Bear Grease - Ep. 333: This Country Life - Pocketknives, Squirrels, and Father's Day

Episode Date: June 13, 2025

Father's Day is this week, which means it's time for a celebration of family. In this week's episode, Brent invites you to be a part of his own family celebration as it involves every This Country Life listener. Then, he celebrates his father's life by reflecting on some personal journal entries he wrote over the last few months of his father's life. Brent views the connection of his memories and observations as being a lot closer to each listener than what they may think. This Country Life is all our country lives. 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.

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.com.

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. Pocket Knives, Squirrels, and Father's Day.

It's Father's Day again, and I'm going to talk about two significant events in my life. The big story took place over 40 days with glimpses of the past. It'll all make sense when we get to it, but first, I'm going to tell you this one that has literally taken generations to tell. As we celebrate those folks in our lives, both past and present, who've either biologically or lovingly earned the rank and privilege, historically afforded fathers, I want to talk to you first about a recent honor bestowed upon my family that could not have culminated at a more appropriate time than right now. I've told you all about it before, but if you're a new listener, let me do a quick summary of how we got here and the story I'm fixing to tell. This country live podcast

number two, which aired on April 28, 23, 111 podcasts ago, I talked about the stuff that I tote in my pockets, everything from pocket watches to pocket knives. I casually, but matter-of-factly mentioned a particular brand of knife that's near and dear to my family and has been for the last six generations. I had no ulterior motives, just real, organic off-the-cuff comments. Now, that brand of Knife was the exclusive brand you'll find on any of us at any given time. There are families endeared to fords and Chevroletes, John Deere and Massey Ferguson tractors, or Duke's mayonnaise, even a particular weatherman.

But in our family, the brand of knife was and his case knives of Bradford, Pennsylvania. Me mentioning that during the second episode that aired of this weekly struggle, didn't light the fuse on my family's relationship with the good folks. folks at Bradford had merely fanned the flames that have been burning for over 100 years now. Someone, and I don't know who it was, but God bless him, whoever it was, heard that episode and brought it to Case's attention. Now, through that slight introduction, we fast forward to where we sit now, with the W.R. Case Company being the sponsor of this show.

An absolute fairy tale of a story that put me in a place where my name is a scientist. associated with an iconic American company, building products by hand every day that are used by Americans every day, all over this country doing the task required for putting in an honest day's labor, like the three generations before me did. Now, before folks start rolling their eyes and say, oh, Brent's doing a commercial for a sponsor, let me stop you right there. I have 100% total control over what I say on the show, and not only does, you know, meat eater not even make suggestions on the content, neither this case. In fact, they'd both prefer

I talk less about them so people don't get the impression I'm over here selling used cars like junior samples. I get to talk about the things I like. Hockey knives are one of them. So with that said, let me get to the meat on this bone. Last week, the case company and meat eater, released a knife that is the Brent Reeves signature mini-trapped. Months and months of planning and meetings resulted in a deep red bone-handled pocket knife that is the same color of the first pocket knife I ever remember my dad carrying. It means a lot to me and my family, and none of it would have been possible had it not been for you. You faithful folks who listen every week and the ones who take the time to write reviews, share the podcast with others and send in the best stories that I get to share and you show up at events just to visit and talk about the different things that we all love to talk about.

I get emotional talking about this object made of metal and bone not because of what it is but by what it represents. It's all of us together from Cleveland County, Arkansas and McKean County, Pennsylvania to every home, job, or car where you're listening now. We're all in this together, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you all. And you, you are just how this all happened. Father's Day, a day set aside to honor the dads out there. In my case, it's the guy who, above all else, taught me. how to have fun. A few of those times have been shared with y'all here, lessons I learned both from

observations and from his direct instruction. The following is the story I wrote not long after my dad passed away. It's a detailed diary of strong remembrances of different days during his stay in the hospital. Those days were long in tenure with short, abbreviated windows, the communication between whoever was fortunate enough to be sitting in the room with him when he came to. Mixed in between the hospital references as a hunt that comes to mind anytime squirrels are mentioned, and it was running through my mind as we raced toward what would be his final night on earth. It remains a core memory of my understanding of the love my father had for me and the pride

he had in me. Both things that he was adamant that I know. Now, he could be upset with me. You mad at me, even disappointed, but he always made me know how much he loved me. Something I've tried to emulate with the folks I love that's not just limited to family and not just by actions, but telling them too, just like he did. I wrote this story only a few days after the 7th of September in 2011 with no intentions of anyone outside of me ever reading it. And it skips back and forth in time making perfect sense to me as I wrote it. The event is that. fence fresh in my mind and on my heart as the one who saw it all as an eyewitness. My hope above all hope is that it'll translate here for you.

The phone woke me out of a sound sleep. I had it in my hand before the second ring was done. In nearly 20 years of being a police officer, anytime the phone rings after bedtime, it can only mean one thing. Something is wrong. The caller ID said it was my Aunt Diana, my dad's youngest sister. and she'd never call this late unless it was an emergency and by being her I immediately knew it involved my dad she said hey I'm on the way to pine bluff your dad is in the ER he's had some

type of spell and I think they said something about life support I come into full alert I told her we're on the way it was cold as we made our way through the cane thicket buck would turn his head to grab a bigger bite of switch cane leaves all the while holding a steady course dad had set for him as we closed in on peanuts barking. Dad, if this 22 was to start shooting all by itself, would you want me to just chunk it over yonder? An acceptable, silly question for an eight-year-old boy to ask. No, son, I just pointed out there until he ran out of shells. But I don't expect it to do that, though.

Me neither. I was just asking. All right, let's kill this squirrel. Now when we get up here, you slide off, run around the other side of that tree away from me and buck, and I'll wait for Jerry over here. When he gets here, all the commotion will put that squirrel on your side of the tree, and you can kill him. Yes, sir. I buried my head in the middle of his back. I squeezed my eyes shut, and I held on as tight as I could to his waist as we entered the greenbrier portion of that thicket.

The sharp thorns grabbed the toe of my boots as I pinched him as far as I could, behind dad's legs to keep the briars and vines from pulling me off the back of that saddle. I knew we'd broken free from the thicket when the scratching sound of the briars scraping across that leather gun scabbard subsided and Peanuts bark grew louder. I peaked around the right shoulder of the strongest man in the world and I saw Peanuts Bobtail wagging into blurs. He barked and circled a huge oak tree searching for the squirrel that he knew was there. I pulled my hands out of dad's warm coat pockets and slid like a snake off the back at that huge buckskin horse.

I'd no sooner hit the ground when dad handed me the 22, and I ran past Peanut and the tree picking out a spot on the opposite side where I could see most of the tree and waited for that squirrel to move. Your father has had a stroke. Only time will tell how significant the damage will be. Now complicating all of this is our inability to give him the medication that thins his blood. blood regulates his heartbeat. He's stable, but the next 24 hours will play a critical role in the rest of his life and its quality. I looked at my wife with a blank expression as we stood in the hallway of the hospital

after our chance meeting with the neurosurgeon that had only hours before operated on the strongest man in the world. Thank you, doctor, was all I could muster. I'm not sure if Alexis said anything to him or not. I recall her squeezing my hand as we walked back toward the waiting room where nearly everyone within my immediate family, close friends and distant family, and some folks I'd never seen in my life waited and supported one another. We prayed together, we laughed together, we cried together, but mostly we just sat around and loved my dad and each other. And we waited every day. Work, go to the hospital, go home.

Work, go to the hospital, go home. Wait and wait and wait and wait and remember. My eyes strained to see where I couldn't and watch for the tiniest movement that would give my quarry's location away. Look in the forks, watch up the tree and out, look for his ear. It looked like a little triangle sticking up

or look for his tail to switch. You'll find him. I repeated dad's instructions over and over in my mind. as I followed to the letter what he'd been teaching me. Peanut barking his plea for me to find him. Jerry rode up on his horse and around to my side of the tree, scrambled a gray squirrel, just like my dad said he would.

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 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 Phelps Game Calls.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. Two weeks after he went in the hospital, I saw his eyes blink, and then he looked at me with the prettiest blue eyes I'd ever seen. Hi, Dad. I've been missing you. He focused on my tired, smiling face,

and he winked at me. I love you, son, he whispered. I love you too, Paul. He squeezed my hand and had been hold at his for the last 30 minutes or so, and I squeezed back. I talked to him for a good while. He watched me as I talked to him, listening intently as I spoke. Occasionally, he'd have an expression of understanding and calm, reassuring me that he knew what I was saying.

The details of that conversation will remain between him. me and the good Lord, who blessed me with one of the few cognitive windows during that 40 days we spent at the hospital to communicate with my dad. Just him and me. But the gist of it was I was going to try hard to take care of his grandkids and his daughter-in-law, and I could tell he was tired. So when we finished talking, I told him I loved him. And he squeezed my hand. He winked at me again. And he drifted off to sleep.

I see him, Dad. I see him. The squirrel inched his way toward a big fork on my side of the tree. Each time I'd settle the crosshairs the scope on his head and prepared a fire he'd inch out of my sights and short spurts a few inches at a time. I could see the hollow limb above the fork where I feared he was going, and I raised my aim just below where I thought he'd enter that hole. Dogs barked, and Jerry and Dad both shook small saplings from where they sat on their horses, keeping the noise of the limbs and the leaves on the opposite side of the tree. tree from me and the squirrel. I held my aim above that squirrel trained on the spot where I hoped he'd

stopped before he crawled into his waiting sanctuary. We just finished supper when my phone rang. My aunt Diane again. Hello? Hey, his breathing isn't very good. Doctor says y'all better come on. We're on the way, and I said it calmly. The weather had been hot and windy and he had been hot and windy human over the past month and a half. This night, it was unseasonably cool. Wind wasn't blowing, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The stars were everywhere when we walked outside. I called my brother Tim as we were getting in the car.

I asked him, you headed to the hospital. He said, yes. I said, was the wind blowing when you walked outside? The question, they kind of caught him off guard. He said, do what? I said the wind. Was it blowing when you walked out to leave? He said, I didn't notice.

Why? I said, well, it wasn't blowing at my house. It's cool tonight. The first night since Dad's been in the hospital, it's been worth a durn to run his dogs. You can hear a hound bark for miles tonight. Dad's going hunting, brother. And for a second, it was only silence.

And then Tim said, well, I'll be. He sure is. Drive safe. Don't be in a hurry. I'll see you there and I love you. Just a little more. Just a little more I remember saying to myself as I caught a glimpse of the squirrel as he entered the side picture of the bottom of my scope. I had a rock solid rest on a dogwood limb that was the perfect height for the shot I was fixing to take. Just a little more. And with that thought, the squirrel sprinted the last two feet before.

I could even realize it, and he disappeared into that hole. I raised up from that rifle and looked at Dad and Jerry, who were laughing now at the expression on my face as I looked back and forth from the hole in the tree to where they sat watching me. Now, this is not how I'd had all this worked out in my mind. He was supposed to stop just before he went in that hole, and I'd squeeze the trigger and getting him with one shot and making the strongest man in the world proud of me. I imagined doing it all over again as I heard Dad tell him to get back on the horse. Now, I relived watching that squirrel out of the corner of my eyes.

He inched slowly toward where I had that rival aim below the hole in that tree. I braced the rifle back on that dogwood limb. I oriented the barrel toward that hole, placed my cheek on the stock, and took aim as I'd done just prior to the squirrel making his escape. I settled the crosshairs on the imaginary squirrel, wishing I had had another chance at him when it was replaced by a real one. I didn't even think about it. I pushed the safety off.

I pulled the trigger and sent that squirrel toward the ground with a headshot, and Peanut caught him in midair. Before I had time to realize it, another squirrel came out of that hole and stopped in the same spot. He met the same fate, except this one landed on the ground with a thud. I picked him up. I retrieved the one peanut had caught, and I carried him. and both of my dad who was grinning bigger than Jerry or me. We tied him on the saddle, and in one pull, he swung me up on the back of his saddle.

He called Peanut, and we headed off to find another one. That was good, Brent. I thought you'd done let him get away, and then you got two. Both of them riding the noggin. I'm proud of you, son. I was less than five minutes from the hospital, driving faster than I should have been when Tim called me. Tim lived a lot closer would have been easily there a few minutes before us. I knew what he had to say even before I answered.

Hello? He said he's gone hunting. Dad's gone hunting. I remember thinking it was a good night for coyote hunting. I bet you could have heard a hound bark for miles. We buried my father in the family cemetery that bears our name in Cleveland County, Arkansas, alongside my great-grandfather. and my grandfather.

It's been 14 fathers' days without him. Well, without his physical presence, he's still here. I see him in my children. I see him in my brother. I see him in me sometimes, and sometimes it catches me a little by surprise when I do. Several months ago, I got word from friends of mine that they were going to be first-time fathers.

During those conversations, I told them both that only when they held their babies would they know. how much their dads love them. I talked to them both after each blessed event, and they wholeheartedly agreed. That's the way it goes. That's the natural order of things, the events in our existence that make worthwhile our being where we are. They're all around us for us to see, to hear and participate in until they aren't.

We just have to look up from what we're doing to see it sometimes. This podcast was supposed to be delivered to Riva three days sooner than it was because of a baseball game. A game that our oldest daughter, Amy and our son-in-law Colin, got tickets for all of us to go. And after the game, my six-year-old grandson trip wanted to spend the night with us. So I kicked the self-imposed deadline to the curb and took off a day from the computer to go to the ball game. Bring my grandson home and sit up to midnight watching Spider-Man and answer. an endless belt-fed machine gun of questions, most of which I could answer. I missed a lot of those from his mama because I let other things get in my way.

A mistake I vowed I wouldn't make twice. Just a little time. That's all it takes is just a little time. Papaw, why does Whalen bark so loud? When are they going to fix the hole in that road? Why is giraffe spelled with a G? It ain't gu-raff. All great questions.

coming from the mind that looks to us for direction, safety, honesty, and love. It's really just the conversation. It's a back-and-forth search for interaction between generations, and it's okay for us to say, I don't know. The most important part is just being there for them to hear you say it. Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there who, whether by blood or choice, are answering questions, but mainly just for standing still long enough to hear them. Bear grease, we're into this country life, and now the Backwoods University is dropping on this feed.

There's something for everyone, and we sure appreciate y'all listening. Until next week, this is Brent Reeve, 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 and 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.