Ep. 157: THIS COUNTRY LIFE - Hogs, Cows, and Elephants

cows and elephants. Hogs, cows and elephants. Now, what in the world could all of that have in common with me? Outside of describing how I eat, what I eat and how big I'll be if I don't cut back on the other two. But that's not what we're talking about. We're talking about chores and the jobs I had as a kid. And trust me, all that's going to make sense by the end of this episode. It's a pretty eclectic list looking back at it now, and I'm gonna tell you all about it. But first I'm going to

tell you a story. Now, obviously, I grew up in the country, and it's that foundation on which this entire struggle is based, and there were jobs I had that my friends that lived in town didn't. The jobs and chores weren't foreign to them. They were raised in the same culture I was, and many of their parents had grown up on a farm and dealt with the same responsibilities that I had. They just didn't have to do them. As a result, I got to learn to drive early.

The first thing I ever drove was my dad's company truck. It was a standard shift forward pickup. It was sky blue, and I would eventually have one of my own a few years down the road. I talked to about it in episode one old nine of This Country Life Country Vehicles. Anyway, I knew how to drive, and it came in handy on the farm when you had to move something from one spot to another and my dad needed another hand

to help. When tractor driving time came, I was already checked out on a much more complicated piece of machinery the tractor. That just became second nature. The only differences were what implements I was using now. Sometimes we would take off for the River of the Lake, both of which were accessible by County and Timber Company gravel roads. I only had to drive a short distance on Arkansas State Highway one eighty nine. But guess what it was gravel too. The whole world was gravel as far as

I knew. The two main state highways that ran through where we lived were paved, but the log trucks had done such a number on them that there weren't much smoother than a gravel road. But my dad taught me how to pull the trader to back one up. By the time I was nine, I could do it as good as anybody. My only issue was seeing over the

hood of the truck. I drove him around all night when we were running his hands chasing coats, and sometimes we needed to go to a location to quick, you know, to cut the dogs off or catching before they crossed the road, so I had to drive faster. Driving on a gravel can be tricky. Your brakes at speed are oftentimes not your best friend, especially on loose gravel. I take in the truck here and there around the farm and down the road to a neighbor's place to get

something for Dad. And sometimes if the situation allowed that I was alone, I might cut a few diados in the road or in a field. If given the opportunity, slinging gravel and cutting the doughnut were rare opportunities to showcase my driving skills. And even though I was never in a place where my friends could see me demonstrate my prowess as a stunt driver, they had been briefed on it by me on numerous occasions. I don't think they believe me, because they said, we don't believe it.

So one day, as I stepped off the school bus and walked a short distance down the gravel drive to the house, I had the best idea ever. No one was at home, and there set the farm truck keys in the ignition. You know how long it takes a ten year old to make a bad decision, Well I could make six and the time it took me to ask that without even trying. I'd show those clowns on

the school bus that I could drive a truck. And I would do that by passing the bus less than a half a mile from where I had just stepped off of it. I jumped in the seat, fired that rascal up and away I went, torching the gravel in the driveway as I did a half doughnut to get out to the wet clay gravel road and catch the Now, there's four bad decisions right there, and you don't have to pause to count them. I'll count them for you. Number one decided to pass the school bus. Number two

took the truck without permission. Number three did a half donut in the driveway. Number four did not account for the muddy clay gravel road I had just entered with reckless abandon. The road made a ninety degree turn at the corner of our yard, and as the bus made that curve, I was standing on the foot feed for all it would do. I had a rooster tail of sloppy orange clay and rocks flying up behind me, and when I hit the curve, I realized I was going

too fast. When I turned the wheel and the truck kept moving forward toward the fence, I took my foot off the gas and I'm smashed the brakes. That didn't work either. The only thing left was to mash the gas again, and to my surprise, the tail end of that truck slung around and I turned into that curve and straight away like I knew what I was doing, Sitting on the front edge of the truck seat, staring at the back end of that school bus one hundred

and fifty yards in front of me. I knew right then I was going to be a legend tomorrow at school. All the boys and witness that were going to be telling everyone how I passed the school bus like Richard Petty. The bus would be turning in less than one hundred yards. So if I was going to pass them and fulfill my destiny as an elementary school like on, I had to make up some ground pretty quickly. I pushed the pedal to the floor, and almost immediately the tail end

of that truck started to slide around. I fixed this issue just a few seconds ago by turning into the slide and applying more gas. So I did it again. Now you can violate the laws of man and get away with it without a scratch, but you will never buy all ate the laws of physics without consequences and repercussions. That one lane gravel road that I lived on had one dry spot on it under an overhanging oak tree that stood beside a small creek, and a one lane

bridge that was right in front of now. While I was fish tailing down the road, I had already calculated the rate of back and forth and if I didn't change anything, I would zip right across that bridge. When my truck straightened out, ride behind the bus, and I'd blow the yellow off of it when I went by. I still firmly believe I would have made it had it not been for that one dry spot. I don't know how fast I was going. Seemed like ninety It

was probably more like thirty five. I had been busy the last little bit and didn't have time to really notice my speed until that back tire grabbed the dry spot right at the edge of the wooden bridge and shot me off the side of it and entered that shallow creek on the passenger side of the truck. I watched as the bust. I watched as the bus turned on the next road where I had planned to overtake them, and it disappeared from view. I wonder why they didn't stop.

I wasn't saying five yards behind the one I went off that bridge, And then I realized how filthy and muddy the bus windows were from driving down the road. They couldn't have seen me. If I hadn't wrecked, I could have passed them on winged Pegasus and they wouldn't have noticed. Me. I looked across the pasture and I saw them one more time as I crawled out of the driver's side door window, watching the front tire spinning like a top. Then they were gone, and I was

all along with our truck on its side in the ditch. Well, this is not good, but the story it'd better be. My mind raced as to what the official version would be. As I ran back toward the house, I heard a hogs squell. We had hogs and a pen across the road from where we lived, and they were notorious forgetting. Now that's it. The hogs got out and I had to go catch them. So I fired up the truck and I took off after him, and I ran off the bridge. I called my mama at the bank where

she worked in town and told her what happened. My version of it anyway, Oh my goodness, my baby, are you okay? Yes, ma'am. I went ahead and put the hogs up before I called you. That was a rooking mistake. I should have went and turned them all out, because my brother Tim would later comment in front of my mama, you was chasing the hogs down the road. Yep, the hogs went down the road. Yes, the hogs went down this road right here where we're standing. Yes, Tim, well

where's their tracks. My mama slowly turned her head to look at me, and one of her eyebrows raised up so high it disappeared into her auburn hair. I knew then that she was going to kill me. And it was all because my brother was playing Sherlock Holmes instead of minding his own business. We called the record and he got the truck out. A broken right mirror and a dent and the door was the only things wrong

with the truck. They made them different back then. I got a whooping and grounded, but I still had to do my chores, which took me outside, and I could easily hide a fishing pole in the barn and slip down to the pond and fish when I wanted to. And I had a great story to tell my boys on the bus the next day. I told them. I told them how I nearly caught the bus but instead had drove the truck off the bridge like Steve McQueen. It was cool and they should have seen them. They

didn't believe it, And that's just how that happened. On the farm. There was always work to be done, and some kind of mowing was a big part of it, and we had three acres of yard to mow and a riding more that worked some of the time. If it was down, it was push mowing time, and that wasn't fun. Besides my duties at home that paid me in room and board, I also got other jobs. Growing up. I worked at the local sail barn, pushing cows, hogs,

and goats whatever came through the cell. The sail was every Saturday, and there was a crew of us that was expected to be there by seven am to start checking in. Cattle. Ranchers would roll in with those goose necked trailers and we'd unload them, tagging with numbers and places that distinguished them from just loan cow. Those are cows and calves that would be sold as pairs. We also got bulls, and occasionally they'd get pretty rank and try to smash you into oblivion. There were seven or

eight of us, all kids. Most weren't old enough to drive when we started working there. We made five dollars an hour, and three or four of us would spend the night there after unloading and loading livestock. From seven in the morning to way past supper time, which day the night to load the semi trucks with cattle that

were headed out of state. After everyone was gone, someone would bring something to eat and we'd entertain ourselves playing wrestling, which usually ended up being a boxing match, and anything else we could think up to occupy our time waiting on the eighteen wheelers to get there, and it never failed. We were tired and had been working twelve hours or so, and we'd all get to the office, sit down and wait,

and eventually we'd all fall asleep. Then after midnight, some truck driver would slip in and wake the guy that was closest to the door up with a cattle prode. If you've never been woken up with electricity coursing through your breeches, let me tell you your situational awareness goes immediately from zero to ten. We had some wild cows that would try to hurt you, and some big bulls that came through that they wouldn't release to come off the scales down to where we were pinning them until

everyone was watching and had an escape route planned. It was an orchestration of calamity and other than getting kicked or run up a fence. Cattle weren't really a problem. It was the hogs. Folks would trap or catch you wild hogs with dogs and bring them to the sale, and Buddy, let me tell you, they were wild. Folks would think that the bigger the wild hog is, the more dangerous he is, But that ain't That's not necessarily the way it works. They all have the ability to

hurt you. But the big ones I never had a problem with. They'd bow up and come at you, and I could dodge them pretty easily, or jump up on a fence until we could get them where we wanted them to go, sometimes by using ourselves as bait like a bullfighter to get them going in the right direction. But it was the small hogs, the forty egg of sixty pounders that were so quick that they'd have you cut before you knew what happened. I watched a childhood friend of mine get cut by want at the sail

bar one Saturday. There was one fella in particular that always bought the wild hogs for his packing store, and he didn't list one of us for a little extra cash to help him cut their tusk off before he left with them. Now it wasn't for the week of heart, and mister Bobby would have been the last guy I would have went to for a two day because his methods were straight out of medieval times. Catch the hog with a loop on his top jaw, pull him up

next to the fence. That was our job, and then mister Bobby would take a pair of channel locked plyers and break the huss off with one smooth move. The hogs did not like this, not even not even a little bit. Now we all knew that one wrong move and they could hurt you, and they could hurt you bad. So there was lots of squealing and squalling and grunting when the tusk full and time came at the end of the cell. And that was just from us because someone had to go help mister Bobby, and on this

day it was my buddy Jeff. I went with him and mister Bobby to locate his hogs in the small pens and help if I could if they needed it. Really, I was wanting the extra tip from mister Bobby because he was known to give those to all the boys that helped him. Anyway, I crawled up on the fence opened the gate for Jeff and mister Bobby, and they walked in. Now that wild hog wasn't much bigger than the show. He was about as medium size as a

black labrador. And he backed himself into a corner of that pen that had been there ever since we'd pinned him following the cell. He looked like he was hypnotized. His hams were pushed up against that hogwire so tight that is behind looked like bubble wrap. And there he stood motionless all afternoon. So when tooth pulling time came around, we figured this joker was going to be easy. Come to find out that hog had been saving his strength

and planting his escape the whole time. His plan was simple. At the first opportunity, he was going to cut everyone between him and freedom with those two inch tusks of his that you could barely even see sticking out of his lower jaw. I had just gotten the gate closed when I saw that hog launch himself out of that corner that he'd been in all day. He ran by

Jeff and had bud at the gate trying to get out. Now, I laughed, Mister Bobby climbed the fence and laughed, and Jeff hopped up on the fence too, But Jeff wasn't laughing. He was looking down at his thigh that was exposed through a ten inch cut in his Levi eyes. It looked like someone had cut it open with a razor. Mister Bobby says, son, did he get you, Jeff? So? I don't think so. And then I saw blood pouring

out of the bottom of Jeff's breeches. He moved that open cut of his jeans over a little and we could see the long gash in Jeff's thigh that hog had cut him with me watching it, and neither me or Jeff thought he was hurt very quick. I don't remember how many stitches Jeff got, but it was a passle of them. A week or so later, mister Bobby rolled into the sail barn with an ice chest full of sausage, pork chops, and bacon, and he gave it

all to Jeff. I've established beyond measures that I grew up in rural South Arkansas, so how in the world could I ever have a job associated with elephants. It

was my mama. She no longer worked at the bank and was now working for the Chamber of Commerce in Warren Anything and everything that happened from the annual Pink Tomato Festival, which is in June of every year and has been since Jesus was in junior high to the county fair was run in some form through her office, committee meetings, organizational meetings, whatever she was in the note. So when the circus came to town, they gave my mama a handful of tickets, two of which she gave

to me. I was a junior in high school, and I tricked the gal from those gilded halls of education into going with me to the circus. Now this circus wasn't Barnum and Bailey, not by a long shot. But they had clowns, jugglers, acrobats, lines, and elephants. But that's about where the similarities ended. They were there for about three days. They'd bought some hay from local farmers to put on the floor of the lion cages and to

feed the elephants, and then they left town. They sattled up and hit the road for the next little country town that wanted to see a circus, or a reasonable facsimile one. And at the fair grounds where all this had taken place, it was like they had never been there, not a trace of them was found. No trash, no empty popcorn bags littered the ground, not even any popcorn. They were gone except for the elephants. Now, don't misunderstand me. They didn't leave the elephants, but they did leave what

the elephants left. There had been three days of good Arkansas hay fed to those pacaderms, and they had taken full advantage of it. Apparently, where they had those rascals tied out, there was a mound of elephant let me see droppings. Nope, that don't sound right. Elephant scat, Nope, boulders, Yep, that's it, elephant boulders. It's actually called dung. But there's a bug called a dung beetle that rolls around droppings

of some such. But I can promise you that bug ain't rolling one of these around, not even in a wagon. They were there for three days, and elephants on average, on average dropped two hundred and twenty pounds a day of pooped groceries. That's six hundred and sixty pounds in that little circus that couldn't afford a real big top. The one that the ring master suit looked like it had been his big brothers and his mama had made him wear it. That backyard after thought of a circus,

had four elephants. That's a ton and a quarter of everything the chicken laid, but the egg that had to be hauled off. When the fairgrounds director walked into my mama's office asking who he could pay to clean it up, well guess who got the nod. He let me borrow a trailer a scoop, and I went to work shoveling and shoveling the remnants of what had been a beautiful and serene Arkansas hay meta that had literally been turned

into a bunch of well you know. As I shoveled my way through the mounds of bowlers, I began to marvel at the size and consistency, and I had another thought. I should show these to my brother Tim. He'll think this is cool. Better yet, I should surprise him with one. So as I shoveled and shoveled, I grated as I went, and I separated the good ones from those that lacked uniformity, and eventually I found the perfect specimen of a specimen. So I did what any normal little brother would do.

I took it to my grandma's house they lived in town, and I said, Mama, sly, this is elephant poop. I need a box to put it in, and I want you to wrap it up like a present. I'm gonna take it to tams work and leave it for him. She stared at me, unmoved and said, I think I got a cake box that'll fit in. What kind of wrapping paper should be used? Oh? Man, I missed my

mama's sly. She wrapped that soccer ball size example of elephant processed Arkansas hay into something to behold, and I dropped it off at Tims work before he got there so he'd be alone when he opened it. He said, he immediately knew what it was and obviously who it was from when he cut the wrapping paper away and pulled off the lid. Well, that's what he gets. That's what he gets for asking about those hall tracks today.

I was going to pass the school bus. Mind your own business, Timmy, and lead the stunt driving to us professionals. All right, that's a mark for me. Thank you for listening. Be good to one another and help folks when you can. This is Brent Reeves. Sign it off, y'all, be careful,