LIVING OFF THE LAND AROUND SHERMAN, TEXAS

     I have been blessed with a variety of experiences in my life.  I grew up in the nice Texas town of Sherman, Texas and frequently visited family in nearby rural settings.       Early on, I decided to embrace a life in a city environment and away from  bugs, snakes, varmints and vermin, even though it means sacrificing a peaceful, pastoral setting.

     When I was a little guy, my cousin, Cheryl Kenner Arrington, and I

would visit family farms, catch fireflies in the evening, put them in a jar and soon have a blazing lantern of light.  On the flip side, Cheryl would hold me down, crush fireflies against my teeth and lips, giving my mouth an eerie glow, accompanied by illuminated bug guts.  She may look like someone’s sweet grandma today, but she was capable of using those tranquil insects to bully someone as precious as me.  

     I had a number of “countrified” friends and family around Grayson County, who enjoyed killing raccoons, frog gigging, squirrel and rabbit hunting, along with rattlesnake roundups.    These all struck me as excellent opportunities to let Mother Nature murder you or at least get you seriously wounded.  

     

     One of the more barbaric moments was my one and only ‘coon hunt’.  At night, my farm-bred brethren would have a pack of specially trained

dogs bolt from their trucks into the woods.  They could tell from the hounds baying if they were on the trail of a raccoon.  We then chased after the dogs, who had the poor animal in a tree and were all barking and jumping into the air.  Someone then had to climb the tree, push the raccoon out (It was not going to be me) and the dogs would then pounce upon him, kill him and rip him to pieces.  WHAT AN ENTERTAINING EVENING!   

     The fun was only beginning.  After the raccoon had died, one of the “hunters” removed his penis, which has a bone extending through the entire length.  This was then dried, allegedly cleaned and fashioned into a…(so help me), TOOTH PICK!  As I was gagging and losing my supper over the evenings activities, the other “hunters” proudly produced their trophy tooth picks from their pockets, hatbands or key chains.  I could hear the banjo strains of “Deliverance” in the distance and was attempting to figure out if I could walk home, as they chased after the dogs.   

     This experience was trumped by frog gigging, where you shine a light into some unsuspecting frog’s eyes by the water, pierce him with a pronged spear, chop off his legs and toss him back into the water.  The legs are then cleaned, fried and are considered a delicacy.  I don’t like to think about the legless frog, who was minding his own business and after being tossed back into the water was probably thinking, “What in the hell was that all about?”  He showed up at home, without his leg’s and his wife and kids are asking, “What in the world happened to you?”  “Are your legs going to grow back?”  “You must have done something in another life to punished like this!”

     My mother’s people were children of the land and the depression.  They actively hunted rabbits, squirrels and possums in the wooded countryside and ate everything.  I found this equally barbaric and couldn’t bring myself to feast on the roasted carcasses of these Disney-esque creatures of the forest…like Thumper or the other animals that helped Cinderella clean house.  Further, my kinsmen would cook the skulls of these little animals in the oven for my blind great grandfather.  He cracked them open with pliers and ate the walnut-looking cooked brains.  OH NO…NO, NO, NO…NOT THIS BOY!  I became an outcast sissy boy to my family, subject to derision by all and a potential vegetarian, rather than consume the offered “exotic meat dishes”. 

     While stocking shelves at my H-H grocery store job, I was directed to build a display of capers.  I did not know what a caper was and asked where they should be located.  My supervisor told me they were  rooster testicles (chuckling behind my back) and therefore belonged in the meat section (nothing surprised me anymore).  I accepted his direction,  looked at all those cases of capers and thought, “Man, that is an awful lot of roosters.”