Lunch at the Camp

There was an old house at the farm headquarters we called "The Camp."  It was wood frame with a front porch facing a very dusty road and a back porch that faced the catfish pond.  The back porch contained an interesting decoration.  On rafters above the back porch steps, there was a pair of raccoon feet nailed up there.  I'm assuming someone had caught a raccoon, killed it and nailed its feet to the rafters to skin the bandit more easily.  Those feet adorned the camp rafters for years.

Inside the four walls of the camp, it was nothing fancy.  There was a window unit that got the little camp very cool and comfortable.  We'd seek refuge from the heat in the camp and have lunch, trying to ignore the aroma of dead mice and rats.  That camp attracted those pesky rodents from everywhere and we'd put out rat poison to kill them dead.  There was a small microwave and a TV in the camp.  Dad and I would warm up TV dinners in the microwave and watch 7 News where we'd learn about the upcoming weather.  The microwave would buzz, letting us know that the microwave fish sticks & potato TV dinner was ready.  A generous glob of ketchup made the lunch semi-palatable and a cold Dr. Pepper would help wash it down.  There was a big tin container sitting on the table that often had homemade oatmeal cookies in it.

Before heading back out to work in the fields, we'd talk and read magazines.  This was before the mind virus of the cell phone was invented and before the Internet.  Dad would get a number of farm publications like Progressive Farmer, Rice Farming Magazine, and my favorite, Delta Farm Press out of Clarksdale, MS.  I'd flip back to the end of the magazine where a gentleman named Mabry Anderson wrote a column called, "Outdoor Observations."  He told stories of hunting and fishing and exploring the outdoors that always piqued my interest.  I actually found a link that contained some excerpts of his writing that brought a smile to my face.  Click to read:  Mr. Mabry

That old camp has long since been torn down, but the memories of it are etched in my memory like so many things of long ago.  Perhaps I'll nail some raccoon feet to the rafters above my porch in tribute to the old camp, but I don't think my wife would appreciate the gesture.