Emboldened by the fact that I had been able to spend the night across the road from a cemetery, I ventured to explore more of the farm by myself. Armed with my trusty Daisy B-B gun I struck out to see what lay beyond the fence at the back edge of the pasture behind our home.

My father had bought a 200 acre estate that adjoined our property on the north. I felt like Lewis and Clark as I climbed over the fence and ventured into the wilderness.

After stomping around a couple hours I found myself on the dead-end gravel road our school bus had traveled down on the way to school. At last I knew where I was.

To avoid having to walk back through all the briars and cross a creek again I figured I would just walk home using the road. It was on the trek back I killed the biggest bird I had ever taken down with my B-B gun. A buzzard.

Walking along the road something big caught my eye sitting beneath a tree. It was a huge bird.

My heart was racing as I positioned that tree between whatever it was and me. Quietly, I crept up behind the tree. I could tell whatever it was hadn’t noticed me and was still there.

My mind was racing. I knew I would be able to take it down with B-Bs, so I decided to use my gun like a baseball bat.

After psyching myself up, I jumped from behind that tree and swung my B-B gun like Babe Ruth knocking one out of the park. WHACK!

It was a fowl ball. A large dead buzzard fowl ball. I blinked a couple times and wondered what in heck was I going to do with it. I sure wasn’t going to eat it.

I didn’t even want to touch it. I looked around and found a long stick with a fork in it. Somehow I managed to scoop up the buzzard with its head hanging from the fork, placed it over my shoulder, and headed home.

I just knew Daddy would be so proud of me.

I made it to the main road and began the mile walk back home. Occasionally a car or truck would pass, slow down and gawk at my trophy.

Sometimes they would just blow their horns. I knew they were impressed. It’s not every day you see a little kid taking home a bird that’s larger than he is.

As I was walking up our driveway I saw my father and his helper changing out a tractor tire. His helper saw me first.

He looked my way, slowly rose to his feet and said, “Lawd, Lawd. Mr. Harold look’a there,” and he pointed at me.

Daddy twisted around towards me and I could immediately tell he was at a loss for words.

He, too, slowly rose to his feet and stood staring in my direction. His hat was being shoved back as he said, “Boy, what in the world have you done?”

“I got a buzzard, Daddy!”

“Uh-huh. Don’t you know we don’t kill those things? They eat dead things. They clean up the earth and have a special purpose. Plus, their nasty!”

“Now what’re you planning on doing with it?”

“Feed it to the cats?”

“No you’re not! I tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to go get a shovel and you’re going to dig a deep hole and bury that nasty thing.

“Today?”

“Today. Right after you bury that bird.”

“Really?”

“Really. Then you’re going to go sit in your room and think about what you’ve done.”

“Really?”

His helper had walked to the opposite side of the tractor and was trying his best not to laugh.

After that I only shot (or hit) what I could eat.

I was in my bedroom, pretending to study one night when I heard someone knocking on the screen door of our front porch. It was a couple of men that lived on the farm. I feared something awful had happened because they never came to our house at night.

I raised my window a little bit and listened in as I heard them telling my father that they had been coon hunting down in the swamp and had shot a couple of big ones in the top of a very tall tree. They wanted to know if they could cut it down to get them out.

Daddy told them it would be fine, just cut it up later and use it for firewood. They always had permission to fell dead trees for firewood, but not living ones. They agreed and asked if they could borrow our cross-cut saw and my father’s big flashlight. All they had were a couple of small carbide lanterns that didn’t put out a lot of light.

Another part of the deal was that my father and I got to go along with them and watch the show. I had never been on a coon hunt before. So we all loaded up in the pickup and headed out to the edge of the swamp.

After wandering around through brush and saplings we finally stumbled upon one of the biggest beech trees I had ever seen there in the dead of the swamp.

One of the men pointed the flashlight toward the top of the tree and said, “They’s up there. They fell into the holler at the top.”

It was a cool fall evening as they began working the crosscut saw back and forth. The longer they worked the hotter they became. To save the flashlight battery we had turned it off and they were working by the light of the carbide lanterns. Steam began to rise from their bodies on that cool, damp night.

Every once in a while they’d stop for a drink of water and take a break. We could hear whatever it was that lived out in the swamp coming alive in the darkness. I was hoping it wasn’t snakes. Possibly beavers, maybe deer. Bobcats? Whatever it was I was hoping it didn’t like our lights and stayed where it was.

After the second break one of the men said to the other, “They’s shore better be a coon in dat holler, else I’m gonna stuff yous in that hole and pull yous out fer one.”

And on they sawed into the night.

Finally, the tree was to the point they inserted wedges and began to pound away at them with the sledgehammer we had brought along. Saw a little, pound a little. Saw a little, pound a little. Finally the giant tree began to creak, pop and tilt.

It trembled and began its decent into the night. Swoosh. On its way down it crushed other small trees and brush that were in its path. Whomp! It landed and bounced a couple of times.

The flashlight was turned back on and we all ran through the undergrowth to peer into the hollow at its top.

We saw one raccoon fleeing into the dark brush ahead of us. Then we all looked into the hollow and saw one very small raccoon lying there. Barely large enough to feed one person, let alone the two of them and their families.

“Lawd have mercy. One little coon for all this work!”

They retrieved their prize and we made our way back to the truck parked at the edge of the swamp. I could feel the heat coming off their bodies that were still steaming in the fading beam of our flashlight. It hadn’t been a good night for them, but it was a memorable one for me.

That was in 1964 and it was the year The Beatles had come to America with their big hit, I Wanna Hold Your Hand. Nelson Mandela had been imprisoned for life in South Africa and Luther Terry, the Surgeon General announced that smoking caused cancer. It was also the year the 24th amendment was passed and they did away with the poll tax. A postage stamp was up to five cents.

(To be continued)

Photo by Walter Bennett.	Photo by Walter Bennett.
Photo by Walter Bennett.	Photo by Walter Bennett.
Thank you Speedy Calvert for sharing this newspaper clipping with me.	Big Boss Pine
Big Boss Pine	Downtown Louisville
	Memorial Sunday at New Hope Baptist Church where some of my Foster and Sullivan ancestors are buried.

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Rick Algood
September 5, 2021