornness to boot.  At least they weren’t the ones seeing stars.

Thoughts Along the Way----Sounds That I Like

1.      The jingaling of the tags on my dog’s collars.

2.      A good IPA beer pouring in a frosted mug.

3.      The creaking of the springs on my bicycle seat as I ride along slowly.

4.      The mockingbird on our chimney sending a sweet song into the house.

5.      Hummingbirds chirping and clacking wings, fighting over a feeder.

6.      A Harley passing me on an interstate.

7.      Every noise a horse makes.

8.      Wind through pine needles.

9.      The sound of a bobber and split shot hitting the water when bream fishing.

10.  The satisfied groan of my dogs after they reach that happy napping position.

11.  The sound of snow.

12.  A single slice cheese wrapper.

13.  My lawn mower.

14.  The squeaking sand when you walk on the Gulf of Mexico beaches.

15.  Sizzling, popping Conecuh sausage on the grill.

16.  My ‘old fashioned’ ringer on my iPhone.

17.  A buck grunt, a turkey gobble.

18.  A 44 magnum with earmuffs on.

19.  A buzzbait s clacking  across the water at dusk.

20.  Tree frogs interrupted by a 10 octave lower bullfrog.

21.  The crunch of a pork skin.

22.  The Allman Brothers.

23.  A campfire’s low rumble and energy when it really gets going.

24.  An old Volkswagon engine.

25.  Shortwave radio signals.