Ep. 287: This Country Life - Measuring Success

stories to share. Measuring success. There's a lot of ways you can measure success and money in the banking material possessions are only two. I'm going to talk about one way that I've learned to calculate it. But first, I'm going to tell you a story. I know it's like three weeks past Christmas, but I had to get a bunch of episodes ahead so our favorite sound engineer and doer of all things related to the intelligence side of This Country Life, Reva Hansen, could go home to see

her folks over the holidays. I didn't do a dedicated Christmas episode because I wasn't really sure in what order they'd be posted, so I filed this listener story to be told next year. But it correlates to measuring success. This week's theme and I can't wait a year to tell it. It's too good. And it comes from this Country life listener, Oklahoma's own Dane Fuller. And in Dane's words and my voice, here we go. Growing up, Christmas

Eve meant one thing, ma'am. I own Papov's house. It was a tradition of the Fullers dating back to I believe three days after dirt was invented. RC and Edith Gert Fuller had a pretty big family, five boys and one girl. Eventually, as kids back them did, they all left home to start families of their own, and soon they began bringing them back for the holidays. Not only kids and grandkids were there, but great aunts and uncles,

second cousins, and so forth. By the nineteen seventies, there was approximately four hundred and ninety seven men, women and children cramed to that old house out in the sticks of Muskogee County in northeastern Oklahoma every Christmas Eve. Not really that many, but it sure seemed like it. One particular December twenty fourth, the house was filled to capacity. We had all eaten supper and everyone was gathered in the front room. All of us grandkids were excited because

Pap had finally said we could open presents. Our grandparents weren't rich, In fact, they had very little. Somehow though every year they managed to get us off something. This year times must have been a little tougher than normal, because instead of buying a tree, Pap had gone up the hill with his double bit axe and chopped down a cedar tree a few weeks earlier, and by the time the festivities rolled around, that cedar tree had turned

into the color of a brown paper bag. Christmas lights back in the seventies were of the variety that could rival the temperature of the sun. Twinkle lights weren't anywhere close to happening, being as how the tree had morphed into something akin to napalm. The adults in the room had decided that no string of Christmas lights would be plugged in. The grandkids tried their cow eyed angel face best to talk Papa into plugging them in, but he

wouldn't budge. All of us tried, except for one, Scott cousin. Scott was born in the middle third of the order as far as grandkid ages went. However, he was lead off on the kind of kid that when his dad said not to do something or he'd get a whooping. Scott would ask how much of a woman? It was awesome being Scott's cousin back then, I could tear the barn down, and if he was there, I'd never get so much as looked at. Everybody just knew Scott did it anyway. He was seated next to me that night.

Next to him was the television. Behind it was the outlet that would have had the plugs that were all lying on the floor going to the lights that were still draped on the Christmas tree. The duty of passing out presence this night had fallen to Aint Judy, the lone girl of the Fuller kids. Being a girl with five brothers, Judy had put up with a lot in her day, not enough, though, to have obtained a calm demeanor capable of taking on anything. To say that she

is easily frazzled is an understatement. After the first twenty or so kids had gotten their presence, Judy was nearing the end of her rope. The sound of shredding wrapping paper, squeals of delight, and parents yelling at the kids to wait their turn and taking its toll on Judy. It was at this precise moment Scott made his mood. Without tapping my knee or giving me so much as hey, watch this, he slithered behind the TV and picked up the light stream plug, eager to see the lights and

maybe get him the busting of his life. I didn't say a word. He gave me a look, and with a crooked smile, he plugged into the lights. Oh what a glorious sight. The reds, greens, blues, and orange bulls came to life. Nobody noticed except for me, Scott's sister Charmon, and my sister Karen. The adults were too busy breaking up fights over cap pistols and baby dolls. They had no idea of the coup that Scott had pulled off.

For about two seconds, almost as suddenly as the light has appeared, they were being put to shame by the flame shooting out from that long dead cedar tree. Everyone noticed now. Uncle pee Wee grabbed the cord and tried to yank it out of the socket, and doing so he knocked over the infire older that was once considered a Christmas tree. Things sort of got blurry after that. The house was full of smoke. Dad's grabbed kids and

started litterly throwing toward the back door. Moms had to run in the kitchen to ketch him before any bones were broken. By this time, Uncle Rudy had waded through the sea of kids wrapping paper and toys and made it to the tree. He began trying to stump the fire out. Somebody no one knows who got the front door open, the very door that hadn't been opened for years because ma'ama didn't want it to wear a hole

in her carpet. Terrified me because I was sitting next to the door and had been threatened with a switch for even acting like I might open it. I knew without aut I would get busted for snagging the carpet, no matter the black hole that had just been burned in it. Uncle Tuffy, Scott's dad, grabbed the steel burning torch of a tree, knocked me out of the way,

and threw it in the front yard. Amidst the chaos, the screams, and the smoke, still in the center of the room was Judy running for her life with her hands clasping a frace and she was screaming, oh my, gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh over and over and over, trying desperately to get herself and her kids out of life. She never made it one edge farther from the tree than she was at the moment of combustion. She was

literally running in circles. Pap had never made it out of the cliner, Dad had never made it off the couch. Both were laughing as hard as I had ever seen anyone laugh. By now Scott had made it out from behind the RC eight. He probably knew that he should run while he was still label, but he was too busy, enjoined the fruits of his labor, enamored by the sights of all the carnage, he never noticed his dad reaching

for him. No one knows exactly what happened to Scott once his dad pulled him away, but after the tears dried up, he was as quiet as a church mouse for the rest of the night. Christis averted. It wasn't long until all the windows and the doors in the house were opened to let the smoke down. Everyone had resumed their positions, though wearing their coach. Now what was left of the presence was handed out in Scott and

never sat next to that old TV again. And according to DAMEE Fuller, Native Oklahoma, now spying on the Texans down in childish, that's just how that happened. Now, this is, without a doubt, the best submission amongst the sea of great ones that have ever been sent in by you. Stories like this will always find a way to the top.

Y'all keep them coming, Thank you, Dame. Measuring success any purposeful experience we have where we hope to gain something from the endeavor, whether it's knowledge, a new skill, or something tangible. Once it's over, we have a reckoning of how successful or unsuccessful that struggle was. Was what we gathered from that exercise worth what we sacrifice for the end goal? And that's a question we can all relate to now. Every day lies from getting up and going

to work, buying groceries, or for our leisurely pursuits. It's easy to get discouraged after a trip to the grocery store when you compare what you paid for for what you brought home. Soon you have to go back and do it all over again. The one way to deal with that is to grow your own, which requires effort on your part. Once you start down that road to do it right, it requires daily attention to reap the

best rewards. Now that's an investment in time and effort versus the rewards and the literal fruit and vegetables of your labors. The end of the growing season dictates if the effort was outweighed by the rewards. I liked farming growing up, but I was not a fan of gardening. Farming was different in that it was tractors and implements, and garden was me on the ignorant end of a whole stooped over with a bucket, picking tomatoes and beans and peas. It was always what stood between me and

the things I wanted to do. I'm going fishing in the morning. I'll be leaving before breakfast, to which my mother would respond, we're picking peas in the morning. You can go after that's done. A fooled again. Now, I didn't mind ripping the rewards from those forced efforts when the time came to mash a double handful of him

into a piece of hot buttered corn bread. But as a young man with fishing on his mind, breaking the sweat while bent over in a pea patch trying to fill a five gallon bucket was the farthest thing from a plate full of goodness that you could get now later on, had you asked me if it was worth the trouble at the sibber table after my first bite of peas and corn bread, and the Andrew would have been an emphatic yes, Yes it was. But this is the magic of the passage of time, both in the

measure of success and the maturity of a person. I find it a lot easier to recognize where my efforts are heading with each passing birthday, something I couldn't see past where I was standing earlier in my life. I tended to live my life for the here and now, never thinking beyond tomorrow, because tomorrow was a long way away.

But before I knew it, tomorrow was today. Spent several days with some folks in Kansas last week at one of the Meat Eatter Experience events, the lat Vin Eagle himself, Joannis Vitellius, and I gathered up with nine folks from all walks of life in all parts of the country to hunt ducks and geese in central Kansas with a

folks at foul Planes Waterfowl Outfitters. My colleague Michael Reetveil from first light was there and organizing the whole affair from the admin's side of things, and had everything squared away from the moment Jannis and I got there. As I stumbled my way through this life of mine, I find it interest in how uncommonly common it is for me to run into someone that I know or have

a connection with in the most random of places. I take away the many people I run into airports and restaurants that follow this show and others I've been blessed to be a part of, and focus on the ones that I run into that I actually know or have been acquainted with, and it never ceases to amaze me.

Michael met Joannis and I and showed us inside, and shortly thereafter introduced us to one of the owners of Foul Planes, Chase White, a strapping lad with a beard long enough to call him esthetically to play with zz top now. I shook his hand and introduced my my He said, I think I met you about ten years ago.

Immediately I started thumbing through my minds antiquated roller decks that loses more index cards with each passing day, trying to figure out where I could have met someone that was running a duck hunting operation and a part of Kansas that I'd never been in before. I wasn't having any luck. Oh oh, was it in my other career, the law enforcement one? Then Chase said, I was got deer hunters down in southeast Candace and met you. I

imagined him without the beard, and I remembered him immediately. Well, I remember the day that what you were doing, Chase. You were in a farm shop building ground blinds out of cattle panels and camo tarps. He started laughing, and we reminisced about the people that we knew in common, Max Griffin and Ethan Bennington, who were guiding for the

same concern back then. It's always funny to me to have those experience and have it bring to mind a million things that I wouldn't have ordinarily thought about without some sort of trigger. Chasing his family live in Virginia, and he and his business partner, Cody Crook, a native Kansas, own and operate foul planes in the central part of the state. Now, when Chase comes out to Kansas to gad he brings his wife, Megan and their little boy

on the annual pilgrimage. A short time later, John Johnny, Sean, Phil, Jim, Carry Brent, not this Brnt, the other Brint, as I would refer to him throughout our state. Michelle and Jason walked through the door and our camp was complete. The Foul Plane staff worked feverously behind the scenes as we

all got better acquainted with each other. An the collected group of humans from Michigan, North Dakota, Missouri, Virginia, Montana, Idaho, Kansas, and Arkansas would share a common space for the next three days, all seeking the opportunity to bag limits of ducks and geese and the company of strangers. I talked about how to be a guest at a duck and way back on This Country Life episode one nineteen entitled

Duck Camp Etiquette. Now han't been a waterfowl guide myself for twenty six years, I have a pretty good idea on what all it entails to put on a hunt for clients and what hunters like to know to make them more confident guides than the opportunity to be successful, I draw all guides can't control the weather or the animals.

What they can do is provide a clean, comfortable place to stay, good food, and communicate them with their guests now keeping their hunters up to speed on what's going on as far as what's expected of them, where they'll be hunting, the environmental conditions they can expect to encounter, and the equipment they'll need to keep them comfortable and it's important. These were all things that my brother Tim

and I focused on when we were guiding it. It made for a more relaxed atmosphere in camp when the only questions left unanswered. We're controlled by mother nature chasing. This crew did an excellent job of explaining it all in great detail. They also had a grease board posted in the mudroom. Now on the grease board all the pertinent information for the next day's hunt was posted, what time we were leaving, how far we were going, if

we were hunting ducks, geese or both. Another time that was posted would allow you to roll out early with the guide crew if you wanted to help set up now. For those not versed in what goes into prepping a spot for ducks and geese, is a fun way to learn the dues and don'ts of decoy placement, the number of decoys used, why you use that number, and the rest of the ingredients that go into the mix of

having a safe and successful hunt. When there's nothing left to question, all that's left is to get to know one another. Where else could such a diversely located group of people whose main similarity is a love for the outdoors gather together to celebrate a com and passion. It's the main investment in measuring the success of the hunt. It can't all be about how many ducks and geese you bring back to camp. Now, there was a time when it was for me, just like some of the

folks that I visited with in Kansas. Another commonality is that with age and maturity comes the peace that goes beyond the ducks and geese we bring home. I've seen it a million times in people I've guided for who bring their sons and daughters and younger family members. The youngsters are chomping at the bit to get to the trigger, while the older folks kind of set back and enjoy the riot. I learned that lesson from a client of hours that I only had the pleasure of honting with

once early in my guiding career. He was from Pennsylvania and asked me questions about everything we saw that day. Trees, bushes, farm crops, birds, bugs. Everything that he was hearing and seeing that he didn't have back in Pennsylvania was of interest to it. I didn't know half of what he was asking any He seemed a little disappointed that I didn't. There were no apps or cell phones then that could give you the answers. I was supposed to be his

Google for Arkansas, and I had failed him miserably. He was an older gentleman who, while I only hunted with him a few days, he made a lasting impression on me. He was confessing more into this hunting trip than just how many ducks he could choose. He wanted to know how I grew up, what it was like living here

at anything he could about everything I didn't know. It made me see value in my place like I'd never seen before, Even though there was no other place on this planet that I wanted to be than right there where I was, standing beside him in flooded green timber, ignorant of the majority of my surroundings. I felt guilty for not being able to answer him. I vowed to myself to learn more about the things I took for granted that nours so important to me. Yet at the

time were of little consequence. With each trip outside, I took note of more of the little things. I looked them up, and I asked other folks I was with, and I tried to learn something every day. Still do that yankee from Pennsylvania taught me to be more invested in whatever I was doing, and my returns grew way beyond what I brought home to skin and eat. Jannis and Chase played ping pong, and the rest of us cheered and jeered to the monotonous tone of the back

and forth between them. And during that hypnotic demonstration of hand eye coordination, I learned that I was sitting in the company of medical professionals, veterans, and engineers, amongst others. Three sets of married folks, a father and a son, and one flying solo, all happy to be there, all with humility, in varied levels of duck hunting experience, ranging

from veteran waterfowlers to novices. They shared a genuine interest in what mine Giannis's job entailed and asked questions with enthusiasm. They all reminded me, every one one of them, with a man from Pennsylvania that I'd taken hunting almost forty years ago. They wanted to learn everything, and they weren't afraid or too vain to ask questions about things they

didn't know. They were educating themselves to better understand the environment in which they were now operating, and in doing so, they would see the bigger picture beyond the end of their shotgun and what was really going on. People like that are my kind of people, regardless of their level of ability in anything, but especially the outdoors. Some of them could have taken my place in the hosting duties and been better at it, I'm sure than I was.

Always looked for a common denominator when I'm talking to a group of folks, but the only one a parent it first was I respect for the wild things, And once we started talking, all the others rose to the surface, and there was a lot of them, a notable difference from the eclectic group of folks I sat with for three hours in the Dallas Fort Worth Airport, all of them close enough to talk, but miles away on their

phones and laptops. I got home and I unpacked, getting my stuff cleaned, washed, and ready to leave again for a film we're shooting in a few days. When I laid down last night after saying my prayers, my thoughts drifted back a day to the new friends I had made and wondered if they'd all gotten home yet. I'd only known them for a little over seventy two hours, but in that time I'd invested in them as much

and more than they'd invested in me. I knew their kids' names, where they went to church, and much of the day to day things that make up their lives. Things like that matter, and that matter because we each asked the other a question, and instead of marking time until we could speak again, we listened to the answer. I couldn't tell you how many ducks and geese we shot over

those three days. It wasn't a limit every day, but we didn't get skumped by any means, and had we been hunting for the skillet, we'd have all went to bed foot at night. A year from now, I doubt I could pick out the places we hunted have shown a picture of them among three others. I guarantee you that I'll remember the people, and when I do, I'm gonna smile, and that's how I measure success. I can only hope that they do the same thank out so much for listening to me and my partner, Clay Bowl

and the Old Bear Grease Channel. And until next week, this is Brent Reeves, Sign it off. Y'all be careful,