Uncle Sam's Coon Hunting Adventure

I grew up in the rural hills region of Kentucky in a place called Parksville Knob. My family was hard working, loyal, and plainspoken, country folks---The culture in the 1940s and 1950s was much different than today. For one thing, life moved at a much slower pace and we were somewhat isolated from world events. Other than what we heard on our battery-powered radio, or by word of mouth, we had no other way of communicating with the outside world. Some would say we lived a very primitive lifestyle and I suppose we did. We had no washing machines so all our laundry was done on the back-breaking washtub and scrub board. There was no refrigerators, and our source of summer air conditioning came from doors thrown wide open, and windows raised high. The only lights we had came from coal oil lamps because there was no electricity on the Knob. The things we didn't have, we never knew. Life was good and we were healthy and happy most of the time.

As a small girl, I never worried about what was going on in the world away from my hills. My world was a three-mile radius around my home, and the only people I knew were the neighbors and family who lived near me. Ten miles away from home was as far as I ever traveled in the early years of my childhood...

Two of my favorite people living on the Knob was a beautiful couple named Sam and Dovey.

 They lived in a neat little farmhouse about a quarter of a mile from my home. Everyone knew them as Uncle Sam and Aunt Dovey. Even those who had no ties to their family at all called them Aunt and Uncle out of respect more than any other reason, I suppose. Dovey was my great aunt. Uncle Sam was a short man with gray hair and a stout frame. In my child’s view, he must be about a hundred years old; although I am sure, he was probably in his early to mid seventies. Aunt Dovey was an invalid. Her days and nights were spent propped up in her bed with many pillows around her and her well-worn Bible nearby.

Uncle Sam was a great storyteller and I could listen for hours to him as he talked about his days of growing up on the Knob... One of my favorite stories was about his “coon huntin” days…Many years have gone by but I still recall that story as if it were yesterday and will attempt to write it in his Kentucky Hills dialect…

“Ye see lil’ girl, the best time ta catch a coon is at dusky dark when they come out ta find food and frolic `round a bit. They are quis’tive animals and usually travel a bit fur from their den. So when the nights starts to gettin’ warm and right after a hard freeze me and two ole` boys,  Dallas and John, from down the road would gather up our huntin’ gear and take our dogs out fer a run. It's good to go huntin' right after a rain, cause the coons are more active  and easier fer the dogs to track um. A coonhound is a shy, lop-eared feller not a bit purdy, and ye can’t fill him up. He’s always hungry. But one thing fer shore, he is a man’s best friend.

What ye need ta look fer is a creek bed and thick wooded areas. When me and the boys would find the right spot  we would get our lanterns lit and turn them dogs loose and let um go. Away they did go, fanning out in all directions…Me and the boys would strain our years (Kentucky pronunciation for ears) trying to keep up with our dogs. Every good coon hunter knows the sound of his own dog…It ain’t long `til a bellowing moan comes echoing back through the trees and Dallas whispers, “That’s my old Richard.” Things settle down fer a bit and then there comes a deep yelp from across the creek. I squall out, “Bourbon’s on a trail.” He lets out a sobbing “Chop” and settles into a steady “Bay.” (Chop in coon hunter’s language is a short bark and Bay is a continuous bark).  We hear Bourban’s commanding bark and all the others got real quiet….”Yeeeeoooooow” someone yells, “He’s treed one.” We all go runnin` to the spot falling over brush and creek rocks as we go. Bruised and bleeding we arrive to find them dogs tryin` to climb the tree. The entire pack is raising a ruckus leaping up and clawing at the bark on the trees. “Shake him out,” someone yells and we all get to work on shaking that coon out of the tree. When the mission is accomplished, we turn him loose. We wanted him to be `round to give us another excitin’ hunt  in the future. It was time ta gather up the dogs and head fer home but it shor` had been one adventuresome night.”

At this point Aunt Dovey speaks up…”Sam, y’all was plum foolish out thar runnin` up and down them hills trying to act like kids. It ain’t a wonder y’all hadn’t broke ye fool necks, then where would ye a-been.”

I knew the one-hour visit time my mother had given me surely must be up. So, I got up to leave…One thing for sure, I would be back again tomorrow for another exciting episode from the “Tales of Wisdom” from one fine old man.

The harmless sarcasm from Aunt Dovey and Uncle Sam’s stories of his youth made for a very enjoyable day for a little girl living on the Knob in a humble and unsophisticated lifestyle in the year of 1948…

But speak thou the things which become sound doctrine: That the aged men are sober, grave, temperate, sound in faith, in charity, in ‘patience. The aged women likewise, that they be in behavior as becometh holiness, not false accusers, not given to much wine, teachers of good things; That they may teach the young women to be sober, To love their husbands, to love their children, To be discreet, chaste, keepers at home. Good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God be not blasphemed…Titus 2:1-5 

We can never go back and quite honestly, I do not want to.  However, I do miss the simplicity of my childhood. I miss the quiet times, the slow times, the simple times, and the lovely old folks who helped me to grow into the adult that I am today...I learned to appreciate my childhood and would not trade away one minute of it even if I could. That is the way I see it....

Walk in the Spirit,

Mary Frances King