Hired Gun
By Ronnie Powell
During my childhood of the 1940’s country folks still relied on hunting and fishing as an extra source of food. Deer was all but gone as well as turkey, which left rabbits, squirrels, groundhogs, quail and if hungry enough an opossum now and again. Fish, frogs and crawdads were also in the food chain. All of the above were delicious, deep fried and served with cornbread or biscuits.
My father usually too busy to hunt or fish relied on my brothers and I to harvest the game and to fish, catch the frogs or crawdads. There were of course game and fish laws during those years, but most folks used common sense and paid little attention to the laws. One never hunted during birthing or shoaling time. This is not to say that game or fish laws were unimportant, it’s just we did not pay much attention to them unwilling I suppose to give up the old ways. The game warden, (as we called him) was an elusive fellow and hardly ever seen and did not make much of an impact until the early 1950’s after the restocking of Whitetail Deer. I can only remember seeing one of the officers during my upbringing, driving slowly along the road in a 1946 Chevy. I squatted down in a growth of buckeye brush and waited until he passed.
My two brothers were not hunters or did not relish cleaning the game and I proudly became the hunter of the family. A single shot twenty two caliber H. and R. Rifle was the only weapon we possessed. If the game was squirrels, Father issued me ten cartridges with instructions to head shoot only and bring back ten juvenile squirrels, of which ninety nine percent of the time I accomplished. Rabbits were quite plentiful for most of the country was cultivated in corn. I usually brought in at least fifteen rabbits with instructions to never shoot one sitting. Father after acquiring an old Mossberg twenty gage took up quail hunting and was very conservative bringing home no more than two each for the family.
During the spring hay harvest my brothers and I were told to run down young rabbits, take them alive and then were confined in a cage and fed a generous amount of corn until plump. Juvenile groundhogs were taken and deep fried, a delicious treat after a winter of salt cured pork.
Fishing in the Dousinberry Creek a tributary of the Niangua was a pleasant past time, especially enjoyed at night, sitting on the bank above a riffle where catfish came to feed. Father and a neighbor acquired a seine of approximately twenty feet in length and kept it hidden most of the time in the rafters of our grainy, but out it came in early autumn, patched and taken to the creek. There were four of us boys who stood watch for the game warden while the men seined. Anything over twelve inches was kept no matter what species of fish. A huge fish fry followed with pumpkin pie and watermelon cooled in a nearby spring.
Several years later, married with children of my own I sat on the crest of a hill above a field along the Niangua River enjoying a spring day. My reason for being there was at the request of a brother-in-law the owner of the river bottom field below me. Groundhogs were ruining the alfalfa field and I had agreed to eliminate as many them as I could with a scoped rifle.
In the distance I could hear the call of a mourning dove, answered by another not far away. Honeybees were busy in the clover bordering the field and further on near the center of the alfalfa field laid the bodies of several groundhogs slain with a single shot from the scoped rifle. I could see other groundhogs peering from their dens, too terrified to come out.
The question why, disrupted my thoughts and suddenly I felt ashamed of the carnage I had brought to the field. They were destroyed not for food, but for sport and I had selfishly taken their lives to boost my ego. I sat there for a time staring at the lifeless bodies. I decided then and there it was wrong to participate in such wanton destruction.
There have been those who made light of my decision not to shoot without good reason such as for food or to defend another in danger. I do not advocate nor support a ban on hunting. It is a necessary tool now that we have removed most of the predators. Most important to me at least, I questioned my motive and changed a mind set and Father would be right proud of me for that. I do love to shoot, but now in my later years it is clay pigeons and tin cans that fall before my sights reflecting my skill without killing something I am not going to use as food. Adios
By Ronnie Powell
During my childhood of the 1940’s country folks still relied on hunting and fishing as an extra source of food. Deer was all but gone as well as turkey, which left rabbits, squirrels, groundhogs, quail and if hungry enough an opossum now and again. Fish, frogs and crawdads were also in the food chain. All of the above were delicious, deep fried and served with cornbread or biscuits.
My father usually too busy to hunt or fish relied on my brothers and I to harvest the game and to fish, catch the frogs or crawdads. There were of course game and fish laws during those years, but most folks used common sense and paid little attention to the laws. One never hunted during birthing or shoaling time. This is not to say that game or fish laws were unimportant, it’s just we did not pay much attention to them unwilling I suppose to give up the old ways. The game warden, (as we called him) was an elusive fellow and hardly ever seen and did not make much of an impact until the early 1950’s after the restocking of Whitetail Deer. I can only remember seeing one of the officers during my upbringing, driving slowly along the road in a 1946 Chevy. I squatted down in a growth of buckeye brush and waited until he passed.
My two brothers were not hunters or did not relish cleaning the game and I proudly became the hunter of the family. A single shot twenty two caliber H. and R. Rifle was the only weapon we possessed. If the game was squirrels, Father issued me ten cartridges with instructions to head shoot only and bring back ten juvenile squirrels, of which ninety nine percent of the time I accomplished. Rabbits were quite plentiful for most of the country was cultivated in corn. I usually brought in at least fifteen rabbits with instructions to never shoot one sitting. Father after acquiring an old Mossberg twenty gage took up quail hunting and was very conservative bringing home no more than two each for the family.
During the spring hay harvest my brothers and I were told to run down young rabbits, take them alive and then were confined in a cage and fed a generous amount of corn until plump. Juvenile groundhogs were taken and deep fried, a delicious treat after a winter of salt cured pork.
Fishing in the Dousinberry Creek a tributary of the Niangua was a pleasant past time, especially enjoyed at night, sitting on the bank above a riffle where catfish came to feed. Father and a neighbor acquired a seine of approximately twenty feet in length and kept it hidden most of the time in the rafters of our grainy, but out it came in early autumn, patched and taken to the creek. There were four of us boys who stood watch for the game warden while the men seined. Anything over twelve inches was kept no matter what species of fish. A huge fish fry followed with pumpkin pie and watermelon cooled in a nearby spring.
Several years later, married with children of my own I sat on the crest of a hill above a field along the Niangua River enjoying a spring day. My reason for being there was at the request of a brother-in-law the owner of the river bottom field below me. Groundhogs were ruining the alfalfa field and I had agreed to eliminate as many them as I could with a scoped rifle.
In the distance I could hear the call of a mourning dove, answered by another not far away. Honeybees were busy in the clover bordering the field and further on near the center of the alfalfa field laid the bodies of several groundhogs slain with a single shot from the scoped rifle. I could see other groundhogs peering from their dens, too terrified to come out.
The question why, disrupted my thoughts and suddenly I felt ashamed of the carnage I had brought to the field. They were destroyed not for food, but for sport and I had selfishly taken their lives to boost my ego. I sat there for a time staring at the lifeless bodies. I decided then and there it was wrong to participate in such wanton destruction.
There have been those who made light of my decision not to shoot without good reason such as for food or to defend another in danger. I do not advocate nor support a ban on hunting. It is a necessary tool now that we have removed most of the predators. Most important to me at least, I questioned my motive and changed a mind set and Father would be right proud of me for that. I do love to shoot, but now in my later years it is clay pigeons and tin cans that fall before my sights reflecting my skill without killing something I am not going to use as food. Adios
2 comments:
I would think the reasoning behind the elimination of the groundhogs were to keep the cows from stepping the their burrow entrances and breaking a leg. So I guess at the time it was which animal was more valuable to the farmer.
Nice story. Well told. Another look into my dad's mind and heart. :)
Nice story, thank you for sharing.
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