Baker's Branch

  I am the Rain Man. Not the one in the movie, but the one who walks about in a soft, spring rain with a fishing rod in his hand. That’s the one. That’s me. I will lay my twenty-dollar bill up against yours, and bet you that fishing is always better in the right kind of rain.  The right kind of rain? Yep. That would be the one without wind, or very little of it at the most. Steady rain, not driven by wind. The kind of rain that makes you think that throwing a topwater onto the surface of a rain-dappled, ebony lake at dark is like throwing naked sticks of dynamite into an open campfire. That’s the kind of rain I’m talking about.   We got that type of rain in this country the night before last; no tornadoes or hail hooked to it. I got out into it right in front of my house, down in the rock rubble of Upper Baker’s Branch. I have over the years caught every available species of fish Lake Keystone has to offer right in front of my house. Well, now wait a minute: I have not caught a

I’m carrying two knives with me into the woods this weekend to open the muzzleloading deer season. One will be a Buck model 110 folding hunter I bought this past summer because I could. I’ve wanted one for a long time. Buck knives have been in hunter’s pockets for a long time at least since the mid-1950’s. They come out of the box with a good edge that will hold and hold and hold. They also come with a reputation for being a hard knife to put an edge on when it comes time to freshen them up. That’s true, too. I own another Buck, a "mini-sword, belt-hanger" my brother took off a guy in Iraq back in 1991 during Operation Desert Storm. I’d as soon gut a deer with a lawn mower blade as use the long Buck, but when he offered it to me one weekend when he showed up here at the house, I didn’t turn it down. Sometimes late at night when everyone’s asleep, I take it out, turn it over in my hands and let the light catch its long blade and shaft, and wave it around over my he

  Turkey hunting is a movable feast if there ever was one. Nobody who has done it very long ever leaves camp before daylight thinking he knows what is going to happen next.  All you can bet on is that the red gods of war and fortune are going to drop something on you, maybe in your lap. It’s why some of us go, and would continue, turkey or not, once we’ve been once. I could tell you stories.  Not too long ago, I met a man that was to open up my back surgically, dance around my spinal cord for awhile, and then put me back together again, with best wishes and good intentions. I was a little nervous about the prospect.  I did not know Doctor “Zee” well, and felt I needed to strike some common ground between us in his office so as to alleviate any fears I might have had about him handling such a significant part of my future. I asked him a question.  “Doc, what do you do for fun?”  “I like to hunt turkeys. Have you ever done that?”  Jeeminy Christmas (or Arlie if you prefer). I started to

  I bought Pam a storm shelter for Valentine's Day this year. My original plan was for a nice white apron (she loves to cook) with a little red heart embroidered in the approximate location of her own heart, but I opted out of that choice as similar gifts in the past have caused her to "tear-up" and, frankly, the episodes have begun to get to me a little bit in my agedness. I'm pretty sensitive myself, and have never enjoyed watching grown people cry. So, the storm shelter. When the truck arrived with her romantic little concrete cubicle, she was surprised. She wanted to know what the truck was for. I told her not for a dozen red roses, but for something really special, and outlined the nature of her gift. She was stunned speechless, and went outside and unfolded a lawn chair under the carport and watched the installation of a gift that will likely endure at least as long as the Great Pyramid of Cheops, such is the strength of my love for this little girl from Wewoka.