Being raised in a rural community (actually, in the backwoods) of north Arkansas, I had the opportunity to spend lots of time hunting and fishing. There was never time for me to get bored, as there was squirrels, rabbits, quail, doves, and deer to be chased. I developed a deep love and respect for the outdoors, which caused hunting and fishing to become a consuming passion. I wasn't much different than most of the youngsters who lived in the area at the same time. I was an adult before I realized that everyone did not hunt and fish. The only people that I ever met that didn't hunt or fish were the rich folks from the city that would decide to visit from time to time.
With my life centered around hunting and fishing, I have a wealth of fond memories of my lifetime. I remember my first real gun that I received at the age of seven, and I still have that gun today. I vividly remember the first rabbit that I killed with that little single shot .22 rifle, and how I ran across the corn field in the river bottom as hard as I could so I could show the rabbit to my Mother. I recall the first bow that I ever shot, one made by Indians on a reservation in New Mexico. I also remember standing in the back seat of the '53 Pontiac and shooting my Daddy in the back of the head with a suction cup tipped arrow while he was driving down the road. "That's just the way I'm gonna do a bear when we get to Arkansas!" I said as Daddy grabbed his head and tried to not run off the road at the same time. My hunting days with that bow and the suction cupped arrows was cut short for a while over that little incident.
I can't remember who my first girl friend was, but I can tell you every detail of what happened the day I killed my first deer. Killing my first deer with a bow was a milestone that I worked hard to make come to pass, and I will never forget that event which happened while hunting with my pal Jerry Lawson. My first really big buck was the event of a lifetime for me, and killing one that was bigger the next year was another memory that I will always cherish. I remember the first flathead catfish I caught, the first turkey that I killed, the first truly big bass that I caught which weighed nine pounds and nine ounces.
I will never forget helping my wife Wanda to prepare for her first deer hunt where she killed a small buck with her muzzleloader. My son Casey's first deer was a big event in my life as was his first wild hog. I think he was more excited about the wild boar hunt than he was the deer hunt. Sara Kate (Missy as we call her), at the age of seven was hunting with Wanda and me last year when I killed a very nice buck during modern gun season. She was so excited about the hunt, and reached the deer lying in the field before I did. These images have been indelibly imprinted into my innermost being, but the one hunting memory that I will never forget is the skunk.
There was a snow on the ground in north Arkansas, and a strong wind made the cold even more unbearable. A friend and I were hunting and came across a skunk. Jim shot the skunk in the cedar thicket and it was the first skunk that either of us had the opportunity to look over up close. It was so pretty that I decided that I just had to take it home to show Momma. With the strong wind blowing, the skunk didn't smell all that bad if I held it by the tail, and stayed on the up wind side while holding it at arm's length.
For some reason, Momma wasn't all that impressed with the skunk, so I left it in the yard just to give her another chance to admire it when she was in a better mood. The problem was that the wind quit blowing during the night, and all that aromatic elskunko aroma decided to catch up with the skunk during the lull. Then, when the nice rich lady that my Momma worked for showed up at the house early the next morning, and was almost knocked off her feet by the skunk smell when she got out of her car, Momma really got in a bad mood. I just couldn't understand that because the skunk was so pretty, but the memory of this one and only skunk has stayed with me for several decades, and has made it one of my most memorable hunting events. My Mother may still be furious over the skunk thing, and maybe that was the reason that she gave me a dead 'coon wrapped in a Wal-Mart sack for my birthday when I turned fifty!
reprinted in part by permission, Paxton Media Group
