THE HUNTER AND THE HUNTED
Neosho, city, seat (1839) of Newton county, southwest Missouri, U.S. It lies in the Ozark Mountains, about 20 miles (32 km) south of Joplin. Founded in 1839, its name, of Osage derivation, means “clear and abundant water,” probably referring to the nine flowing springs (the largest of which is at Big Spring State Park) within the city limits.
It is located in the Ozark Highlands, a region characterized by rolling hills and a dissected plateau that rises from surrounding plains.
- Ozark Plateau:Neosho is situated within the Ozark Plateau, a large, elevated region with a dissected landscape of hills, valleys, and bluffs.
- Rolling Hills:The Ozarks are not mountainous but consist of undulating, rolling hills.
- Waterways:The name “Neosho” is of Native American origin meaning “clear or abundant water,” reflecting the significant presence of water in the area, including many natural springs and rivers like the Neosho River.
- River Bluffs:Like much of Missouri, the topography includes bluffs formed by large rivers, such as the Mississippi and Missouri river
The season is autum, leaves are beginning to turn different shades of yellow, green and brown. In numbers small enough to count one by one as they search for the ground, blown by a chilly northwest wind, they drift, spinning, turning cartwheels, hit the ground and tumble a few feet before coming to rest. Small patches of color not unlike the cloth used to build a quilt. Nature’s Coat Of Many Colors.
1957. I am fifteen years old and Jack London’s ghost is beckoning me. The Call Of The Wild. The undefinable, yet undeniable call of nature has entered my being. I have walked the hills, valleys, fields, forests of the land surrounding my home town. For a few years.
PREY
Wild game is abundant: rabbits, quail, ducks, geese, dove, foxes, coyote, squirrel, raccoons, possum. If it walks, crawls, flies, I will hunt them down, shoot them and take them home for my mother to cook. We are poor, and anything added to our pantry or fridge is welcomed.
I have the need, but not the means, to pursue my newly discovered desire.
OUTFITTED
A hunter needs a weapon. So, I go to one of our hardware stores and purchase a Mossberg 410 shotgun, single shot, bolt action. A box of shells. Honestly don’t know if gun laws then were enacted and enforced on citizens, other than prohibition on felons possessing firearms. But, a small town in the 50’s was not too concerned with such matters.
A dollar down, fifty cents a week, interest free. I believe I paid about 19 or 20 dollars total.
Boots, wool flannel shirt, fleece lined jacked, lined cap with earmuffs. A brown bag that contained sandwiches, snacks, soda. Lunch.
Saturday morning is when my big game excursions were executed. Dressed appropriately to accommodate any weather condition Mother Nature might throw my way, I would light out for the woods, hills, rivers, creeks, fields. Any place a critter might use for shelter was examined or investigated. We were blessed with an abundance of edible game.
As I trod towards the areas I knew were teeming with wild game, my thoughts were those of yore. Mountain men!
Famous mountain men: Kit Carson, Jim Bridger, John Colter, Jedediah Smith, James Beckwourth, who were 19th-century explorers, fur trappers, and guides who played a key role in the exploration and expansion of the American West. They were known for their survival skills, courage, and knowledge of the wilderness, as they lived and worked among Native American tribes and mapped routes through the Rocky Mountains. IA
I was more a mountain man than mountain men. In my mind.
THE KILL
Quail. I loved to eat quail. Family members had for years hunted, killed, eaten this delicious bird and I wanted to add to the feast.
A bird dog would have been welcomed. I had no noise maker of any kind, so it was left up to me to frighten the quarry. The sound the covey made upon their escape from potential danger always startled me.
Often I would walk nearly the whole day and not kick up a single, let alone a covey. Then, one day my luck turned for the better. I began to notice some of my intended future meals perched on the top strand of a barbed wire fence. Even in bunches on occasion. On a tree branch. A high wire. I was ready for them.
Not able to believe my good fortune. As the day passed my game bag became heavier. Very heavy. Loaded with maybe 20 birds it was tiresome lugging around a shotgun, shells, heavy winter clothing, and several pounds of game birds.
Time for a break, lunch, and solitude. I wanted to recount the day.
Munching on a fried SPAM sandwich loaded with tomato, lettuce, onion, mustard, all was right with the world. During this short respite I had time to think about the events of the day. I even examined the birds I had killed.
Strange, I had never noticed quail had yellow feathers scattered about their body.
I had, this day, eliminated a considerable number of SW Missouri meadowlarks.
Memory fails me. What happened to the birds is up for debate. However, I can assure you none was consumed at dinner. Most likely, the ill informed teen who had mistakenly murdered them found a hole to deposit their small, innocent bodies.