Bear Grease - Ep. 195: THIS COUNTRY LIFE - Turkey Season Therapy

Episode Date: March 8, 2024

Therapy can come from lots of places and some of the best are right out the front door. Brent’s telling us about one of his favorites this week on MeatEater’s This Country Life podcast. Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube Shop Bear Grease MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

First Light's fieldwear collection is made for the work that happens long before opening day and continues when the season ends. Products built for early mornings, full days in real use. Hard wearing where they need to be versatile where it matters. No shortcuts. Just gear designed for the work that earns the season. Built to perform, built to last. Check out. First Light's new fieldwear gear at firstlight.com.

Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From Coon Hunting to Trotlining and just general country living, I want you to stay a while as I share my stories and country skills that will help you beat the system. This Country Life is proudly presented as part of Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast the Airways have to offer. All right, friends, pull you up a chair or drop that tailgate. I think I've got a thing or two to teach you.

Turkey Season Therapy. Turkey season is almost here, and I can't wait. Sitting in the woods in the springtime is good therapy after a cold gray winter. It's time to reboot and get a fresh start. New beginnings and revisiting some old one sport and a fresh coat of paint is good for your soul. That's what we're talking about today, but first, I'm going to tell you a story. The story I'm telling you today, I wrote 18 years ago. ago this spring, long before I had any idea anyone outside of my friends and family would

ever hear it or even want to. It was during the middle of my law enforcement career and unbeknownst to me, I was putting myself through therapy by writing. It was an outlet and a place I could go back to as I recounted in great detail whatever I was writing about, which was always outdoor-related adventures. It allowed me to escape what I was dealing with at work for a little while and focus on happier places and memories that were far removed from the stress and sadness of my work. My inspiration for writing these stories came after I read a book called The Flaming

Turkey by Mr. Robert Hitt Neal. I read it in 1989 for the first time and have read it about every year just prior to turkey season ever since. I more or less copied his style of writing because it was so descriptive and easy to read. It played like a little movie in my head, and I put myself in his stories as a witness to the events he's describing, and instead of being a reader after the fact, for about the last 35 years, I've read that book so many times that I feel like they're my stories too. Now, Uncle Bob, as Mr. Robert likes to be called, has helped me get through a story. a lot of struggles over the last three and a half decades and he doesn't even know it.

He's written 14 books and is still living the good life down in Mississippi in his early 80s. Clay even had him on the Bear Grease podcast last year telling a story. And I remember Clay asking me if I had ever heard of him and I about fell out of my chair. Heard of him. That guy's been one of my greatest inspirations. Clay said, oh, do you know him? No, I've never met him. But we exchanged about five emails in 2008 when I sent him a collection of stories I'd written.

He told me he liked them and that others would like to read them too. He would help me get them published if I'd get someone to edit them. That was the last correspondence I had with him, life, and my job got in the way and that was that. I buried those stories in a box and dug them up after I tricked the folks at Meat Eater into letting me go to work for them. I wasn't writing them to publish a book. I was writing them to keep from going berserco. And it didn't cure me, obviously, but it helped.

So without further ado, here it is, just like I wrote it 20 years ago. Each spring, for the past few years, I have been fortunate enough to travel to Missouri, a beautiful state blessed with an abundance of turkeys. My dad and I stay with some friends who allow me to hunt their land, and those are their neighbors who were, equally willing to grant my passage on their property for one of my greatest passions, chasing turkeys. Now, last spring, my eight-year-old son, Hunter, joined Dad and me. The long trip to Toby and Mary's home was filled with anticipation of repeating my previous year's

successful hunts, and I hope that Hunter would be able to take his first Missouri gobbler. Now, he'd been allowed to miss a few days of school for this adventure with Dad and me, and I'm a strong supporter of education, and I rarely let the little guy miss school, but this was an opportunity for him to spend some time with his grandpa and me in somewhat of an educational setting. Now, I learned something on nearly every turkey hunt I go on. Normally, the turkey gives me the lessons,

and I have been astute in these lessons learning what I shouldn't have done and realizing too late what I should have. One too many calls or moving when I should have. stayed where I was or just generally screwing up my chance of taking home a gobbler through my lack of patience. The hunter has turkey hunted with me for the past couple of years and was with me last year when I shot one and he even took a shot this year and missed his first one by just the narrowest of margins.

He had a score to settle with a turkey and I was going to do my best to give him the opportunity to do it. The first morning we dressed as quiet as we could. not wanting to wake our hosts and made our way to the turkey woods. The hunter was full of questions as we left the truck and walked to where we were going to listen from. Dad, are we going to kill a turkey? Can I call to him?

How many will we hear? How old were you when you killed your first turkey? Who do you think we went in a fight between Superman and the Hulk? Well, I answered them as best I could, but I really had to argue with him the fact that Superman can whip anybody. That's why they called him Superman. Yes, sir, I know he's Superman, but what if the Hulk picked up an army tank and hit him in the back of the head with it? Well, the Hulk... The Hulk wouldn't do that, son.

They're both good guys, and good guys don't fight each other. Yes, sir, I know they're both good guys, but what if Superman drank the last Dr. Pepper? And the Hulk was really thirsty. Superman wouldn't drink the last Dr. Pepper Hunter without asking the rest of the super friends if they wanted it. Yes, sir, I know. But what if the Hulk was in the bathroom and he had... ask everybody else and he didn't hear him. Well, he had me there and I was thinking about my answer when, thankfully, a turkey

gobble. Did you hear him? Yes, sir. All right, we got to be quiet. He's about 200 yards away, so let's get going. We slipped quietly through the woods, me picking and choosing my steps as if I was a lion approaching the herd of zebras, and Hunter breaking every limb he came to and remembering along the woods.

way that he had recently learned how to whistle and demonstrating this to all the living creatures with an earshot hunter don't whistle i'm being a bird daddy so the turkey won't know we're after him okay that's a good idea but let's just try sneaking up on him because birds don't whistle jingle bells we got to the edge of a pasture and a small creek bed lined with oak trees that the gobbler was roosted in i whispered to hunter i said okay buddy we're about a hundred yards from him. We got across this fence and set up near that big old tree right there in front of us. I picked him up and I placed him gingerly across that fence and I was halfway across myself

when Hunter said in a not-so whispering voice, Dad, look! I froze. Terrified that the goblin had flown down early and called us before we could set up for him. Where is he, Hunter? I whispered. He's right there. I looked where my little buddy.

it was pointing, but I couldn't see anything. Where is he, son? He's right there. He said that like I'd gone blind. I strained to look in the direction he was pointing, and I could feel my retina's about to tear out of my head, and I finally saw a big box turtle making his way across that open we had just stepped into.

Don't do that, Hunter. I thought you were looking at the turkey. No, sir, ain't that a big turtle, though? Yeah, he is a big turtle. Now, be quiet. We're close to the turkey. The turkey began gobbling at nearly every breath, and we sat up in a good spot to call to him. The gobbler eventually flew down away from where we sat and stopped at the crest of a hill near an old barn.

We slipped as best we could out into the pasture, keeping the crest of the hill between the turkey and us, and duck walked our way to a large walnut tree where we sat down, hunter in my lap, and gun and calls at the ready. I called and the turkey answered immediately. After a few minutes, the turkey gobbled again. This time, more to our left. Then, a few minutes later, back where he had answered me. We couldn't see him. He was just out of sight, but he was in his strutton zone and was waiting for us to come to him.

We crawled to several different trees, but the turkey never got within 60 yards of us. I slipped up behind a tree that we were sitting at, and I could see him out there strutting and putting on a heck of a show. so I let hunter stand up behind that tree and look at him. Dad, I see him. He's beautiful. I could feel his little heart beating fast as I held him up so he could see that turkey. We waited a few minutes and the turkey gobbled again, and this time going down the hill toward the little creek

where he'd come from when he'd roosted. We watched him as he strutted into view just out of hunter's shooting range and stopping near a big old blown-down oak tree in the middle of that field. A turkey strutted on past the fallen tree and made his way to the creek bed where he continued to strut and gobble in full view of me and hunter. Hunter, do you see that blown down tree? Yes, sir. Okay, do you think you can crawl on your hands and knees behind me to the base of that tree? Yes, sir.

I took off my hunting vest, leaving at where we sat trying to make a small of signatures as I could. I got Hunter's 20 gauge, and we've made it. made our way to the base of that clay root with Hunter and Toad My Hills keeping the tree between the turkey and us. Finally, we arrived. I placed Hunter right beside me where he could see that turkey and propped a shotgun up on an exposed route where all he had to do was lay across it, take steady aim, and shoot when that turkey got close enough. All we needed him to do was to come 20 yards closer. 20 yards and Hunter would be close enough to take him.

We watched him for 20 or 30 minutes. He gobbled and strutted and gobbled and answered me every time I called to him, but came no closer. Dad, he's beautiful. That's the biggest turkey I've ever seen. He was right. He may have been the biggest turkey I'd ever seen. His beard was thick and long and I could see the huge spurs he was sporting from 60 yards away.

I was lost on what to do. I couldn't figure out how to get this turkey to close that last 20 yards for Hunter to get a shot, and I tried everything short of letting Hunter whistle jingle bells at him. I let him call to him using my old box call, and we both grinned and giggled when that gobbler answered him. He was so proud. How come he ain't coming, Dad? Well, I told him he wants to see the hen that's making all these calls.

Dad, we need to stick up one. our decoys. Now, why hadn't I thought of that? I took Hunter's shotgun, I unloaded it, and I placed it on the ground away from where he was laying, watching the turkey. I said, okay, son, I got to crawl back to where I left my vest and get the decoy. Can you wait here and keep an eye on that turkey? Yes, sir. You want me to call at him or whistle to him? I was like, no, no, don't do that. Just be still and watch him. Well, I crawled back up that hill, not unlike the turtle we had seen earlier, and about the same speed.

Carefully, I found every sharp rock that I had somehow missed on our way down the hill. But grabbing the vest, I slowly inched around on my belly to make my way back to where hunter was, and that's when I saw a sight that will forever be burned in my memory. I was three-quarters of the way up that hill from the turkey that I could plainly sink down below a strutton as he had been all morning beside that small flowing creek. The blow-down tree lay pointing away from me, and there lay my son at the base, dressed in full camouflage, peaking from around the mound of dirt and roots and watching that turkey as I did from 30 yards above him. The morning sun was bright and the greener spring was everywhere, and it was the first time I had heard all the birds that were singing that morning.

I smelled the yellow jasmine as it wafted across the hillside and a cool breeze. was moving the leaves and I longed for a camera to capture the moment that no artist would ever duplicate. I wanted so badly for everyone I knew to see what I was seeing. A beautiful day, a majestic creature and my son who was now experiencing the sights and sounds, the smells and the feelings that I could never explain to anyone that has never experienced them firsthand. I didn't want to move. I wanted to stay right there and watch the whole thing unfold in front of Hunter and try to interpret what he was thinking and feeling as he stared so intently at that turkey.

Hunter glanced back at me and gave me a big smile and a thumbs up. I returned the signal and I fought the tears that were welling up in my eyes and I paused a moment to thank the good Lord for all he had given me that morning. I made my way back to Hunter's location and with that deal. decoy in hand and we sat it up and called and the gobbler responded as he had all morning but eventually he walked away with a hen that had come to him from across that little creek. After he left we sat up against that old tree and we talked about what we had seen that morning. Wasn't he pretty daddy? Did you see him gobble when I called to him? We did our secret handshake that only he and I know about

that not only makes us both look really cool but so we could have done. identify each other should we ever be confronted with an imposter of ourselves. He held my hand as we walked off that hill and made our way back to the truck. I remember that like it was this morning. He's 25 now and I'd hold his hand right now if he'd let me. I wonder where that turtle win, he said, Dad, do turkeys eat grass? I wonder what Miss Harris is reading to my class today. This is fun, ain't it? Who do you think wouldn't win if Batman and Spider-Man got to? in a fight.

Well, I don't I don't know who'd win that tussle, but I do know that that's just how that happened. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps

at Phelps game calls in building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts. Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use. I'm not going to go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest.

It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobbler's are looking for. I have a great turkey hunting track record. If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut.

I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out Prime Cuts at Phelpsgamecalls.com. I think you'll be glad you did, and you'll find out that the Steve Ronella cut is an easy-to-use cut for beginning callers who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action. Turkey season is here for some of us and will be for more of us as we finally start easing into spring. While fall and winter are my favorite times a year with the majority of hunting seasons and swing, I look forward to this time of year as much as anything. Unfortunately, it doesn't last long down here.

Just in the last couple of weeks, I've run the heat and the air condescending. in the same day. I've alternated coon hunting in night in t-shirts and heavy coats. Crazy weather comes this time of year too, and when you grow up dodging springtime tornadoes, you make a habit out of keeping an eye on the weather. But every year, I make a pilgrimage to central Missouri and hunt on land that I've been making tracks on for more than a score of years. My friends Toby, Mary, Jean, and Jolie and Jason have been more than kind to anarchy that fell in love with. that whole family from the moment I met him. Toby and my dad were great friends and bought and sold

running dogs and coyote hunted together. They invited me to come up when their now grown girls were just in elementary school. It was like for a week each April I was the crazy uncle that moved in and they seemed to look forward to it as much as I did and still do, although I seriously doubt it. But I started going up there with my dad who liked to travel and go places and see things. and then see how fast he could get back home. Now, that used to drive me nuts. When I go somewhere, I want to take it all in, see all I can see and hunt till I limit out or the season closes.

But Dad wasn't a turkey hunter. He was just hanging out with Toby and knocking around fishing and messing around, hoping I'd hurry up and kill the turkey so we could go home. He was with me and hunter on that trip I talked about in the opening story. Now, I missed him not being with me on the last 11 trips I've made. up there and I missed him cooking fish and every year someone brings up the story when he put too much salt in the cornmeal and we were frying fish one time. Then when we started eating, Marion Toby and I took a bite and felt like we'd all found Jimmy Buffett's lost shaker of salt.

We'd laugh at all those things and talk about how much we miss him and the others who've gone on too, like Mr. Max. Mr. Max was 90 when he left us three years ago and he was a turkey. killer machine well up into his 80s. I got to hunt with him several times and he was he was something special to say the least and I miss him. Peyton and Emily Toby's and Mary's little girls who are now grown. I watched them grow up from giggling little kids to being grown. One of my favorite memories is sitting on the front porch in the afternoon waiting on the girls to get off the bus. I'd hunted all morning right up to quitting time at noon and hadn't been back to the house long

when they were due to get home. Toby and I watched his old little gals ran up the driveway with their backpacks, giggling and laughing all the way until almost to the porch, Emily, who couldn't have been more than six or seven, skinny as a railed and pretty as a picture and her little dress walked over to that fenced-in lot that held a milk cow named T-bone.

Now sweetly she called that cow to come over, to where she stood next to the barbed wire fence. And in my mind, I thought how sweet it was that this little angel had missed her pet cow while being at school all day and wanted to say hello and tell her that she was back home. That giant of a cow that towered over Emily slowly walked over to her. I swear, it looked like a scene out of a Hallmark movie, and until that sweet little angel reared back with a rock she had hit in her hand and drilled that bovine in the top of the head with a smoking fastball.

That didn't cause that cow to blink, much less break stride. Then she skipped the rest of the way up to drive and smiled at me as she walked in the house. We still laugh about that. I brought a lot of turkeys home from up there, but the best thing I've taken away from the show me stayed is the memories and relationships with those I look forward to see in every turkey season and who I stay in contact with all year long. It's never been about the turkey hunting even when I thought it was. It was my therapy, and it gave me the stories and experiences

that eventually led me to sharing them with Robert Neal and others by writing them down, which in turn, through the most crooked pathway ever conceived, has me sitting here now sharing them with you. It started out as a turkey hunting and, morphed into something bigger and it took years for me to see exactly what it was. I've taken others with me over the years up there and even filmed a Bear Greas Roadshow installment that'll be dropping soon on our YouTube channel. The point of this whole episode is to encourage you to find your turkey season therapy.

Spoiler alert, it doesn't have to be turkey hunting or limited to one thing. Just find yourself some good folks and spend time with them regardless of the activity. I'm forever indebted to that family up there and that has done more for me than they'll ever know just by being hospitable and allow me to have a place to gather with them and enjoy each other's company and celebrate both of our families as one, both past and present. That's good stuff. Tomorrow, March the 9th is the Black Bear Bananza and Bentonville, Arkansas, where I'll be gathered with Claibault and a multitude of our closest friends,

some of which we hadn't even met yet. I hope to see you there. Until next week, this is Britt Reeves, signing off. Y'all be careful. First Lights Fieldwear collection is made for the work that happens long before opening day and continues when the season ends. Products built for early mornings, full days in real use, hard wearing where they need to be versatile where it matters.

No shortcuts. Just gear designed for the work that earns the season. Built to perform, built to last. Check out. First Light's new fieldwear gear at firstlight.