School was just about to end for the summer. I hopped off the school bus and went straight to the store for a Coke and pack of cheese crackers, a daily routine. Jimmy and I were going down the creek below the dam and catch some of those big red breasts. Jimmy's father, Mr. JD, caught a bunch of big ones there on Saturday. Daddy was with a customer in the back of the store, but heard the screen door squeak and looked to see me coming in. The first few words and I knew my afternoon of fishing was over before it started!

"Billy, go and get Willie and ya'll go down to Harley's and get the cows out of his watermelon field. Put'em back in the pasture; then find where they got through the fence and fix it."

This scene was repeated so often that I learned to despise cows and promised myself to never own a cow when I grew up. I've kept that promise. I could just count on chasing cows during the best of the fishing or hunting season.

Sometimes, to avoid getting caught in the store, I'd scrap the coke and cheese cracker snack after school, head straight to the house, change clothes and slip off before Mamma or Daddy had time to discover that I was at home. Once up in the head of the pond or in the woods under a hickory tree with a .22 rifle watching for squirrels, we didn't worry about someone changing our plans. That scheme worked pretty well when used sparingly, with discretion. Executed too often and Mamma and Daddy would get wise that it was all a plot, instead of an innocent failure to explain one's whereabouts.

Daddy had already caught Willie and told him what we had to do. He was at the barn, put'in the saddle on the horse. Using a horse was the easiest way to round up cows. I got the tractor and trailer, loaded some post, hole diggers, staples and other fence fix'in tools and we headed down toward Mr. Harley's watermelon field.

Bill, Mr. Harley's son, was in the yard and told us that he had run'em out of the field and last time he saw'em, they were headed toward the swamp. We eventually found the cows and started working them back toward the road. Once in the road, it was easy. The cows ambled down the road while the tractor-trailer was set up as a blockade with me bouncing around, waving a brush top to head them through the gate beside the road as Willie closed in on the horse with just the right amount of pressure to keep'em moving through the gate. Cows are in and the gate is closed!

Now it's check the fence, find the hole and fix it. Otherwise, we'll be chasing the same cows again tomorrow afternoon. The combination of cows and fences taught two youngsters a valuable life lesson; it's a whole lot easier to do something right the first time. Me and Willie figured that Daddy must have missed that lesson when he was younger because we never remembered him first put'in up a really good new fence. If he had, the cows wouldn't always be gett'in out and there wouldn't be so much patch'in to do. We must have had some of the most patched fences in the county. Somebody told me it was a hold-over from the days of the depression………..patch, salvage, save and never throw away anything. I was born a little late to remember the big depression first hand, but I felt the effects of it. We never threw away a piece of rusty wire because it was sure to be needed to later patch another hole in the fence. We also pulled, saved and reused old fence staples. Daddy wouldn't let us use too much new wire for patch'in, either. New wire was saved for mostly new fence.

Most of the posts were oak, hickory, and the occasional cedar. Except for the cedar, the posts didn't last very long………about a year. Every now and them, a peddler would come through from north Georgia, selling split locust. Locust posts lasted a lot longer but, Daddy wouldn't buy many of them. The real breakthrough came when we started making our own creosoted post.

The top was removed from a 55 gallon drum, split in half lengthwise, then the open ends welded together to create a vat. The creosote was mixed with diesel oil, the vat filled and skinned pine poles placed in the vat for a period of time until the creosote mixture soaked the post completely. Cutting down small, slender, pine sapling with a hand bow saw and skinning the bark off with a spade was tough work; Always to be avoided when possible.

Gradually, the rotten posts were replaced with creosote posts which lasted indefinitely. Things were looking better. Now, if we could just get Daddy to buy some good barbed wire and put up a new fence, we might have time to go fishing more often. It never happened. I forgot; Daddy missed that lesson when he was younger.

Or………..maybe me and Willie worked so cheap chas'in cows and fix'in fences that it didn't make good dollars and sense to spend it on building new and expensive fences? Or maybe, Daddy figured that leisure time was better filled with work than fishing?

Maybe Daddy was smarter than two young'uns gave him credit for being? I see things more clearly now; I'm the Daddy. Boys, mow the grass and trim the shrubbery for your Mamma. Have it done when I get back. I'm going fishing.

©2003 - William C. Humphries, Jr.