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.

Items on my Desk

I have way too much junk on my desk.  Mainly books, photos, trinkets, reminders of things from the past.  This evening I looked at these old artifacts.  Were you a member of 4-H when you were growing up?  Do you remember why the club was called 4-H?  In other words, what do the four H's stand for? (Answer Below)

Head, Heart, Hands, Health

We'd meet in the gymnasium and would stand for the Pledge of Allegiance.  Then we would remain standing for the 4-H Pledge.  I still remember it:

I pledge my head to clearer thinking,
My heart to greater loyalty,
My hands to larger service,
And my health to better living,
For my club, my community, my country, and my world.

4-H was just a club, but I still remember my advisors and activities that we did and important life lessons we learned, trips we went on, and friendships we developed.

46 years ago I was awarded that wooden ruler shown above for participating in a Forestry Slogan Contest.  I don't remember what slogan I came up with.  Forestry was a big deal in our area.  There were 'tree farms' where pine trees were grown.  Right down the road from where I grew up there was a nursery where pine trees were grown for the timber business.  When large areas of pine trees were clear cut, the land was replanted with pine trees from the nursery.  

To protect the tree farms from fire, there were fire towers in the area.  People were positioned in the tower to scan the horizon for smoke.  If fire was threatening the trees, trucks with bulldozers were called out to the area and fire lanes would be made to stop the forest fires from damaging and destroying the trees.  There are big facilities in Allen Parish and parishes to the north and west that make plywood.

Back to 4-H.  4-H was a fun club.  We all looked forward to going to Camp Grant Walker in Pollack, Louisiana during the summer.  We'd attend Achievement Day where we'd be tested on Seed Identification, Leaf identification, Livestock Judging and all other sorts of things.  Demonstration Day was a day that made your knees knock.  You had to get up in front of the class and give a demonstration on something.  It was your first real shot at public speaking.  I was terrified!

As I look back on it, I think of how naïve and simple the times were.  One of the more popular demonstrations was, "How to Clean a 12 gauge Shotgun."  Yes, we would bring shotguns to school and break them down and show how to properly clean a gun.  No one thought anything of it.  It was innocent.  It's kind of amazing, if you think about it, how much we've changed since then. 

The Parish Fair was a blast!  I would bring my sheep to show in the fair and would win ribbons like the faded one above.  People throughout the parish would bring all sorts of things that they grew in their gardens, or farms, or pickled or canned.  We'd walk through the barns after judging to see who grew the best looking potatoes, or who had the biggest rabbits.  Of course there were the rides!  We'd ride the Twist-A-World, and The Scrambler, The Ferris Wheel, and the Rock-O-Planes.  I got sick and threw up on the Rock-O-Planes!

It's funny how some old trinkets on your desk can transport you back almost five decades to good memories! 

Back In The Saddle!

Well, hello everyone!  We're back.  Each year we try to take a little vacation.  We like to go tent camping on the beach at Fort Pickens National Park in Pensacola, Florida.  Russ, our oldest, was kind enough to take care of the cows, goats, chickens, and garden while we were gone.  There is so much going on on the homestead right now.  Without his help, we wouldn't have been able to get away.

I'll show a few photos of the trip.  It is a short 6 hour trip from back door to sea shore.  The last few miles have a 25 mph posted speed limit, so it seems like you are crawling.  But we made it and did a good bit of relaxing from Thursday - Monday at 11 am when we checked out.

We got the tent set up.  The last time here we picked out the spot we wanted.  It had plenty of shade and privacy.

Can you tell we are relaxing?  The beach is about a 1/2 mile walk from the campsite.  We set up our umbrella, laid out our towels and soaked up the sun.

In Pensacola, you are far enough away from the Mississippi River that the sands are sugar-white and the water rivals that of the Caribbean. 

The wildlife was abundant!  We saw blue herons and pelicans.

Just beyond our campsite was a tree that had an osprey nest in it.  We watched the osprey dive down on the gulf waters and emerge with fish that she (or he) would take back to the nest.  You can see the creature below in the nest in the crook of the tree.

Dolphins came very close to us in the water as we swam.  This morning numerous sand sharks came pretty near as well!  On Monday night, a storm blew in.  Unfortunately, it rained in our tent - not just drips.  It poured down!  I have a new item on my to do list:  Re-apply waterproofing to the exterior of the tent!

The mornings were breathtakingly beautiful and quiet.  The beach was vacant except for us.  There was a little seaweed on the beach.  I follow the Florida Survival Gardener's blog.  He says that he takes the seaweed home and incorporates it into his soil.  It adds marine minerals and other beneficial nutrients to his soil.  Don't think I didn't think about raking a bunch of this stuff up!

This is mostly how we spent our days.  Peaceful.  We re-charged our batteries.

All good things must come to an end, though.  This morning we bid farewell to Fort Pickens as we sat by the beach and listened to the waves for just one more hour.

In six hours, we pulled into the driveway at 5 pm.  It was great to get away, but it's good to be back home, too!  

We'll be scheduling some more of this in the not-to-distant future!!

Memories of the Old Woodframe House With a Tin Roof

Since I work in Lafayette now and have a 40 minute commute, I went to the Lafayette Public Library and got a library card.  I've found that my sanity is best preserved by not listening to talk radio or the news.  My discovery of audiobooks has made my commuting much more enjoyable and have even found that I'll sit in the parking lot at work or in the driveway at home waiting for a good "stopping point" to turn off the novel du jour.  I'll alternate between Ernest Hemingway, John Grisham, Michael Connelly, James Patterson, and James Lee Burke.

If you've never read James Lee Burke, I highly recommend him to you.  He is from New Iberia, Louisiana and writes in his Dave Robichaux novels so descriptively that you can smell the ozone in the coming thunderstorm as you watch the raindrops beginning to dimple the muddy waters of Bayou Teche.  He can put you right there, feeling the blades of St. Augustine grass between your barefoot toes.

Today in the story, Dave Robichaux and his sidekick Clete Purcel were driving down the Breaux Bridge Highway and he was describing the simple, square woodframe houses with tin roofs that cajuns lived in and it brought me back in time.  At our farm, we had a wood frame house that we called 'the camp' that was exactly as Burke described.  I have no photo of the camp as it was long since torn down.  The photo below is the closest I could find on the Internet.

Image Credit

The camp had occupied a spot at the farm for as long as I could remember.  It was up on piers and that provided a shady, cool spot for random farm dogs and the occasional coon, possum, or armadillo to sit under on those dog days of summer.  It had a porch on the front and a porch on the back.  After long days laboring in the rice field, the front porch was a comfortable spot to sit and let your legs dangle off the side of the porch and enjoy a cold Dr. Pepper.  You could look across and see the oil shed where someone had shot a big pattern of buck shot into the sliding door.

The back porch had a view of the pond whose levee was constantly under assault by encroaching 'chicken trees' (Chinese tallow trees).  We would chop them down and they would grow right back with a vengeance.  The pond was stocked with catfish, but was full of turtles, too.  One day I was fishing with a Zebco reel when a thunderstorm chased me back inside the camp.  I listened to thr roar of rain on the hot tin roof of the camp.  When the storm passed and the sun came back out, creating steam on the tin roof and nearby blacktop road, I ran back out to the pond and reeled in the skeleton of a 10 inch long catfish.  A turtle had cleaned the catfish that had taken my bait during the storm like you would expect a piranha would.

The back porch had a distinguishing characteristic that probably wouldn't be a selling point to most prospective home buyers.  Right above the back steps nailed to the rafters, were the two front feet of a raccoon that had been butchered there.  The coon feet were full of cobwebs.  His feet were nailed to hold the carcass while the animal was skinned and remained as a macabre monument of sorts.

The camp was furnished very modestly.  There was a TV where we would watch the news or read the Delta Farm Press while we microwaved a simple lunch, being careful to keep utensils stored in the fridge since we shared tenancy at the camp with field mice.  There was a window unit that kept things cool, but you had to talk a little loud to hear over the rumble of the air conditioner.  The wood floors had a few holes in them where you could see through to the dirt below and a portion of the floor was charred black where a space heater had almost burned the place down. 

I can still remember a long table that ran along the wall in the kitchen.  There was a white tin container with a tight fitting lid that was rough with rust.  My grandmother and great-grandmother kept the container full of homemade oatmeal cookies to satisfy the working mens' sweet tooths. I remember sitting at that table after running in from being stung by a wasp.  Joe Fontenot, a man who worked for my Dad & Grandpa, administered a healing salve to my wasp sting made by spitting out a nasty wad of Levi Garrett chewing tobacco mixed with Five Brothers Pipe tobacco and placing the wet mess on my arm.  The stinging sensation was almost immediately gone! 

On the south side of the camp was a spot where no grass grew.  That's where we mixed up Treflan and Sencor and other chemicals in our chemical rig to spray on our soybeans.  There was a 'turtle back' hill of dirt in that spot as that was the location that we used to pressure wash the tractors, combines and plows before putting them up.  Years of washing mud off implements on that spot had made a hill of topsoil there.

The old woodframe house with a tin roof on the farm has long since been torn down.  Sometimes I can't even remember my own telephone number, but the childhood memories of a simple boy living in a simpler time from forty or so years ago lives on in my mind in vivid, accurate detail.  Funny how that works.