Page 170 - my-people-abbie-harris-beck

take long to shoot up a box of shells. I learned to be more selective and then learned only
to shoot what I was hunting. Santa Claus brought me my first shotgun for Christmas. I
remember that Christmas well. Granddaddy had planted corn in the lower part of what is
now Ben Davis field. His cows had been in there for sometime and corn was all over the
ground. Doves were coming into this field by the hundreds. They came from across the
pasture, right over a fence that guarded the field . I was on that fence row everyday until
the season ran out.
Several hunting seasons passed and I would venture deeper into the woods each
year. I was learning to read signs of the animals, learning what the woods sounded like
when the animals didn't know you were there, watching them go about their daily routines
undisturbed. Walking along "Battle Branch" one morning, I discovered a set of tracks I
hadn't seen before, too small for a cow, different than a hog. I went home and told daddy
and granddaddy and they both had heard we may have some deer moving down the stream
and branches. Over the next few months, I found more.. More of these tracks and I
became convinced we now had deer in our woods. The next year granddaddy and I set
out to see one of these animals. We woke up before daylight and went to the place I had
seen the most tracks. Before it was light enough to see we heard something walking and
then heard it make a noise I had never heard before. We didn't see anything that day, but
it had convinced me they were there. After lunch that day I did some more exploring. I
went up the branch to a place I had never been. Deer tracks were everywhere and I was
convinced I could see one there. I decided to hide and wait and see what happened. I was
in the swamp all the stories had been told about and the longer I waited and thought the
more I decided I better not be there at dark. I decided to walk through the swamp and
then cut up a trail I knew and go home. I started easing through the swamp, half scared
and half anticipating what might happen. I had only walked about a hundred yards when it
sounded and felt like the whole woods exploded. In a few brief seconds I watched as a
huge white tailed deer bounded across the swamp and out of sight. My heart was beating
beyond description and I couldn't wait to get home to tell the story. The next Saturday
morning, I was in the same place before daylight. Even though I was scared and still had
thoughts of "Wampas Cats", any fear I might have had of being in the woods at dark or
anytime was gone. Wanting to see and maybe get a shot at a white tailed buck had over
shadowed everything else.
In 1972,1 killed my first white tail buck, three years after my granddaddy passed
away. To my knowledge it was the first deer to be taken on this property for at least three
generations and probably longer. I remember taking that deer to show uncle Luke. He
couldn't believe such an animal lived in our woods and he wished as I did that my
granddaddy Grover had lived to see this beautiful animal.
I've been lucky growing up in Geneva, Alabama, having a place to hunt, fish and
learn about nature. I was especially lucky to have a daddy and granddaddy to take time
with me, to teach me the rights and wrongs, to introduce me to the outdoors and to show
me the world that God created.