Bear Grease - Ep. 238: This Country Life - Country Living at the Riverstead

Episode Date: August 2, 2024

A recent visit with new friends has shown Brent that some of the old ways are alive and well. There's still some good country living taking place and families with enough desire can make it just fine living close to the land. From catfishing to milking goats, this episode has something for everyone. It's time for MeatEater's "This Country Life" podcast. Riverstead YouTube: https://youtu.be/4BSdGDdrqSc?si=7X-5yCuAmEpqtq6q Subscribe to the MeatEater Podcast Network on YouTube Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, and Youtube Clips MeatEater Podcast Network on YouTube Shop This Country Life Merch Shop Bear Grease MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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Welcome to this country life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living, I want you to stay a while as I share my experiences and life lessons. This country life is presented by Case Knives on Meat Eat Eater's Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcasts the Airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I've got some stories to share. Country Living at the Riverside.

There's a lot each week that goes into me talking about my country life with a big emphasis on nostalgia and the earlier parts of my childhood and adolescence. Well, this week is about a recent visit I had with some folks that are still living a life very close to the land and way down in the country. I'm going to tell you all about what they're doing, but first, I'm going to tell you a story. This story comes from this country. life listener Glenn Peters. That's Glenn with two ends. I met a fellow named Glenn once and I was putting his phone number in my phone and I asked him if he had one in or two in his name. He said

my name is Glenn. Now Glenn. Anyway, Glenn sends us this story to share and it ties in with this week's episode through goats. I promise it'll all make sense eventually somewhat. So without further delay in Glenn Peter's words in my voice. Here we go. The year was 2008, and I was a teenager in high school on my way to my very first country outside of the U.S. on my very first mission trip to Ethiopia. My church had a very good relationship with the young life staff there,

and our job was to help run the behind scenes of a camp for the young life teenagers. I was pumped. First time out of the country and to nowhere else but Africa, what else could a teenage kid dream up better than that? After getting over jet lag and seeing a couple sites in the main capital, we went into the country and started gearing up for the camps. Among the numerous cultural shocks, one of the most surprising things was the sounds that we heard at night,

the most bone-chilling of all being the hyena woop. Now, they would always always, start off in the distance and gradually get closer and closer. Don't get me wrong. I'm an outdoorsman, through and through, born and raised. But putting my pride aside, I did have a fear of the dark, something I'm still fighting today at the age of 32. The fear doesn't help you when you've heard a hyena in real life, and suddenly it becomes

part of the night course. Every night. All of us, including the adult leader's world. were enamored by these sounds and most of us never haven't been to this part of the world before were itching to see the gangly ghosts that were making those bone-chilling sounds. Many attempts were made through the nights but we never saw one. Then, between the intermission of the first and the second camp times, the staff butchered two goats in our honor.

During the cooking, one of the guards mentioned that this would definitely draw in the hyenas close enough for us to see them. That night, we started to hear hyenas like we'd never heard them before. But again, they were all in the shadows just outside of our view. So, what was a group of teenagers going to do about that? We'll follow one of the guards into those shadows and bushes and search for them, of course. We all filed in behind one of the camp staff and eventually ended up in a huge tunnel of thickets. And I mean a thicket.

one that if you send a dog through, you might not come out of. It was so tight that it forced us to be single file, and I found myself behind the lead local staff member. As we got deeper in, I noticed that he was not carrying the AK-47 rifle that I was used to see in the guards carrying. He was carrying a stick, a small, thick little hickory stick. Now, with people uncomfortably close behind and in front, there was no other option but to hope that this man knew what he was doing in case we ran into

the strongest jaws in the animal kingdom. Luckily, we never ran into a hyena in that thicket, even though we almost ran face first into a massive African porcupine. After that little heart-pound adventure with no hyenas in sight, everyone went back to the fire at the camp while one of the leaders and I stayed around on the road near the field where we'd been hearing all the hyenas. After about 30 minutes, the mood changed. Somewhere in the surrounding areas, dogs started barking and going nuts. Commotion was happening all around us and mainly about 100 yards down the road. The leader and I took one look at each other and ran straight toward the commotion.

We knew it was on. About three quarters of the way there and about 30 yards. in front of us, one, two, three, four, now five hyenas dashed across the road. We stopped dead in our tracks. Then slowly emerging from the shadows, only about 10 yards away, a massive female hyena crossed right in front of us and back into the shadows on the other side of the street. A muffled sentence of unholy words that I can't repeat could be heard out of the leader's mouth as we watched this huge dominant hyena,

pay no attention to the world and walked right in front of us. Then, staring at the tree that all the hyenas passed, we stared a little closer. There was a mound of brush next to a tree that all the hyenas were jumping over. Looking at it closer, we realized it was one of the guards sitting there, stone still, smiling at our open mouth. that were still hanging to the ground. After picking up our jaws, we smiled back at him.

And he just sat there slowly petting that rifle that was laying across his lap. And according to Glenn Peters, the pride of Langister, Pennsylvania, that's just how that happened. Running towards a hyena, maybe you ain't as afraid of the dark as you thought there, Glenn. Thanks for sharing. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason, and 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 gobblers 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 Phelpsgamecauls.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. Country living at the Riverside. Britt, you ought to come down here sometime and go fishing with us. That was an invitation sometime back from Keith Brandon, and didn't go by unnoticed. My responses to things such as those are usually, don't tempt me with a good time or don't toy with my emotions. Some invitations are more of an example of polite conversation as opposed to a genuine offer.

But now I take those invitations very seriously, and I get a lot of them. Unfortunately, there's no way I could take everyone up on their generous offers because of other commitments and I can't be out hunting and fishing all the time. My boss, Garrett Long, would send someone from Bozeman down here to beat me up and tell me to get back to work. But this invitation, Bannett, hit at just the right time. Me and my buddies, Randall and Brad up at the Coon Camp, had to cancel a flathead catfish expedition due to heavy rains that had the predictably.

unpredictable Cache River in an ebb and flow that just wasn't conducive to hooking flatheads. Baran Newcomb and I experienced that a few weeks ago by running limb lines on the cache under the same

exact conditions. We caught two nice blue cats but zeroed on flatheads which is what we were after. I remembered Keith's invitation so I checked with him on the water levels on the other end of the Saline River from where I grew up. Keith said to

pack a bag and come on. I was way ahead of him because I hadn't fully unpacked from the trip to the case factory when I set out again heading to the Riversed, where Keith and his wife Lee have lived for 24 years. I mentioned Keith in episode 227 of this country life when I was talking about flathead catfish and the different ways to catch them, including dynamite like some of my family did way back then. If you hadn't heard it, I recommend you do so. I do not, however, recommend fish of a dynamite. I'm just throwing that out there. But I rolled down to Keith and Lees and I found them sitting under a covered patio with fans turning the unseasonably cool July air to what felt like springtime. We sat down and visited. It was actually the first time

I'd met either one of them personally, even though I'd been talking to Keith for several months. My brother Tim has been friends with them for quite a while, and it was Tim's introduction months ago that really made this trip possible. We got more acquainted with one another, and Keith laid out of plan for the afternoon and evening. We'd hit the river. We'd tie out some trout lines and find some good spots and go ahead and set out the dozen bank poles

that I'd got from Jeff and Dusty Jester. It'd be my first time fishing them since I'd picked them up, and I was as anxious to do that as I was anything else. The river rolled by the front of their home within easy rock chunking distance of the yard's edge were off to the side, set a skin and shed, and a walk-in cooler. The water and yard were separated only by a one-lane road that was shaded by hardwood trees that more resembled a tunnel than a dirt road with each following the path of the river

a little over a quarter of a mile before ending at a gangway that led down the bank to their boat dock. His and her johnboats were tied up there, and after we compiled items, we compiled items, from each into Keith's, the three of us headed out down the river. Now, Keith's been catching fish for a quarter of a century right there, mainly within a two-mile stretch of their home. Brim, bass, croppy, and, of course, catfish were what they like to eat, and according to them, they eat a lot of fish.

That's my kind of menu. Keith told me that the first year he lived there as a bachelor, he brought home $24,000 of his earnings that year, and was able to save 16,000 of it by feeding himself what he could hunt and fish. Now, fish is what I was there for, and way back in episode 111 of this country life. I talked about how to build and fish a trot line. For those of you that are new and may not have gone back and listened, allow me to review for just a minute on what a trot line is.

A trot line is a long length of line with individually spaced, lines hanging from it called drops with a large caliber hook that you can attach a bait to. Also, along the line are weights. They're tied in as well that keeps the hooks fishing at or near the bottom of the river. Keith has his lines weighted at about each third of the line and he doesn't suspend it. He runs it all the way to the bottom, letting the weights keep it where the flatheads roam and fish is live bait, which is the preferred food of Polydictus Oliva. virus. With three unbated trot lines set, 12 bank poles jobbed in their spots, we started brim fishing for bait. I'll admit, and you've probably heard me say it on several occasions that

targeted and catching big brim to put on a hook to catch something else is somewhat sacrilegious to my upbringing. A mess of fried brim from the Saline River would be my last meal request should I ever find myself sentenced to ride the lightning and old Sparky at the Arkansas Department of Correction. It is my favorite meal, but man, I'll tell you, there is something special about a mess cubed up belly meat off a flathead that'll make you do strange things. The difference between flathead and other type of cats is like the difference between Wagoo beef and everything else.

Now, I can make that comparison only because I was treated. to a Wagoo steak about a year ago at a famous steakhouse. It was incredible. Better than I could have imagined, and I could eat one right now, and I ain't even hungry, but it's still a distant second to fried brim. So what drives a person to do such a blast for me? Well, it provides some variety in your diet, and it's the thrill of catching them. There's nothing like checking your lines and seeing the tree you've got your line tied to

or a bank pole bobbing up and down with the weight of a big fish. We would experience both of those the next morning after baiting them up that night. The lines we baited up stretched across the bottom of the river some 40 yards from bank to bank. The regulations state that you can't have drops closer than 24 inches. Keith and Lee only run about 12 to 15 hooks per line. They're fishing for quality, not quantity. They also have some self-imposed regulations. that I'll tell you about in a minute, but right now, with the lines freshly baited with some

good-sized brim, it's time to head back to the Riverside for a late supper. Keith whooped us up a mess of belly meat and grits for our supper. It was kind of funny earlier in the day when Keith asked me if I like shrimp and grits and how I fixed them. I told him, and he agreed that that was basically the same as the way he did it. I also told him that was my daughter Bailey's favorite dish next to bear chili, and that I'd fixed it for supper last night. He laughed and said, well, that's kind of what we're having tonight.

I promise, I didn't mind. I usually eat grits multiple times a week for breakfast, except when I was in Pennsylvania last week. I couldn't find a bowl of grits there with a search warrant. Bailey and I sent my pals out of case a big bag of them when we got back home. We're hoping the trend catches on out there. But the combination of season flathead belly meat cooked on his black, Blackstone was an even better substitute for shrimp.

Man, it was good. The next morning, we were up bright and early, grabbing coffee and making our way down to the boat to check the lines and the bank poles. It was a good run. We had several flatheads on the hook, and both types of fishing produced good fish. The smallest was an eight-pound flathead, and the biggest was a blue cat that weighed over 30 pounds. Now, here's where the self-imposed regulations come in. anything they catch that is close to or over 30 pounds gets released back in the river. Don't matter what it is, Blue Cat, Flathead, whatever.

That's conservation and stewardship at the resource. That's good stuff. Aside from fishing that morning, Lee had gotten up two hours before the rest of us and milked a squad of dairy goats that she raises. She also gathered eggs from their laying hens while Keith and I fed some rabbits after we got back from fishing. Their menu is, aside from goat milk, the same as mine, but they raise, fish, or hunt for an estimated 85% of what they consume, including vegetables.

Rounding out the meat menu are squirrels and ducks, turkeys, bullfrogs, and wild hogs. They cure their own bacon. They grind their own sausage and can a ton of vegetables relishes, rotel, and jelly. And I know a lot of folks are doing. some of these things nowadays, but it's just refreshing to see so much of it done like Keith and Lee are doing it. Now, they both hold college degrees and work full-time jobs in addition to their Riverside life, as Keith calls it. And they do it in a remote corner of Southeast Arkansas.

And I brought some bear meat with me, and Keith fixed up a simply outstanding meal that he filmed step by step and posted on his Riversstead YouTube channel. My most favorite Riva in the world will include a link to the show description. Now, you can substitute deer meat if you don't have any bear for this recipe and beef if you don't have any deer. But if you don't have any deer, I highly encourage you to crown some up. I'm going to try it this fall, and the first big old nanny that walks by me is now doomed just because of this recipe. Good night, nurse, it's good. I skipped over that goat milk drinking like I do it every day.

I do not. As a matter of fact, the last glass of goat milk I had came from a gallon that had been given to me by my talkative health nerd neighbor from down the street over a year ago. That joker caught me outside one day and got to tell me about all the wonderful attributes of nanny goat milk as opposed to cow's milk. And like folks with manners do, I fainned enough interest in what he was talking about to lie in him. him a reason to keep talking about it. After listening to him, drawn on for 30 minutes of how pasteurized milk was going to kill me, I was at that point right then when I wished it already had. Eventually, he walked on home, and a week or so later, he brought me a gallon of goat's milk,

and I tried to drink it. It was so sweet I couldn't finish the glass. It was like sweet tea and simple syrup had had a baby and named it goat's milk. I was not a fan of it, so I told him to come get it and drank it himself or put it back in the goat. I like to drink and cook with cow's milk, period. Now, to further layer some lactose confusion on this, I should explain that I normally refer to whole milk and sweet milk. I've always called it that because that's what I've always heard it called. There'd always only been two kinds of milk in my life, sweet milk and buttermilk, and they both came from a cow.

Now they're skim milk, 2% milk, and every kind of liquid known to mankind mashed from a plant and referred to as milk, but I got some news for y'all. If it ain't squeezed out of an udder into a bucket, it ain't milk. That, my friends, is juice. Anyway, fast forward to a few days ago, and Lee is pulling a fresh batch of homemade brownies out of the oven. Keith and I are admiring her handiwork and waiting for the green light to come. commits to digging in them. And what goes better with a warm brownie than a cold glass of sweet milk?

Lee asked, want some milk to go with that? I sure do. She poured me up a glass from the ice box, and I was raised it to take a drink when the thought occurred to me that this probably came out of a goat. Is this goat's milk, Lee? Yes, it is, she said proudly. Here we go again, I thought, but I'm too committed now to back out. Plus, I don't want to offend my new friends.

I took a sip, and nothing bad happened. Then I took a drink, and I was more surprised at what it didn't taste like rather than what it did. And what it tasted like was milk, regular old red-top whole milk, like I've been drinking all my life. It was good, and it watched that brownie down like it wasn't there. I drank some more just to make sure I wasn't crazy. Goat's milk. Who knew? I'll tell you who knew.

Lee and Keith Brandon. And I know some of y'all are laughing right now and confirming to yourself that what I'd led you to believe since this country life started, and that's that I finally lost my mind. But you'd be wrong. About the goat milk thing, you'd be wrong. And I'm talking to you, Sunspotlight, crew.

They'd like to listen to each episode and call me and poke fun at my self-confessed imbecility. Well, not this time. I'm changing that huge ad campaign that was everywhere I turned a few years ago from got milk to goat milk. That's enough about goats. Anyway, have you ever had honeysuckle jelly?

Well, I hadn't in what seems like forever, but I had some at the Riversed that Lee made. It took me back 50 years just looking at the golden contents of that jar and thinking about gathering up honeysuckle flyers as a youngin and tasting the sweet nectar. I visited there wasn't necessarily a unique experience. The life they're living is represented in some form in every direction I can see from my front porch. But watching Keith and Lee navigate through 2024, much like folks did in 1934, was refreshing.

And they're both younger than me and they're fully vested working hard and making the most out of what they're producing and gathering, not because they have to because they want to. There's a lot of work hours ago until the chores are done. That's not an easy living, but living in the country has never been about easy living. It's been about good living. When living is good, everything else seems pretty easy. Guess what? This country life t-shirts are back in stock,

and I can't thank y'all enough for showing your support for my show and Claybows. Another great way to show your support is to write us to review and share our shows with folks you think that would enjoy them too. It really does help according to the nerds that know all about how that stuff works. Anyway, that's all for me. Until next week, this is Brent Reeves. Signing off. Y'all be careful.

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 win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers 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 Rinella cut is an easy-to-use cut for beginning callers who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action.