Bear Grease - Ep. 315: This Country Life - North Carolina, A Place in Alabama

Episode Date: April 18, 2025

Traveling out of state to turkey hunt is one of my most favorite activities, especially when I get to go somewhere I've never been before. I always come home with something, and more times than not, it’s a turkey. This time was no different and I brought back two things--one was an unused turkey tag and the other was a greater appreciation for home and family. On this trip, I met folks who value people and places just like I do and it wouldn’t have been better had I punched that tag. It’s turkey time in Alabama on MeatEater’s “This Country Life" podcast. 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 trotlining 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 that Airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I've got some stories to share.

North Carolina. A place in Alabama. I know North Carolina ain't in Alabama, but a new friend of mine was paying his respects to both places, which will become more apparent before I'm done today. There's no opening story because this story is the whole show. I think you'll enjoy it. I know I did. So, without further ado, here we go.

It was a funny little song about a lady dropping an Apple Watch in a public action. excess toilet near a boat ramp in Michigan that first made me aware of Reed Bargeneer. Reed is a security software guy by trade who, as a child, was forced to learn the piano by his mother. I hated piano lessons, he told me. He added to the contrary that hearing how beautiful the music was that his mother, Ms. Karen, filled their home with and what that instrument was capable of producing by someone who knew how to play it was the only thing that kept him from resisting the lessons more than he did. So, like a lot of the seemingly born but innocuous things our parents insist we do as children,

bolstered by that painfully prophetic, you'll be glad you did it someday. She was right. And it paid dividends in the long run. Steve Rinella had talked about the woman following into the public access outhouse on the Meat Eater podcast, and Reed, being a faithful listener, had written a little ditty about the woman falling in the duty and her subsequent rescue.

Now, I started following at Reed's piano news on Instagram from that very moment, and aside from his humorous take and unique way of expressing his observations, I also saw this guy's really good. Artistically gifted people can be perceived as being a little different by those of us who aren't so blessed.

Now, I found that belief validated after spending a few days with Reed last week chasing turkeys in his home state of Alabama. He's different all right, but in a good way. Playing the piano and writing original tunes are just two of the things he's good at, but I'm getting ahead of myself. More on the other ones in a minute. In February of last year, we connected through social media, and I learned he listened to this country life.

I've been following his content since he made his appearance on meat eater a few months prior after Steve heard his song about the unfortunate lady who went headfirst into the chamber pot. Now, I always think it's somewhat surreal to discover the many talented folks that find amusement in this weekly struggle of mine and the wide variety of those who do. General conversations back and forth through the winter about each other's content turned into a genuine invitation to be his guest and come turkey hunting with him in the spring on his family's land near Fort Deposit, Alabama. Now, I've said before that I always hesitate when I ask what my favorite type of hunting is,

but after a couple mental hurdles of decision, I settle on spring turkey hunting, always. And it's not even close just because of the scenario I just laid out. I get to share it with others who feel just like I do. It doesn't take a long, detailed conversation with someone to get a good feel of how genuine they are about things. And I could tell that Reed was a turkey hunter who in his early 40s had come to the realization of sharing the experience was better than keeping it to yourself. Like I always say, sharing a burden will lighten the load and sharing a joy will amplify it.

It was with that in mind that I accepted his invitation and scheduled to meet him at his friends, family's old home place, 10 minutes from Reed's family's ancestral land, and the place we'd be chasing turkeys. I arrived in the middle of the afternoon to an old farmhouse that was painted white. It's tin roof shaded by hardwood surrounded by a manicured yard. The front porch was adorned with rocking chairs and a swing where I imagined generations of folks had sat in the cool of the evenings when the work was finished, passing the time and enjoying. and each other's company until time to go to bed. Long before all the distractions that keep a person's attention elsewhere today,

even in a room full of family and friends. Reed was out back stoking a fire in a large pit with stovewood that was produced in the coals that would cook our supper later that evening. I shook his hand and we started talking. As I remember, it wasn't initially about turkey hunting. There was plenty of time to talk about that later. I wanted to know about Reed and get to know who he was away from that piano. We shared a lot in common.

We have better wives and kids than we deserve, are blessed with given friends and careers that allow us opportunities to share adventures, such as the one we were about to undertake. The old house we stayed at belonged to a friend of Reed's that was built in 1902. There had been an addition in the last few years to allow for a more comfortable stay, when family and hunters gathered, but the addition, while very modern, held on to the simplistic nature of an old farmhouse. I felt at home before I ever walked through the door. Old deer, waterfowl, coon, and bobcat mounts decorated the walls of the sitting room in the kitchen. The vibe felt as good as when your grandma hugs you, and the wood floor creaked

just enough when you walked in the original part of the home to remind you that several grandmalls had occupied this space. Just inside the front door on the wall of the foyer hung old pictures and momentos of the legacy of the family that owned this house and the land it sat on. One such item being the original land grant document dated February 1st, 1822 and signed by then president James Monroe. A historically important reverence that I would see on the land, we were to hunt the following morning.

Land adjacent to the small community of Fort Deposit that has had bargainers roaming on it since 1819. Land that three years prior, old Hickory himself, the future president, but then general Andrew Jackson, ordered constructed and sequestered provisions for supply and troops during the Creek Indian War. A depository fort, a very descriptive term from which the town would eventually. eventually draw its name. The land itself was a bit of a novelty to me. I wasn't expecting a diverse topography. The terrain fluctuated from bottom land to rolling hills and some of them

as steep as any hills I'd climbed into Washington Mountains or the Ozarks, but not as tall, but definitely just as steep. The first morning I followed Reed away from the truck and we climbed and stood atop Gil's Hill, a steep grated knob that tired 470 feet above. of sea level, which coincidentally lay less than 110 miles due south from where we were waiting to hear a turkey gobble. Redbird started singing, and after I caught my breath, I out, and a gobbler nearly cut me off. You were way too close to him. His gobble initially sounded like a Jake to me. It was like only the back half of a normal gobble, but I think it was because I scared him more than anything else. Eventually, he let out a couple more gobbles, but

He went silent after he flew down. Luckily, we had two others that were in a goblin contest a little over a quarter of a mile away. It was a steep gray down to where they were, and we would need to pick a path and head that way gambling that we'd chosen wisely to try and get ahead of them once they picked their main course of travel. By 8.30 that morning, we figured we had them scoped out and made a move trying to get to a spot to cut them off. and they never gobbled again. No worries. We gave them plenty of time to respond,

and when they didn't, we lit a shuck for the north end of the property. A place Reed said was the location turkeys sometimes wound up during the middle of the morning. Making our way down the Long Ridge, we stopped to listen, and for Reed to share memories of certain places or events that had taken place there during his lifetime

of making tracks on this part of the planet. Eventually, we found our way to the edge of a big open field at the bottom of several ridges. I'm not sure I could have taken a pencil and a piece of paper and drawn a more turkey-looking place. I called loudly and bam! A turkey gobbled back about 350 yards away. Now, we moved as close as we could and set up. He answered, and twice got a little closer, and eventually we realized there were two gobblers answered us, but neither ever got within sight.

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 gobblers are looking for. I have a great turkey hunting track record. If you go listen to real turkeys out in my,

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. We stayed for nearly another hour after the last gobble and decided to head into four deposit for a bite to eat. Driving past a house, Reed saw an elderly couple standing on the carport. That's one of my grandfather's good friends. You have to meet him. Reed back to side by side down the street and we pulled into the yard. There I met Mr. Lee Ernest Steiner and his wife, Miss Minnie.

The connection between all three. of them was immediate and heartfelt. Reed would tell me later that he stops and visits with him at their house when he sees them out and about when he's down at the family land from his home in Birmingham. Reed's father does the same. Mr. Steiner was nearly 90, according to Reed, and while we visited, I learned from him that he'd lost the sight in one of his eyes and some of the use of his right arm due to a stroke. But he never stopped smiling while we talked, or when he looked at a look it read. He may have had some trouble communicating words as a result of his condition, but his tired old lies spoke volumes when he talked to Reed about reading his Bible and

saying without any trouble at all that Reed had finally grown up big enough to eat a whole chicken by itself. A comment, Miss Minnie and I both found pretty funny. Our visit done or sandwiches eating, we drove back to the property that afternoon with the game plan that we wouldn't pressure anything. We'd make a drive down through the access road that bordered the eastern edge, and if we could strike a gobbler from the road, we'd dive in after him. Long story short, it didn't happen. But it was only the first day. I should point out that we did see a gobbler cross the road in front of us on the way in that afternoon, but the terrain wasn't optimal for us to get in front of him without him seeing us. No pressure. It's only the first day.

Remember me saying that artistic folks are usually good at more than one thing? Well, Reed is also quite a chef. In fact, he told me he liked to go to Jesse Griffith's new school of traditional cookery. Now, I think he might teach Jesse a thing or two. Who knows? I know he turned the fire up on that pork shot we had for supper that night and the duck we had the following night. That boy can cook.

Jesse, you've got to save that boy a spot. Now that night after supper we made our plans for the next day. We would start out between the two sets of turkeys we heard that morning. The two that were in a goblin contest at daylight and the two that we got on later in the day. We'd laid out almost four miles of tracks on Alabama that day. And in the morning, we'd cut that in half by starting in the sweet spot right between them both.

And I finished up our plan that night with, of course, neither group will gobble in the same. the morning and the whole day will start off like this one with us not knowing which way to go or what to do. We laughed and laughed until the next morning when that was exactly what happened. Over four miles later, we were back at the truck, having only heard the faintest of gobbles that was in another zip code from ours and on our way out for a bite to eat. Both of us whooped as pups. Let's stop where we saw that turkey in the road yesterday. Just stop there, and I'm going to call him see what happens.

He pulled over and I jumped out of the truck and sent a series of yups down through the woods. Turkey answered. Reed looked over at me and smiled and said, we're back in. I looked at my watch. It was 10-20. He was less than 300 yards away.

I would have bet my paycheck that turkey was as good as dead. I'm glad I didn't. Because as far as I know, and I talked to read today, that Joker is still amongst the living. I had him within 100 yards two different times, but I never laid my peepers on him. He could have been invisible for all I know.

We walked out of the wood scratching our heads, wondering how we've messed that up. We replayed step by step every move we made, and outside a chunk of a grenade at him, I wouldn't have done anything any different. It just wasn't meant to be. But that evening, Reed's old, his son, Barnes rode in with Reed's father, Dr. Paul Bargeneer.

We plan to divide up the next morning into two teams going in different directions, doubling our chances of slinging some lead. Dr. Bargeneer and I would hunt the south end, and Reed and Barnes would take care of the north. Unfortunately, Barnes took sick during the night and did make our morning formation at 5 a.m. the next day. So, while he stayed in bed, we struck out for one last strike. out. And that's just what we did. We struck out. We heard three turkeys that morning, but they were so far

off and only gobbled a few times, making it really difficult to come up with a workable plan of attack. Before we left the woods, we tallied up another four miles of hiking through the mountains of Louns County, Alabama. Now, what we did do was stop along the way at different places to listen to turkey store is mostly told by Reed's father, a dentist by trade for the past 41 years. This spot right here is called North Carolina because it reminds me of a place I saw there once. It's my most favorite place on the planet. I've called a lot of turkeys up right here. I could have killed a lot more than I have.

Sometimes, I'd let them go. I'd rather see you get one than me. I just enjoy working this land for the betterment of turkeys. him from my children and grandchildren, which in turn is good for everything. That's what he said. He looked at that place he called North Carolina not like it was a member of his family. No, he looked at it like he was a member of its family. And I truly think he believes it.

I certainly do after watching him talk about it and share his experiences with me. Reed asked me the next day when he'd stopped wondering why we didn't call that turkey in that we let get away. from us. I was driving down the road, headed home when he asked, and at that exact same time, I was wondering the same thing. Had we got him, it would have been a great story of how we'd caught him off guard and tricked him during the middle of the day when they're supposedly a lot easier to trick, and after a while, it would have just turned into a turkey that we killed in Alabama. But now, we had a shared experience of highs and lows in the two hours we each moved around

that turkey-calling chessboard. attack and counterattack stick and move bob and weave with eventually both of us walking out with a story to tell him by us i mean reed me and the turkey i asked rey why didn't he just load up on that fire lane and walk straight to us but you know what that gobbler was probably wondering the same thing about the hen he was answering so i didn't bring a turkey home but i i didn't come home without something i made some new friends i saw the site of some early American history. I was welcome to a place revered by those who shared it with me, a place that sits at the epicenter of a tumultuous times at the beginning of Alabama's

statehood 206 years ago when it was the jumping off point for conflict with Native Americans. And a place around the time of my birth in the mid-60s that would have had Reed and I questioned for stopping to visit with people that the bargainers considered family. who didn't look like we did on the outside, but are indistinguishable on the inside. And that's where it counts the most. Thank you so much for listening to us here on the Bear Grease channel. Claibault and I appreciate it very much.

And good luck chasing those turkeys. Until next week, this is Brent Reeves, signing off. Y'all be careful. First Lights Fieldware 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 fieldware gear at firstlight.com.