December 12, 2025 • 20 mins
Not being on time is a pet peeve for many, and not the first thing other folks chose to worry about. To them, close is good enough. Brent's gonna tell a story from a time years ago when he and a couple others set out to prove a point about timeliness. He's also sharing a recent instance where a similar event took place. If you're tuning in right now, then you're right on time for MeatEater's "This Country Life" podcast!
Connect with Brent and MeatEater
MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, and Youtube Clips
Subscribe to the MeatEater Podcast Network on YouTube
Shop Bear Grease Merch
See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:05):
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
(00:27):
airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair
or drop that tailgate. I've got some stores to share.
Being on time it's a pet peeve of mine and
has been for quite some time. Being on time is
(00:47):
important to me. For me, I don't look down or
judge others who may not find that as critical as
I do. Unless we're talking about the fuse on a
stick of dynamite, then I want the tie. I'm calculated
down to the very second. We're not blowing anything up today,
just talking about being on time. I'm going to tell
(01:08):
you about a recent event involving someone not being somewhere
when they said they would. But first I'm going to
tell you this story. Let's leave Carls at four point
thirty in the morning. It's a forty five minute drive
(01:28):
from there to the Beaver Pond. We'll get there at
five fifteen. It's a ten minute walk at most, and
we can be chunking decoys by five point thirty shooting
iurs ain't till six nineteen. That'll give us plenty a time.
I was on the phone with my lifelong friend who's
more of a brother than friend. We grew up together,
(01:50):
played baseball, football. We're roommates for a spell back in
our younger years and have never not been close when
we lived far away from each other. He's the friend
that you don't have to talk to every day, every week,
or even every year. You just pick up right where
you left off the last time, the moment you seem
(02:13):
He's that kind of friend, and I love him dearly.
He used to be notoriously lated for everything, and he
had been since I'd known him. We met in the
third grade and became friends immediately all through school and
(02:34):
after this cat ran on his own caliber. He was
and is loyal to a fault, but his clock ran
anywhere from fifteen to thirty minutes behind everyone else's. Dude
could take a nap at the drop of a hat.
I don't know how many times when we lived together
(02:54):
that on a weekend evening when we planned to go
somewhere and do something together after work, that i'd be
ready in waiting in the living room for him to
get ready, waiting and wait and waiting, I mutually planned
and agreed upon departure. Time would come and go, and
the light would still be shining out from under the
(03:17):
bathroom door. I call his name and get no answer.
I check his room and he wasn't there. No where
did he go. I called across the street to a
relative's house. No, he's not here. I look out the
window and I can see his car parked in front
of y'all's house. Now, the first time it scared me
(03:39):
until I opened the bathroom door and I found him
asleep in the tub. I yelled at him, thinking he
was dead, only to have him confess that his lips
turning blue was due to the water being so cold.
For the love of humanity, how could anyone sleep in
cold water, I don't know, but he did it. I
(04:00):
believe he could have slept just as well on top
of the stove or in the oven for that matter. Now,
he's a good duck hunter, and a pretty good shot
as well. It was good to have along to help
put ducks on the stringer. He's also a lot of
fun to have around it makes me laugh, and has
enough nervous energy to never slow down until he literally
(04:23):
falls asleep if you'll never rollerskate on empty holes in
the duck climb when he's around, because he never met
a mess he didn't want to clean up. Now, who
couldn't love a guy like that, not to mention that
he's an absolute wonderful human being, which is just another
attribute of why he's so well thought of by everyone
(04:45):
that knows. It wasn't for that being late thing I'd
adopted myself, which reminds me of this little story, so
bear with me. Once upon a time, moons ago, when
we were roommates, my friend and I stopped at a
convenience store to buy some potato chips and cold drinks
(05:08):
on our way home to watch the Arkansas play basketball
on TV. Now, my buddy has a baby face and
has since he was an actual baby when we graduated
high school. He could have turned around and gone undercover
in elementary school. Is a six foot fourth grader. Me,
on the other hand, I started shaving in the seventh
(05:30):
grade and you could see gray hair on my knocking
in my senior pictures. We were born less than six
months apart. Anyway, there we are standing together at the
counter when the lady who's ringing up our purchases says,
and what are you two gentlemen up to on a
Friday night? I told her, as I handed her some money,
(05:52):
We're going home to watch the razorbacks play. She looked
up at both of us, who were standing side by
side looking back at her, and this is what she said,
and I quote, I think that's so cool, a father
and son spending a Friday night together watching a ball game.
I looked at her and tell she was serious. I
(06:13):
looked over at my pardner, who was now grinted like
a baked possum, who then looked over at me and said,
thanks dad. Anyway, back to the original story, old babyface,
me and another couple of folks were planning on thinning
the duck population down by four limits the following morning.
(06:34):
I'd already called the other two and said, we're pulling
out of cars one stop in the morning at four
point thirty. Be there or be square. Now, my buddy
with the slow running internal clock and I were grown
and living on our own By this time, we were
knee deep in separate careers, making house and car payments,
and doing all the adult things that adults do. So
(06:57):
when I said be a Carls, which was a bait
shop and forting goods retailer on the south end of Warren, Arkansas,
where like minded folks would use as a meeting spot
for hunting and fishing trips, I assumed everyone would be
at Carls by four fifteen. Heck, I got there at
ten after four, and I was the third one of
our group to get there. It was the three of
(07:19):
us hanging out and waiting on old babyface. We cracked
open one of our thermoses of coffee, combined, I gear
into one suv for the forty five minute ride over
to the Beaver Pond and discuss where we'd set up
in the beaver pond once we got there, where the
recent rains had pushed water out into a hardwood flat
where ducks were known to congregate. Four point fifteen turned
(07:44):
into four twenty five. Where is this dude? There were
no cell phones back then. When you hung out with people,
you actually had to look at them and talk to them,
unless there was a payphone close or you barred someone's
house phone. There was no calling any away from the crib.
At five am here he came sliding up in the
(08:05):
parking lot like he was late for work, which, as
far as I was concerned, he was, I overslept. Sorry man.
He threw his stuff in the back and we lit
a ship for the duck hole. We took turns trying
to make him cry for being late, and had to
paint the road red to get there. With enough time
to get exactly where we wanted set up, just like
(08:27):
we talked about before. Shooting time came and we barely
made it. It was cold, clear, a bluebird day, with
a north wind just stout enough to push the three
dozen decoys around that we brought with us. It was
a morning that you hear about, one of those mornings
you read about high flying ducks that broke down when
(08:51):
you started calling to him from we up there that
circle just long enough to slow down then drop through
the trees and bunches of thirty fifty landing all around you,
while some hovered above the gaggle of ducks that had
just lit, looking for a spot to light themselves. We
had four limits in short order. The beginning of the
(09:13):
morning all but forgotten as we rode back home, still
talking about the grand adventure we'd all just shared. We
pulled back into Carl's parking lot, divided up the ducks,
took possession of our guns and gear, and collectively agreed
we'd do it all over again in the morning. I
dressed the group, but was looking at old babyface when
(09:35):
I said be there or b square. At four five
the next morning, I was once again the third man
of our forsom to pull in, having been beaten by
the other two by a matter of moments. We started
our routine of combining all our plunder into one ride.
Other hunters were meeting there as well, and with every
(09:56):
new set of headlights that turned in off the highway,
we looked for our s straggler, only to see a
different group of folks gather all their shooters and take
off four point fifteen for twenty four twenty five. Anybody
talked to him last night? No, The last thing we
(10:19):
said was the same time tomorrow before we all left
yesterday four thirty four thirty five, four forty and here
he came, same deal as the day before. Sorry, I
overslept again. We tried to make him cry. He did not.
(10:50):
We headed to the same spot as the day before,
after getting a late start, had to settle for a
different spot because we'd been beat to our first choice.
They were walking away from the parking spot as we
were pulling in. We scrapped out a couple of ducks
at our spot and were forced to watch and listen
as clouds of ducks dropped in that hole, only to
(11:11):
get goosele chopped by a bunch of strangers before a
cat could lick its behind. Duck hunting is like real estate.
It's all about the location, and when they prefer a
different spot, there's nothing you're going to do to change
their minds. We were watching a duck hunt instead of
participating in one, all because of mister Sleepy. Someone suggested
(11:36):
leaving earlier in the morning, several rude comments directed to
mister Sleepy later, and we'd all agreed to leave at
four point fifteen from Carls the next morning. We want
to make sure you we'll get there in time to
beat those folks. As the whole look pal at four
fifteen in the morning, we're leaving Carls. If you're there
(11:57):
at four sixteen you'll be by your he laughed, and
he said, I'll be there the next morning. I leaned
up against the tree. I was sidled up to two
mornings before the sky was waking up with the astronomical
term of civil twilight. As whistling wings and silhouettes and
(12:18):
ducks began their daily ritual of leaving the flooded fields
to rest in the confines of the timber we waited
past legal shooting to get started, watching group after group
falling through the hardwood canopy, slapping limbs in each other
as they splashed down into the decoys and beside us.
Once the light got good enough to see clearly, we
(12:41):
went to work, taking our time, even taking turns, trying
to stretch the morning out to more than just a
few minutes on this last day before the season closed
for a week during the mandatory split. Once the last
of the limit was reached, the three of us sat
(13:02):
back and someone said out loud, I wonder what mister
sleepy's doing right now. I responded with learning not to
be late, and that's just how that happened. Being late
(13:24):
to anything drives me crazy. I have a condition about it.
My wife, Alexis, has a phobia I thought I did
until I met her. She stone cold serious about being
on time and will leave me just like I left
my buddy on that duck hunt way back yonder, not
to mention that it's downright rude and socially unacceptable. I
(13:46):
was reminded of the story I just told you all
a couple of weeks ago by some friends of mine. Now,
these are college ads, young men who have the drive
to go day after day when they have the opportunity
to do so, and sleep to be able to find
the spot of their own to chase ducks. I know
these young men, and they are not the cogs in
(14:07):
the wheels of calamity that is modern day duck hunting
on public land in Arkansas. Quite the contrary, they are
an example to not only their peers, but to the
adults who have helped perpetrate the chaos over the last
decade that has driven a wedge between public land users
and cause the divide we all find ourselves in now.
(14:29):
I have no desire to bandy words with anyone on
this subject about who's the fault here, But there's two
things that I can bring to light. The young folks.
I'm talking about couldn't hunt by themselves when the public
land duck hunting war started, and a big portion of
the folks working to try to change the dynamic of
what's happened today to what it was years before it
(14:51):
all started, Well, they couldn't either anyway. Two of these
young men had planned to meet up with two more
folks of their same generation the following morning to go hunting.
The father of one of these boys and I were
going as well, but we decided a long time ago
that worrying about getting somewhere first was a lot less
(15:14):
problematic when you have a private spot to go to.
I realize not everyone has that luxury, but I also
don't care. I work and save to be able to
afford it, and I've leased land to duck hunt on
twice in my life. The first time was when Tim
and I were guiding and the state made it illegal
(15:36):
to guide hunters on the public land. Even then, we
had to take guests to be able to afford it,
so we never went by ourselves. It was always like
being at work. Now I have friends that I like
to hunt with, and we found a place close to
the camp that we can sleep late drive over to
climbing our spots in the blind and shoot a duck
(15:58):
or two down again. It's quite a more relaxed way
of enjoying this time of year. I still have the
desire and the fire to sit in the wet and
the cold, hoping for just an opportunity of poking the
business into my scattered gun, up a mount of ducks behind,
and turning it loose. I have sat for hours before shooting,
time to the last second of legal light in the
(16:20):
evening to do it, having never busted a cap, eyeballs peeled,
having to make myself blink thinking I might miss something.
Now I don't care. Ducks quit flying for forty five minutes,
How would I know I've been gone for thirty of them.
I'm back at the cabin, trying to drown a biscuit
(16:40):
in salt milk gravy while eating the whole setting of eggs.
My priorities have shifted from the stringer to the couch.
But we ain't talking about me. We're talking about these
young men who I had invited to come stay at
the cabin with us so they could get a head
start on the foot race the following morning. They were
(17:01):
counting on their other two pals to beat feet to
the spot, while they came in later with one of
them's younger brother. All three of them were staying with
me all evening. I watched them trying to get hold
of their friends who were gonna be the early birds,
the ones who were gonna save them a spot, to
bring the little brother too, so he could have the
(17:21):
opportunity that big boys did. Looks like they dipped us.
One of them said out loud, Now is that good
or bad? I don't know what that means. Well, it
turns out it's bad. They ghosted them. They left them
in a lurch. They left them behind and dry. They
depended on those two to help them take the little
brother to a good spot, and had been abandoned at
(17:44):
the second most critical time of the whole operation, the
night before. The only thing that would have been worse
was waking up the next day and walking into the
spot to find other folks there that you didn't know,
Your friends nowhere to be seen, and it too late
to find your own spot somewhere else. Your pals peed
(18:05):
on your fire, didn't they. He looked at me and
did the math in his head, figuring out what I
just said to him and answered, oh, yes, sir, I
think they did. We all just come go with us
in the morning. We can sleep late. We can drive
the canem to the blind, unload all our stuff, and
sit in comfort while we hunt. Someone beats us to there,
(18:28):
they're trespassing and they ain't gonna be in there very long. Well,
they liked that idea. Now I like that idea. My friend,
who was already going with me, like that idea even
more because one of those young folks was his son.
Would be an opportunity for them to hunt together that
he didn't know was coming. None of us knew. It
(18:50):
was just the way it all worked out. And we
watched TV for a while, and then I headed to bed,
and I told the youngsters on my way that we
were leaving the cabin the next morning at five thirty.
They were ready to go at five thirty one, they
wouldn't be hunting with me. And if they didn't believe
I'd leave them, they could ask mister sleepy. I hope
(19:15):
all of you are on time for visits and hunts
with your family and friends for the holidays, regardless of
what or how you celebrate. I hope you find the
time to share it with the folks that love you,
or is in my case, we'll tolerate you up to
a point. Thanks so much for listening, and I hope
to see you out on the road at one of
the live shows that are starting up here pretty soon
(19:38):
until next week, This says Brent Reeves, signing off, y'all
be careful movies
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
(00:27):
airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair
or drop that tailgate. I've got some stores to share.
Being on time it's a pet peeve of mine and
has been for quite some time. Being on time is
(00:47):
important to me. For me, I don't look down or
judge others who may not find that as critical as
I do. Unless we're talking about the fuse on a
stick of dynamite, then I want the tie. I'm calculated
down to the very second. We're not blowing anything up today,
just talking about being on time. I'm going to tell
(01:08):
you about a recent event involving someone not being somewhere
when they said they would. But first I'm going to
tell you this story. Let's leave Carls at four point
thirty in the morning. It's a forty five minute drive
(01:28):
from there to the Beaver Pond. We'll get there at
five fifteen. It's a ten minute walk at most, and
we can be chunking decoys by five point thirty shooting
iurs ain't till six nineteen. That'll give us plenty a time.
I was on the phone with my lifelong friend who's
more of a brother than friend. We grew up together,
(01:50):
played baseball, football. We're roommates for a spell back in
our younger years and have never not been close when
we lived far away from each other. He's the friend
that you don't have to talk to every day, every week,
or even every year. You just pick up right where
you left off the last time, the moment you seem
(02:13):
He's that kind of friend, and I love him dearly.
He used to be notoriously lated for everything, and he
had been since I'd known him. We met in the
third grade and became friends immediately all through school and
(02:34):
after this cat ran on his own caliber. He was
and is loyal to a fault, but his clock ran
anywhere from fifteen to thirty minutes behind everyone else's. Dude
could take a nap at the drop of a hat.
I don't know how many times when we lived together
(02:54):
that on a weekend evening when we planned to go
somewhere and do something together after work, that i'd be
ready in waiting in the living room for him to
get ready, waiting and wait and waiting, I mutually planned
and agreed upon departure. Time would come and go, and
the light would still be shining out from under the
(03:17):
bathroom door. I call his name and get no answer.
I check his room and he wasn't there. No where
did he go. I called across the street to a
relative's house. No, he's not here. I look out the
window and I can see his car parked in front
of y'all's house. Now, the first time it scared me
(03:39):
until I opened the bathroom door and I found him
asleep in the tub. I yelled at him, thinking he
was dead, only to have him confess that his lips
turning blue was due to the water being so cold.
For the love of humanity, how could anyone sleep in
cold water, I don't know, but he did it. I
(04:00):
believe he could have slept just as well on top
of the stove or in the oven for that matter. Now,
he's a good duck hunter, and a pretty good shot
as well. It was good to have along to help
put ducks on the stringer. He's also a lot of
fun to have around it makes me laugh, and has
enough nervous energy to never slow down until he literally
(04:23):
falls asleep if you'll never rollerskate on empty holes in
the duck climb when he's around, because he never met
a mess he didn't want to clean up. Now, who
couldn't love a guy like that, not to mention that
he's an absolute wonderful human being, which is just another
attribute of why he's so well thought of by everyone
(04:45):
that knows. It wasn't for that being late thing I'd
adopted myself, which reminds me of this little story, so
bear with me. Once upon a time, moons ago, when
we were roommates, my friend and I stopped at a
convenience store to buy some potato chips and cold drinks
(05:08):
on our way home to watch the Arkansas play basketball
on TV. Now, my buddy has a baby face and
has since he was an actual baby when we graduated
high school. He could have turned around and gone undercover
in elementary school. Is a six foot fourth grader. Me,
on the other hand, I started shaving in the seventh
(05:30):
grade and you could see gray hair on my knocking
in my senior pictures. We were born less than six
months apart. Anyway, there we are standing together at the
counter when the lady who's ringing up our purchases says,
and what are you two gentlemen up to on a
Friday night? I told her, as I handed her some money,
(05:52):
We're going home to watch the razorbacks play. She looked
up at both of us, who were standing side by
side looking back at her, and this is what she said,
and I quote, I think that's so cool, a father
and son spending a Friday night together watching a ball game.
I looked at her and tell she was serious. I
(06:13):
looked over at my pardner, who was now grinted like
a baked possum, who then looked over at me and said,
thanks dad. Anyway, back to the original story, old babyface,
me and another couple of folks were planning on thinning
the duck population down by four limits the following morning.
(06:34):
I'd already called the other two and said, we're pulling
out of cars one stop in the morning at four
point thirty. Be there or be square. Now, my buddy
with the slow running internal clock and I were grown
and living on our own By this time, we were
knee deep in separate careers, making house and car payments,
and doing all the adult things that adults do. So
(06:57):
when I said be a Carls, which was a bait
shop and forting goods retailer on the south end of Warren, Arkansas,
where like minded folks would use as a meeting spot
for hunting and fishing trips, I assumed everyone would be
at Carls by four fifteen. Heck, I got there at
ten after four, and I was the third one of
our group to get there. It was the three of
(07:19):
us hanging out and waiting on old babyface. We cracked
open one of our thermoses of coffee, combined, I gear
into one suv for the forty five minute ride over
to the Beaver Pond and discuss where we'd set up
in the beaver pond once we got there, where the
recent rains had pushed water out into a hardwood flat
where ducks were known to congregate. Four point fifteen turned
(07:44):
into four twenty five. Where is this dude? There were
no cell phones back then. When you hung out with people,
you actually had to look at them and talk to them,
unless there was a payphone close or you barred someone's
house phone. There was no calling any away from the crib.
At five am here he came sliding up in the
(08:05):
parking lot like he was late for work, which, as
far as I was concerned, he was, I overslept. Sorry man.
He threw his stuff in the back and we lit
a ship for the duck hole. We took turns trying
to make him cry for being late, and had to
paint the road red to get there. With enough time
to get exactly where we wanted set up, just like
(08:27):
we talked about before. Shooting time came and we barely
made it. It was cold, clear, a bluebird day, with
a north wind just stout enough to push the three
dozen decoys around that we brought with us. It was
a morning that you hear about, one of those mornings
you read about high flying ducks that broke down when
(08:51):
you started calling to him from we up there that
circle just long enough to slow down then drop through
the trees and bunches of thirty fifty landing all around you,
while some hovered above the gaggle of ducks that had
just lit, looking for a spot to light themselves. We
had four limits in short order. The beginning of the
(09:13):
morning all but forgotten as we rode back home, still
talking about the grand adventure we'd all just shared. We
pulled back into Carl's parking lot, divided up the ducks,
took possession of our guns and gear, and collectively agreed
we'd do it all over again in the morning. I
dressed the group, but was looking at old babyface when
(09:35):
I said be there or b square. At four five
the next morning, I was once again the third man
of our forsom to pull in, having been beaten by
the other two by a matter of moments. We started
our routine of combining all our plunder into one ride.
Other hunters were meeting there as well, and with every
(09:56):
new set of headlights that turned in off the highway,
we looked for our s straggler, only to see a
different group of folks gather all their shooters and take
off four point fifteen for twenty four twenty five. Anybody
talked to him last night? No, The last thing we
(10:19):
said was the same time tomorrow before we all left
yesterday four thirty four thirty five, four forty and here
he came, same deal as the day before. Sorry, I
overslept again. We tried to make him cry. He did not.
(10:50):
We headed to the same spot as the day before,
after getting a late start, had to settle for a
different spot because we'd been beat to our first choice.
They were walking away from the parking spot as we
were pulling in. We scrapped out a couple of ducks
at our spot and were forced to watch and listen
as clouds of ducks dropped in that hole, only to
(11:11):
get goosele chopped by a bunch of strangers before a
cat could lick its behind. Duck hunting is like real estate.
It's all about the location, and when they prefer a
different spot, there's nothing you're going to do to change
their minds. We were watching a duck hunt instead of
participating in one, all because of mister Sleepy. Someone suggested
(11:36):
leaving earlier in the morning, several rude comments directed to
mister Sleepy later, and we'd all agreed to leave at
four point fifteen from Carls the next morning. We want
to make sure you we'll get there in time to
beat those folks. As the whole look pal at four
fifteen in the morning, we're leaving Carls. If you're there
(11:57):
at four sixteen you'll be by your he laughed, and
he said, I'll be there the next morning. I leaned
up against the tree. I was sidled up to two
mornings before the sky was waking up with the astronomical
term of civil twilight. As whistling wings and silhouettes and
(12:18):
ducks began their daily ritual of leaving the flooded fields
to rest in the confines of the timber we waited
past legal shooting to get started, watching group after group
falling through the hardwood canopy, slapping limbs in each other
as they splashed down into the decoys and beside us.
Once the light got good enough to see clearly, we
(12:41):
went to work, taking our time, even taking turns, trying
to stretch the morning out to more than just a
few minutes on this last day before the season closed
for a week during the mandatory split. Once the last
of the limit was reached, the three of us sat
(13:02):
back and someone said out loud, I wonder what mister
sleepy's doing right now. I responded with learning not to
be late, and that's just how that happened. Being late
(13:24):
to anything drives me crazy. I have a condition about it.
My wife, Alexis, has a phobia I thought I did
until I met her. She stone cold serious about being
on time and will leave me just like I left
my buddy on that duck hunt way back yonder, not
to mention that it's downright rude and socially unacceptable. I
(13:46):
was reminded of the story I just told you all
a couple of weeks ago by some friends of mine. Now,
these are college ads, young men who have the drive
to go day after day when they have the opportunity
to do so, and sleep to be able to find
the spot of their own to chase ducks. I know
these young men, and they are not the cogs in
(14:07):
the wheels of calamity that is modern day duck hunting
on public land in Arkansas. Quite the contrary, they are
an example to not only their peers, but to the
adults who have helped perpetrate the chaos over the last
decade that has driven a wedge between public land users
and cause the divide we all find ourselves in now.
(14:29):
I have no desire to bandy words with anyone on
this subject about who's the fault here, But there's two
things that I can bring to light. The young folks.
I'm talking about couldn't hunt by themselves when the public
land duck hunting war started, and a big portion of
the folks working to try to change the dynamic of
what's happened today to what it was years before it
(14:51):
all started, Well, they couldn't either anyway. Two of these
young men had planned to meet up with two more
folks of their same generation the following morning to go hunting.
The father of one of these boys and I were
going as well, but we decided a long time ago
that worrying about getting somewhere first was a lot less
(15:14):
problematic when you have a private spot to go to.
I realize not everyone has that luxury, but I also
don't care. I work and save to be able to
afford it, and I've leased land to duck hunt on
twice in my life. The first time was when Tim
and I were guiding and the state made it illegal
(15:36):
to guide hunters on the public land. Even then, we
had to take guests to be able to afford it,
so we never went by ourselves. It was always like
being at work. Now I have friends that I like
to hunt with, and we found a place close to
the camp that we can sleep late drive over to
climbing our spots in the blind and shoot a duck
(15:58):
or two down again. It's quite a more relaxed way
of enjoying this time of year. I still have the
desire and the fire to sit in the wet and
the cold, hoping for just an opportunity of poking the
business into my scattered gun, up a mount of ducks behind,
and turning it loose. I have sat for hours before shooting,
time to the last second of legal light in the
(16:20):
evening to do it, having never busted a cap, eyeballs peeled,
having to make myself blink thinking I might miss something.
Now I don't care. Ducks quit flying for forty five minutes,
How would I know I've been gone for thirty of them.
I'm back at the cabin, trying to drown a biscuit
(16:40):
in salt milk gravy while eating the whole setting of eggs.
My priorities have shifted from the stringer to the couch.
But we ain't talking about me. We're talking about these
young men who I had invited to come stay at
the cabin with us so they could get a head
start on the foot race the following morning. They were
(17:01):
counting on their other two pals to beat feet to
the spot, while they came in later with one of
them's younger brother. All three of them were staying with
me all evening. I watched them trying to get hold
of their friends who were gonna be the early birds,
the ones who were gonna save them a spot, to
bring the little brother too, so he could have the
(17:21):
opportunity that big boys did. Looks like they dipped us.
One of them said out loud, Now is that good
or bad? I don't know what that means. Well, it
turns out it's bad. They ghosted them. They left them
in a lurch. They left them behind and dry. They
depended on those two to help them take the little
brother to a good spot, and had been abandoned at
(17:44):
the second most critical time of the whole operation, the
night before. The only thing that would have been worse
was waking up the next day and walking into the
spot to find other folks there that you didn't know,
Your friends nowhere to be seen, and it too late
to find your own spot somewhere else. Your pals peed
(18:05):
on your fire, didn't they. He looked at me and
did the math in his head, figuring out what I
just said to him and answered, oh, yes, sir, I
think they did. We all just come go with us
in the morning. We can sleep late. We can drive
the canem to the blind, unload all our stuff, and
sit in comfort while we hunt. Someone beats us to there,
(18:28):
they're trespassing and they ain't gonna be in there very long. Well,
they liked that idea. Now I like that idea. My friend,
who was already going with me, like that idea even
more because one of those young folks was his son.
Would be an opportunity for them to hunt together that
he didn't know was coming. None of us knew. It
(18:50):
was just the way it all worked out. And we
watched TV for a while, and then I headed to bed,
and I told the youngsters on my way that we
were leaving the cabin the next morning at five thirty.
They were ready to go at five thirty one, they
wouldn't be hunting with me. And if they didn't believe
I'd leave them, they could ask mister sleepy. I hope
(19:15):
all of you are on time for visits and hunts
with your family and friends for the holidays, regardless of
what or how you celebrate. I hope you find the
time to share it with the folks that love you,
or is in my case, we'll tolerate you up to
a point. Thanks so much for listening, and I hope
to see you out on the road at one of
the live shows that are starting up here pretty soon
(19:38):
until next week, This says Brent Reeves, signing off, y'all
be careful movies
Host
Clay Newcomb
Popular Podcasts
Las Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang
Ding dong! Join your culture consultants, Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang, on an unforgettable journey into the beating heart of CULTURE. Alongside sizzling special guests, they GET INTO the hottest pop-culture moments of the day and the formative cultural experiences that turned them into Culturistas. Produced by the Big Money Players Network and iHeartRadio.
Crime Junkie
Does hearing about a true crime case always leave you scouring the internet for the truth behind the story? Dive into your next mystery with Crime Junkie. Every Monday, join your host Ashley Flowers as she unravels all the details of infamous and underreported true crime cases with her best friend Brit Prawat. From cold cases to missing persons and heroes in our community who seek justice, Crime Junkie is your destination for theories and stories you won’t hear anywhere else. Whether you're a seasoned true crime enthusiast or new to the genre, you'll find yourself on the edge of your seat awaiting a new episode every Monday. If you can never get enough true crime... Congratulations, you’ve found your people. Follow to join a community of Crime Junkies! Crime Junkie is presented by Audiochuck Media Company.
The Brothers Ortiz
The Brothers Ortiz is the story of two brothers–both successful, but in very different ways. Gabe Ortiz becomes a third-highest ranking officer in all of Texas while his younger brother Larry climbs the ranks in Puro Tango Blast, a notorious Texas Prison gang. Gabe doesn’t know all the details of his brother’s nefarious dealings, and he’s made a point not to ask, to protect their relationship. But when Larry is murdered during a home invasion in a rented beach house, Gabe has no choice but to look into what happened that night. To solve Larry’s murder, Gabe, and the whole Ortiz family, must ask each other tough questions.