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Speaker 1: Welcome to this country Life. I’m your host, Brent Reeves from coon hunting to trotlining and just in general country living. I want you to stay a while as I share my experiences in life lessons. This Country Life is presented by Case Knives from the Store More Studio on Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast that airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I’ve got some stories to share. The project. Every successful project usually starts with a good plan. It kind of goes hand in hand and you think it’d become a knowledge, and it probably is the most folks. But me and my brother Tim, we ain’t most folks, and our kind of knowledge, well, it ain’t too common. I’m gonna tell you how I finally got around to making a plan, But this first story will illustrate why. The definition of project is an individual or collaborative enterprise that is carefully planned to achieve a particular aim. I’ve been involved in a lot of projects over the years. Some would closely fit that definition I just recited, Some wouldn’t even come close. Some are borderline unsafe, and I doubt I’d have much trouble convincing you to believe that a handful were downright psychotic looking back, and fords me a clear view of the results of ill conceived calamity, regardless of the initial intentions. What it doesn’t do is explain the thought process that would have allowed a reasonable like yours truly to arrive at the conclusion that whatever this ridiculous idea my brother Tim would come up with, they could convince me to join forces on yet another of his inept collaborations. Oh yeah, now I remember. Here’s how he’d tricked me into helping him with one of his crazy projects. Hey, Brent, what want to help me with a project? Yep, I want to know what it is. Don’t care, Let’s go. It might be dangerous, expensive, and highly probable illegal in some states. Okay, we’ll take my truck. It has new tires. He would fall just as easily to any of my ill fated ideas for wealth, famed fund and adventure. And afterwards, when the smoke cleared and the bandages had been applied, either literally or figuratively, we’d reassess what had happened in and just our future endeavors accordingly. Now that’s just part of the process for starting a project, at least that’s how we did it back in the day. Doubling the size of our duck camp was a prime example of a project that was an unforeseen struggle that absolutely no one saw coming, but one person hinted at it, and that person was our banker. We were in year three or four of guiding duck hunters from all over the country, and we hunted public land and private land. It just depended on where the ducks were. We hadn’t advertised at all. The Internet was new, and my first experience for the hunting form was weird. I can’t tell you what form it was because I don’t remember. I was only there for about twenty four hours before I got banned. This website was all about hunting everything from squirrels to giraffes. There was a form for everyone. Him had seen it while at work, and since the only online computers we had access to were at his work, he showed it to me one evening when I stopped by while on patrol. I dialed it up. That’s right, dialed it up, and in a matter of minutes, I was connected to the interwebs and scrolling through the myriad of topics being discussed by my fellow field sports enthusiasts from all over the globe. This was going to be fun. I moved the cursor along until I found the duck hunting part. I clicked in there, and a seemingly endless list of topics ready to duck hunting appeared. Holy Moses, I could spend the rest of my shift right here talking to all these wonderful people who like duck hunting just like me and Tim, instead of fighting crime. I asked him how to write something on there, and he explained how to register to get access to a post or a topic, or replied to one that was already there. It seemed silly to a lot. I’m sure that there was a time when we didn’t all automatically know how to do that. It’s also something unusual seeing Tim was ever in a position to give anyone advice on how the Internet works. Anyway, after he showed me what to do and I created and registered my Aol email account, I got on there, and in two or three topics where folks were asking about places to hunt ducks, I took it upon myself to post something akin to my brother and I guide for ducks and flooded Timber in Arkansas message for details. The registration information for the hunting site advised against publishing your phone number at any time, so I didn’t art, but I wanted to. But people could send you messages through the forum. Wow, this is cool. I went back to the radio room to tell Tim that I figured the clients would start rolling in after I’d made those posts, and he agreed. I told him i’d come back later that night and check it, or if I had a bunch of reports while on patrol that I just checked the next day. When I started my shift the next evening, I swung by the headquarters and went to the Spare office to dial up the rest of the world on the Hunting Forum website. As soon as I logged in, I had one message in my inbox and nearly a hundred responses to what I’d said. Oh, this internet thing is gonna make us rich. I checked the responses to the topics I’d posted, and all I saw was little pictures of cans of spam, one after the other, spam, spam and more spam, some with cuss words, others with acronyms and abbreviations. For cuss words and phrases i’d never heard of. I know what spam was, but lol, rofl and others I won’t mention were all new to me. But it must mean something good, because spam is good, alas it did not. The message from the admin infored me that I had been banned for two weeks for spam. I walked in the radio room where Tim was and asked, Hey, what spam? And he said, no, one knows for sure, but I wish I had some frid right now. Why? And I told him about what happened. He accused me of talking ugly on the forum. I said, I didn’t say nothing ugly, and I didn’t say anything about spam. I would learn that what they were referring to was advertising for free and that wasn’t allowed. I didn’t realize what I was doing, but I was just as incensed that anyone would defile the good name of spam as being anything but wonderful. How do I know spam is like manner from heaven? Because my city mouse wife, who’d starved slapped to death before she knowingly had a squirrel. Now I noticed, I said, knowingly, we’ll wreck a plate of fried spam as quick as I will. So not only did I learn what spam means on the interwhells, I also got a crash course on cyber bullying and keyboard warriors. Why are all these folks so angry that was over thirty years ago. Well, guess what, they’re still mad, and they’ve recruited help. Anyway, our business didn’t need any advertising. Word of mouth was getting us booked beyond anything we’d ever imagine. We needed to enlarge our camp, our project. We decided to double it. We went to the bank and sat down with our banker, mister Freddie Mobley, the husband of my sixth grade teacher, Mary Anne Mobley, who I’ve talked about on here before. Anyway, we told him what we wanted to do, and he looked at us and said, well, y’all have been doing pretty good. I hear he did some clicking on his keyboard and looking at his monitor. I see you’ve been making you payments in advance. That’s good. You have a lot of folks book this coming year, Yes, sir, what about the year after? Well, people usually coming at the same time every year, and we’re growing fast. That’s why we borrowed the money from you to buy the camp in the first place. We couldn’t hold them all in that place we were renting, and now we’re running out of room in the place we bought. He slightly nodded his head in approval. He got quiet for a moment, and we could tell he was thinking years in advance of the next duck season. And even though he was a duck hunter himself, he wasn’t thinking like a duck hunter. He was thinking like a businessman. Tim and I were not. His eyes darted back and forth to me and Tim over his computer screen, and back to us. He folded his hand together and he said, what if the ducks don’t come? That was a question I was not prepared for. He might as well ask me what if the world stops turning a the blink of a ny I was running a million scenarios through my head of what I thought could possibly stand in the way of mister Freddy denying our loan. The absurdity of the ducks not migrting was on the list, but it was way after meteor striking the eleventh Biblical plague. Tim and I both literally lo eled when he said that, And by then I knew what that meant. Why would the ducks not migrate? They’ve been doing that ever since ducks grew feathers. He didn’t laugh, he just smiled, and then he said, what if people quit booking? This dude was a laugh a minute, a straight up comedian. He missed his calling by going into bakon when he should have been doing stand up. Well, we guide a lot of corporate groups and business folks, and they’re the ones book in a year or more in advance. He loaned us the money and we got two years into having our duck camp doubled in size when the economy took a nosedive, and believe it or not, the migration started changing. Now. I don’t care what you call it, global warming, climate change, freaking nature, years of bad hatches, loss of habitat, rest areas up north, holding all the ducks, whatever, it doesn’t matter. What matters is the duck hunting got worse, and businesses cut back on corporate entertainment due to the economy, and some of them stopped it altogether. That was the biggest project we’d put together that required a total reassessment of how we did the admin’s side out of our guiding business. That project was that big, kicking the breeches before it ever got squared away, And that was one of the many reasons that guiding a duck hunting in general started fading. And it’s lure to me. I couldn’t do one without the other. If we were to keep that place, we would have to work for it. There was very little room for recreational hunting. We’d have to hustle up business now before we were having to turn it away. At any time your fund gets like work, well, it ain’t fun no more. We retired, we sold it, and then a few years ago I started going again a little here and there on the cash with my friends at the coon camp and own some private land. And then I went with the r into some public land last year that I used to guide on and I killed ducks both places, and I didn’t have to do any racing because I didn’t want to go to the places where people race. There’s still some spots out there that are good that don’t get of a lot of attention, and those are my favorites. But beyond anything else, I’ve always wanted to develop and manage a place from start to finish. A project of habitat enhanced for ducks that will benefit all the creatures on the landscape that lived there. That’s the new project and an unforeseen opportunity that of all people, my daughter Bailey arranged for me to have through her love for competition dancing. Remember the episode where a lot of us went to New York City last year for the girls to see rockets and took enough kids and parents for three basketball teams. Well, among those families, as well as a few more, we’ve grown particularly fun and close to. And when I say family, I mean the whole family, brothers and sisters, grandparents, friends, the whole circle of them. Their friends and family have become irish and vice versa. I talk about them all the time. But the guy that used to be known as Avery’s dad is now known to me as John. John and I have become friends. Our girls initiated this a dance, then we all tagged along. Now we all have a standing date every Wednesday for supper. We used to go out and eat, and we still sometimes do, but mostly we take turns cooking for each other. It has become one of the favorite parts of my week, a standing supper date with a family and a bunch of people who I look forward to see him at every opportunity. John likes to hunt and I like to hunt. John builds houses and has a dirt business, both of which take up a lot of his He told me I could have the run of his properties. In the last spring, I walked onto a piece of bottom land property that’s as pretty a patch of woods as there is. There was a little turkey sign here and there, but not much, but I was thrilled to see enough squirrels there to wear out a tree dog. There was water standing from recent range. As I waited along with the ankle deep water and swatted mosquitoes, and I saw how it looked like the flooded timber that Arkansas is famous for, you know, the duck hunting kind. Well, months passed it. As John and I got more acquainted, I learned that he liked the duck hunt and sold his oldest son, Ethan. Ethan works in the family business with his dad, and they have a lot of equipment, excavators and dump trucks, skid steers, and bulldozers to do the jobs that they do. One night, we were all eating supper at John’s house and he started telling me about a piece of property where he used to duck hunt several years ago. It was the property that I’d waited on back in this spring looking for turkeys. I told him where I waited to that day, and he mentioned that where I had turned around to walk back out of the water was close to where he used to hunt ducks. I wasn’t discounting John’s duck hunting a buildy or knowledge, but duck hunting in any area that I’ve never been to, or much less even heard of in Arkansas always makes me wonder how good could it really be? What are they comparing it a quality to not hunting at all? Well, I didn’t know, and I didn’t judge either. One man’s trash being another man’s treasure is never more true than when talking about duck hunting. There were times in my youth when I wouldn’t have walked across the road for anything less than the limit of green heads in the timber, never thinking about the folks who felt fortunate just to see a wood duck buzz through at daylight. He kept telling me about this property having ducks on it, and how he and the fellow he got it from used to duck cut it, and I asked him finally, Mallards. Yeah in that timber, Yeah, over there where I waited water in that flat last spring. Yeah. And I’ve always wanted to develop that into something good for ducks and wildlife. I have the equipment and the desire to make it something special. I just need someone with the knowledge of the animals and the trees. Would you be interested in helping me? I had to fight the urge to do a backflip. Not that I can or could ever do one. I just had to fight the urge to try it. Yep, I sure would. And with that conversation from a few weeks ago, we began to plan. Now here’s the advantage of doing anything with a house builder. They don’t do anything without a set of plans. Tim and I learned that lesson the hard way when we didn’t have a planned for a downturn in the commercial hunting business. Now, the best thing about making a plan with John is that the equipment was already there. There was no overwhelming initial investment for a kabillion dollars and stuff to work with, most of it was sitting on that property. There would be nothing to invest other than sweat equity, and what brain power I could muster to start a planning Before we ever moved a teaspoonful of dirt. We walked the land from corner to corner and studied the topography and John’s extensive knowledge of the land’s history, how rainwater moved naturally along the flooding that they had taken advantage of in the past. We researched the permits, the rules and regulations about flood control, pumping, water levees, and everything that a builder would have to research before starting construction on any piece of ground for any kind of building. Now, wouldn’t you know it already holds every license required. How fortunate. Several trips to those woods, long conversations on the phone, and it supper had us last Saturday, starting early, clearing the whole of infear and non acorn producing trees. Hackberry, ironwood, and sweet gum were removed and stacked and set ablaze, along with a massive red oak that had fallen due to a windstorm a couple of years ago. It’s what led us to survey that spot, which is close to the center of the property and not far from where they eight hundred years ago. That big red oak hit Mother Earth. The loss of that canopy opened up a hole in that timber that was right for just a little tlc. It’s a natural opening that would attract ducks, and there were native grasses growing in that open that had flooded. The ducks would have surely found. By opening that canopy even more, we were going to let in more sunlight. Now. Initially you think, ah, the ducks will have more room to fly in and land, which which is true. But that’s only part of the reason. Sunlight on the floor is going to help tremendously with what we’re planning next year. You get the grocers on the ground that they like to eat, and the size of the opening won’t keep them out. Ducks will start dropping in a coggleline, wearing safety goggles and tolding the hatchet if they have to. I still hadn’t been completely sold on the mallards in that area. I never doubted John’s word, but still, this ain’t the River bottoms where I grew up, or the Mississippi River Delta, you know what, They ain’t far away. So I sat on my computer a couple of nights before we were set to start clearing out that hole, looking it all X and getting the lay of the lad with the photography and how the water flows, and what creeks slews or bios that would be close enough to be our co conspirators, and the flooding. John talked about shooting ducks in years ago and that I witnessed the spring. That’s when I saw it. I’d been living here for over a decade oblivious to some key features, and that it wasn’t like I didn’t know where they were. I just I just hadn’t paid any attention to them. As far as waterfowl go. I have places to do that that I’ve been going to forever, way before I ever moved here, and those are the places that I go because I didn’t need anything else. Then, after looking at the satellite view of the natural land features, the creeks, the rivers, and the boos, and the government waterfowl rest areas and the thousands of acres of rice, soybeans and corn that surround that spot, it became abundantly clear that John knows exactly what he’s talking about. I’ll tell this a little funny on the both of us as to how excited and dedicated we are to be working together on this project, but John running the heavy equipment, Ethan and I were in charge of running the chains all getting the fire started on the brush he was piling up in the middle of that hole. The morning turned into afternoon, and afternoon turned into night. We continued on through the night, watching the fire as it slowly ate away the brush, limbs and logs we piled on top of each other. Ethan took off around one thirty the next morning. I’d gotten up the day before at four thirty, and not on purpose, just by sheer excitement and enthusiasm to get started. I couldn’t wait to get in there. Twenty hours in and I was starting to feel the drain on my batteries. At three am. We’d been sitting in silence for quite some time, staring at the flames, a glance occasionally at John and looked just as tired as me, but never mentioned or made a move. The call of the day and go home. The fire couldn’t get out. There was nothing for it to burn and nowhere for it to go. We’ve seen to that well before we struck the first match. I wanted to go home, rest awhile shower come back, but John he didn’t budge if he stayed. I’m staying. It’s a privilege for me to be there. There’s no way I disrespect him or what we’re doing here by suggesting we go home. We were leaving Bee when John said we want three thirty three, forty five finally four a m I was gassed, still excited, but plumb wore out. John been a long time since four thirty yesterday morning. Yep. A few minutes went by and I got the gumption to ask him, how long do you want to stay? John looked at me quickly and said, oh, I’m here for you. Love it, madity. We could have been home hours ago, but neither of us wanted to be the first to holler cafro. I was as wolved as a rended mew. And we saddled up and we went to the house seven hours later. Who are right back at that project. It’s gonna be fun, and it’s gonna get funer. And I hope y’all enjoy the reports from this endeavor that I’m going to bring you throughout the years we worked through the different stages of preparation and anticipation of next season. Thank y’all so much for listening, and if you really want to help meet Clay at Old Lake, just consider writing her. If you were better, still sharing our shows with others you think might enjoy. Until next week, this is Brent Reeves signing off. Y’all be careful.
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