A Learning Experience

Every parent want's the very best for their children. We want them to be better prepared for the shifting opportunities that our 'post-modern' world presents. In many ways, this means that the better they become at learning, the brighter their future will be. And while the academic side of their life can be addressed by schools and travel, the richness of their cultural heritage is sometimes more difficult to explore.

In our New Jersey existance, Gameboys, DVDs and gaming consoles are much more likely to be the afternoon distraction than hunting and fishing are. When I was in high school, I used to go duck hunting before school. Stump and I had a duck blind in a rice field that, in addition to being on the country line, was only 10 minutes from school. We'd hunt until about 8:10, and then we'd slog our way across the rice field to his truck or my car, and we'd run 90mph to school. We'd leave our guns, ammo, and boots locked in the truck, and after school, we'd usually head back out to the blind. Daily hunting and daily practice is how you learn to call ducks, and together, Stump and I were among the best duck callers in North East Arkansas.

One time, Stump and I were hunting before school, and we hadn't seen a duck. Not a one. At about 8:00, a lone suzy buzzed our blind, and we started calling. She started working in wide loops around our blind, higher at first, but getting lower and closer with each loop. Time slid by, and the Suzy settled in circling and kept her distance. No chatter could brind her down. No contented call brought her in. Nothing would bring her in, and she continued to circle just out of gun range. We tried highball calls to 'blow her up', but no change. I glanced at my watch. ... 9:20 HOLY SHIT!!!

We bolted out of the blind and sloshed across the knee deep water. Running through a flooded rice field is tougher than you'd think. First, there's the fact that you are running in rubber boots that come to the top of your thigh. Second, you're running in water that is knee deep. Thirdly, with each step your foot sinks about 5 inches into the Gumbo mud. Gumbo mud is a heavy, sticky clingy mud that add about 5 lbs wieght to each foot. Finally, you're carrying a 12Ga. shotgun, and all your hunting hear. It was about 1/3 of a mile run across the field to the truck. By the time we got to the truck, we were soaked to the bone and covered with Gumbo mud from head to toe, and we were utterly exhausted. Despite the fact that the single lane mud road was sandwiched between a rice field on one side and a very deep and very full drainiage ditch on the other side, I prayed that the gumbo mudder tires that Stump had on his truck would some how keep traction as we ran 60 mph. 9:25...SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.

Stump's truck came off the gravel and onto the paved road like somthing out of the Dukes of Hazzard. Stump, being a country boy of the finest sort, had naturally replaced the 360cid engine in his F100 truck with a 460cid engine, and also replace the 3 speed transmission with a 3 on-the-tree shifter with a standard 4 speed (we pulled out of a wrecked Torino), a Zoom Clutch and a Hurst shifter. This truck would fly, and fly is what we did. We slid into the parking lot at Heffer High at 8:29. Niether of us even bothered to ditch our folded down waders. We sprinted into class and made it just before the bell went off.

My English teacher, Mrs.Smith was not pleased that I hunted before class and more than once had given me a lecture about it. She came over to me, presumably to deliver yet another lecture. I was sitting at my desk covered in mud and dripping water. (We had gotten very wet and muddy running through the rice field.) Before she could even start, her eyes latched onto my Buck Knife. I had a folding buck knife on my belt, and her eyes sparkeled as they seized on to it.

"Mr. Garner", she began,"I'll have that knife." And I replied, "No ma'am, that's a $10 Buck Knife. I'd be happy to put it in the truck with the guns, but you can't have it." Expecting to freighten me, Mrs.Smith said "I'll have that knife or you'll go see Coach Houge."

So, I went to the principle's office. Coach Houge was the principle....and had known me since the day I was born. After sitting and waiting for some time, finally Coach Houge came in, and said "Bill Jr., what's this about a knife?"

I told him all about hunting in the morning before class and how this morning we didn't do very well. I explained that we were late coming out of the field because a lone suzy started working late which was odd, I said, because we usually get pretty close to the limit. I was telling him about running across the rice field when he inturrputed me and, with an incredulous look on his face, asked "You're getting the limit?"

"Yes, sir", I replied.

"Where you boys hunting?", Coach inquired.

I thought for a minute. Hunting spots are valuable...very valuable, but seeing an opportunity to resolve some difficulties I'd been having at school, "Coach", I said, "I'll have to show you."

I didn't have any more trouble out of Mrs. Smith.

That's an experience you just can't get out of a Gameboy.