Bear Grease - Ep. 404: This Country Life - The Project

Episode Date: December 26, 2025

Projects come in many shapes and sizes. Sometimes they work out, other times, they don't. Brent's sharing a project that didn't work out like he'd hoped, and a new project he's hoping will. Get your clipboards ready, it's time for This Country Life on MeatEater's podcast network! Shop This Country Life Merch Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, and Youtube Clips Subscribe to the 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.

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 from the Storemore Studio on Meat Eat Eaters 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. The project.

Every successful project usually starts with a good plan. It kind of goes hand in hand. And you'd think it'd be common knowledge, and it probably is to most folks. But me and my brother Tim, we ain't most folks. And our kind of knowledge, well, it ain't too common. I'm going to tell you how I finally got around to making a plan. But this first story will illustrate why. The definition of project is an individual or collaborative enterprise that is carefully planned to achieve a particular aim.

I've been involved in a lot of projects over the years. Some would closely fit that definition I just recited. Some wouldn't even come close. Some were borderline unsafe. And I doubt I'd have much trouble convincing you to believe that a handful were downright psychotic. Looking back, a forge of me. me a clearer view of the results of ill-conceived calamity regardless of the initial intentions. What it doesn't do is explain the thought process that would have allowed a reasonable person

like yours truly to arrive at the conclusion that whatever this ridiculous idea of my brother Tim had come up with, they could convince me to join forces on yet another of his inept collaborations. Oh yeah, now I remember. Here's how he'd trick me into helping him with one of his crazy projects. Hey, Brent, what? Want to help me with a project? Yep. Want to know what it is?

Don't care. Let's go. It might be dangerous, expensive, and highly probable, illegal in some states. Okay, we'll take my truck. It has new tires. He would fall just as easily to any of my ill-fated ideas for wealth, fame, fun, and adventure. And afterwards, when the smoke cleared and the bandages had been applied either literally or figuratively, we'd reassess what had happened and adjust our future endeavors accordingly.

Now, that's just part of the process for starting a project. At least that's how we did it back in the day. doubling the size of our duck camp was a prime example of a project that was an unforeseen struggle that absolutely no one saw coming. But one person hinted at it, and that person was our banker. We were in year three or four of guiding duck hunters from all over the country, and we hunted public land and private land. It just depended on where the ducks were. We hadn't advertised at all. The internet was new, and my first experience with a hunting form was weird.

I can't tell you what form it was because I don't remember. I was only there for about 24 hours before I got banned. This website was all about hunting. Everything from squirrels to giraffes. There was a form for everyone. Him had seen it while at work, and since the only online computers we had access to were at his work, He showed it to me one evening when I stopped by while on patrol. I dialed it up.

That's right. Dialed it up. And in a matter of minutes, I was connected to the interwebs and scrolling through the myriad of topics being discussed by my fellow field sports enthusiast from all over the globe. This was going to be fun. I moved the cursor along until I found the duck hunting part. I clicked in there and a. seemingly endless list of topics related to duck hunting appeared. Holy Moses, I could spend the rest of my shift right here talking to all these wonderful

people who like duck hunting just like me and Tim instead of fighting crime. I asked Tim how to write something on there, and he explained how to register to get access to a post or a topic or reply to one that was already there. It seemed silly to a lot, I'm sure, that there was a time when we didn't all automatically know how to do that. It's also something unusual seeing how Tim was ever in a position to give anyone advice on how the internet works. Anyway, after he showed me what to do and I created and registered my AOL email account,

I got on there and in two or three topics where folks were asking about places to hunt ducks, I took it upon myself to post something akin to my brief. brother and I guide for ducks and flooded timber in Arkansas. Message for details. The registration information for the hunting site advised against publishing your phone number at any time, so I didn't, but I wanted to. But people could send you messages through the forum. Wow, this is cool.

I went back to the radio room to tell Tim that I figured the clients would start rolling in after I'd made those posts, and he agreed. I told him I'd come back later that night and check it, or if I had a bunch of reports while on patrol, that I'd just check the next day when I started my shift. The next evening, I swung by the headquarters and went to the spare office to dial up the rest of the world on the hunting forum website. As soon as I logged in,

I had one message in my inbox and nearly a hundred responses to what I'd said. Oh, this internet thing is going to make us rich. I checked the responses to the topics I'd posted, and all I saw was little pictures of cans of spam. One after the other. Spam. Spam. Spam. And more spam. Some with cuss words. Others with acronyms and abbreviations for cuss words and phrases I'd never heard of. I know what spam was, but L-O-L, R-O-F-L, and others I won't mention were all new to me. but it must mean something good because spam is good. Alas, it did not.

The message from the admin informed me that I had been banned for two weeks for spam. I walked in the radio room where Tim was and asked, Hey, what's spam? And he said, no one knows for sure, but I wish I had some fried right now. Why? And I told him about what happened. He accused me of talking ugly. on the forum. I said, I didn't say nothing ugly, and I didn't say anything about spam.

I would learn that what they were referring to was advertising for free, and that wasn't allowed. I didn't realize what I was doing, but I was just as incensed that anyone would defile the good name of spam as being anything but wonderful. How do I know spam is like manner from heaven? Because my city mouse wife, who'd starve slapped to death before she knowingly at a squirrel. Now notice I said knowingly, we'll wreck a plate of fried spam as quick as I will. So not only did I learn what spam means on the interwebs, I also got a crash course on cyber bullying and keyboard warriors. Why are all these folks so angry? That was over 30 years ago. Well, guess what? They're still mad and they've recruited help.

Anyway, our business didn't need any advertising. Word of mouth was getting us booked beyond anything we'd ever imagine. We needed to enlarge our camp. Our project, we decided to double it. We went to the bank and sat down with our banker, Mr. Freddie Mobley, the husband of my sixth grade teacher, Miss Marianne Mobley, who I've talked about on here before. Anyway, we told him what we wanted to do,

and he looked at us and said, well, y'all have been doing pretty good, I hear. He did some clicking on his keyboard and looking at his monitor. I see you've been making your payments in advance. That's good. You have a lot of folks booked this coming year? Yes, sir. What about the year after? Well, people usually come at the same time every year, and we're growing fast.

That's why we borrowed the money from you to buy the camp in the first place. We couldn't hold them all in that place we were renting, and now we're running out of room in the place we bought. He slightly nodded his head in approval. He got quiet for a moment, and we could tell he was thinking years in advance of the next duck season, and even though he was a duck hunter himself, he wasn't thinking like a duck hunter.

He was thinking like a businessman. Tim and I were not. His eyes darted back and forth to me and Tim over his computer screen and back to us. He folded his hand together and he said, What if the ducks don't come? That was a question I was not prepared for. He might as well ask me what if the world stops turning.

In the blink of a nigh, I was running a million scenarios through my head of what I thought could possibly stand in the way of Mr. Freddie denying our loan. The absurdity of the ducks not migrate was on the list, but it was way after meteor, strike in the 11th biblical plague. Tim and I both literally L-O-Led when he said that.

And by then, I knew what that meant. Why would the ducks not migrate? They've been doing that ever since ducks grew feathers. He didn't laugh. He just smiled. And then he said, what if people quit booking? This dude was a laugh a minute, a straight-up comedian. He missed his column by going to the banking when he should have been doing states. up? Well, we guide a lot of corporate groups and business folks, and they're the ones booking a year or more in advance. He loaned us the money. And we got two years into having our duck camp doubled in size when the economy took a nosedive, and believe it or not, the migration started changing. Now, I don't care what you call it. Global warming, climate change,

freaking nature, years of bad hatches, loss of habitat, rest areas up north holding all the ducks, whatever. It doesn't matter. What matters is the duck hunting got worse, and businesses cut back on corporate entertainment due to the economy, and some of them stopped it all together. That was the biggest project we'd put together that required a total reassessment of how we did the admin side of our guiding business. That project was a big kick in the bridges before it ever got squared away. And that was one of the many reasons that guiding the duck hunting in general started fading in its lure to me. I couldn't do one without the other. If we were to keep that place, you would have to work for. There was very little room for recreational hunting. We'd have to

hustle up business now before we were having to turn it away at any. Anytime your fun gets like work, well, it ain't fun no more. On Blood Trails, the stories don't end when the hunt is over. They just get darker. I've seen something in the road. I instantly thought it was a sleeping bag and there was a full of blood. Oh my God, he doesn't have a hit. Blood Trails is a true crime podcast born in the outdoors,

where the terrain is unforgiving, the evidence is scarce, and the truth gets buried under brush. and silence. Indications were he should be right there, but he wasn't. This season, we're going deeper. From cold case files to whispered suspicions, from remote mountains to frozen backwards. Each story begins in the wilderness and ends in darkness. Because out here, there are no witnesses, no cameras, just fragments and the people left behind trying to piece them back together.

He's not an honest person. He's incapable of being honest. Somebody somewhere knows something. I'm Jordan Sillers. Season 2 of Blood Trails premieres April 16th. Follow now on Apple, I Heart, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts. We retired and we sold it. And then a few years ago, I started going again,

a little here and there on the cash with my friends at the Coon Camp and on some private land. And then I went with a friend to some public land last year that I used to guide on. and I killed ducks both places. And I didn't have to do any racing because I didn't want to go to the places where people race. There's still some spots out there that are good that don't get a lot of attention, and those are my favorites. But beyond anything else,

I've always wanted to develop and manage a place from start to finish, a project of habitat enhanced for ducks that will benefit all the creatures on the landscape that live there. That's the new project and an unforeseen opportunity that of all people, my daughter Bailey arranged for me to have through her love for competition dancing. Remember the episode where a lot of us went to New York City last year for the girls to see Rockets and took enough kids and parents for three basketball teams? Well, among those families, as well as a few more, we've grown particularly fond of and close to. And when I say family, I mean the whole family.

brothers and sisters, grandparents, friends, the whole circle of them. Their friends and family have become ours and vice versa. I talk about them all the time. But the guy that used to be known as Avery's dad is now known to me as John. John and I have become friends. Our girls initiated this a dance. Then we all tagged along. Now we all have a standing date every Wednesday for supper. We used to go out and eat, and we still sometimes do, but but mostly we take turns cooking for each other. It has become one of the favorite parts of my week, a stand-and-suffer date with a family and a bunch of people

who I look forward to see him at every opportunity. John likes to hunt, and I like to hunt. John builds houses and has a dirt business, both of which take up a lot of his time. He told me I could have the run of his properties, and last spring I walked onto a piece of bottomland property that's as pretty a patch of woods as there, is. There was a little turkey sign here and there, but not much, but I was thrilled to see

enough squirrels there to wear out a tree dog. There was water standing from recent range as I waded along the ankle-deep water and swatted mosquitoes. I saw how it looked like the flooded timor that Arkansas is famous for, you know, the duck hunting kind. Well, months past, and as John and I got more acquainted, I learned that he liked the duck hunt, and so did his oldest son, Ethan. Ethan works in the family of business with his dad, and they have a lot of equipment, excavators, and dump trucks, skid steers, and bulldozers to do the jobs that they do. One night we were all eating supper at John's house, and he started telling me about a piece of property where he used to duck hunt several years ago.

It was the property that I'd waited on back in the spring looking for turkeys. I told him where I waited to that day, and he mentioned that where I had turned around to walk back out of the water was close to where he used to hunt ducks. I wasn't discounting John's duck hunting ability or knowledge, but duck hunting in any area that I've never been to or much less even heard of in Arkansas always makes me wonder how good could it really be. What are they comparing the quality to? Not hunting at all? Well, I didn't know, and I didn't judge either. One man's trash being another man's treasure is never more true than when talking about duck hunting.

There were times in my youth when I wouldn't have walked across the road for anything less than a limb of the greenheads in the timber, never thinking about the folks who felt fortunate just to see a wood duck buzz through at daylight. He kept telling me about this property having ducks on it and how he and the fellow he got it from used to duck hunting. And I asked him finally, Myler's? Yeah. in that timber.

Yeah. Over there were I weighted water in that flat last spring. Yeah. And I've always wanted to develop that into something good for ducks and wildlife. I have the equipment and the desire to make it something special. I just need someone with the knowledge of the animals and the trees. Would you be interested in helping me? Now, I had to fight the urge to do a back flip.

Not that I can or could ever do one. I just had to fight the urge to try it. Yep, I sure would. And with that conversation from a few weeks ago, we began to plan. Now, here's the advantage of doing anything with a house builder. They don't do anything without a set of plans. Tim and I learned that lesson the hard way when we didn't have a plan for a downturn in the commercial hunting business. Now the best thing about making a plan with John is that the equipment was already there.

There was no overwhelming initial investment for a cabillion dollars and stuff to work with. Most of it was sitting on that property. There would be nothing to invest other than sweat equity and what brainpower I could muster to start a plan before we ever moved a teaspoon full of dirt. We walked the land from corner to corner and studied the topography and John's extensive knowledge of the land's history how rainwater moved naturally along the flooding that they had taken advantage of in the past. We researched the permits, the rules and regulations about flood control, pumping water, levees, and everything that a builder would have to research before starting construction on any piece of ground for any kind of building. Now, wouldn't you know it? John already holds every license required.

How fortunate. Several trips to those woods, long conversations on the phone and at supper had us last Saturday started early clearing the hole of in fear and non-acrean producing trees. Hackberry ironwood and sweet gum were removed and stacked and set a blaze along with a massive red oak that had fallen due to a windstorm a couple years ago. It's what led us to survey that spot, which is close to the center of their property and not far from where they'd hunted years ago. When that big red oak hit Mother Earth, the loss of that canopy opened up a hole in that timber that was ripe for just a little TLC. It's a natural opening that would attract ducks, and there were native grasses growing in that open that it flooded the ducks would have surely found.

By opening that canopy even more, we were going to let in more sunlight. Now, initially, you think, ah, the ducks will have more room to fly in inland, which is true. But that's the only part of the reason. Sunlight on the floor is going to help tremendously with what we're planning next year. You get the groceries on the ground that they like to eat, and the size of the opening won't keep them out. Ducks will start dropping in a conga line wearing safety goggles and toad. hatch it if they have to. I still hadn't been completely sold on the mallards in that area.

I never doubted John's word, but still, this ain't the river bottoms where I grew up or the Mississippi River Delta, but you know what? They ain't far away. So I sat on my computer a couple nights before we were set to start clearing out that hole looking at onyx and getting the lay of the lab with the topography and how the water flows and what creek sloughs or bios that would be close enough to be our co-conspirators in the flood and John talked about shooting ducks in years ago that I witnessed last spring.

That's when I saw it. I'd been living here for over a decade oblivious to some key features. It wasn't like I didn't know where they were. I just hadn't paid any attention to them as far as Waterfowl go. I have places to do that that I've been going to forever, way before I ever moved here. Those are the places that I go because I have. I didn't need anything else.

Then after looking at the satellite view of the natural land features, the creeks, the rivers, and the bios, and the government waterfowl rest areas in the thousands of acres of rafed, soybeans, and corn that surround that spot, it became abundantly clear that John knows exactly what he's talking about. I'll tell this little funny on the both of us as to how excited and dedicated we are to be working together on this project. With John running the heavy equipment, Ethan and I were in charge of running a chainsaw

and getting the fire started on the brush he was piling up in the middle of that hole. A morning turned into afternoon and afternoon turned into night. We continued on through the night, watching the fire as it slowly ate away the brushed limbs and logs we piled on top of each other. Ethan took off around 1.30 the next morning.

I'd gotten up the day before at 4.30. And not on purpose, just by sheer excitement and enthusiasm to get started, I couldn't wait to get in there. Twenty hours in, and I was starting to fill the drain on my batteries. At 3 a.m., we'd been sitting in silence for quite some time staring at the flames. I'd glance occasionally at John who looked just as tired as me, but never mentioned or made a move to call it a day and go home. fire couldn't get out there was nothing for it to burn

and nowhere for it to go we've seen to that well before we struck the first match I wanted to go home rest a while, shower and come back but John he didn't budge if he's staying I'm staying

it's a privilege for me to be there there's no way I'd disrespect him or what we're doing here by suggesting we go home we were leaving be when John said we were 3.30, 345. Finally, 4 a.m. I was gassed. Still excited, but plumb wore out. John, been a long time since 4.30 yesterday morning.

Yep, a few minutes went by and I got the gumption to ask you. How long do you want to stay? John looked at me quickly and said, oh, I'm here for you. for you. Love of humanity, we could have been home hours ago, but neither of us wanted to be the first to holler calfro. I was as wooed as a rented mule, and we saddled up, and we went to the house. Seven hours later, we were right back at it. That project, it's going to be fun, and it's going to get funner.

And I hope y'all enjoy the reports from this endeavor that I'm going to bring you throughout the year as we work through the different. stages of preparation in anticipation of next season. Thank you so much for listening. And if you really want to help me, Clay, and Old Lake, just consider writing a review or better still sharing our shows with others you think might enjoy. 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.com.