Hillbilly Manifesto

A friend of mine left a comment the other day that got me thinking about the reason I’m here and life and all that good stuff. I’ll paraphrase it for ya; “get back to running with the deer and swimming with the fishes to improve your bleak outlook on the world.” Well yes, I do suppose I have a somewhat bleak outlook on the world, at least this world; I’ll get back to that in a minute, but in order for one to understand the enigma of a mountain man that is John, one must first see that the trail is long and the wood is deep.

Running with the deer and swimming with the fishes actually happened and it was like this:

I remember all of this like it was yesterday. (Cue Scooby Doo flash back)

Many moons ago, I was camping in Erbie with some friends of mine. I remember that they had decided to go to town for a while and that I volunteered to stay behind with the camp. It was early spring and the trees were just beginning to turn green. It was still cold and it was soggy that morning with a cool breeze coming down the river. I don’t recall having much in store for food to eat but I do remember that I had me a jug of fine sipping bourbon and few cans of coke, so I was set and happy. I sit in the tent for a while with my jug and then decided I’d get out and have a walk. As I said, it was early spring and that morning I had the entire Erbie valley to myself. I figured I’d head down the Buffalo River Trail toward Ozark and have myself a look about, so me and my jug headed off. The trail headed to Ozark was on the opposite end of the camp ground and Erbie campground is pretty big. I made it about a quarter of the way to the trail and I decided that as much as I enjoyed that jug it was much too cumbersome for the journey. I devised a hell of plan though, I opened me up a coke and drank half of it, I filled the can back up with my sipping bourbon and viola, travelling beverage.

I made it a few miles down the trail when about 20 yards in front of me I noticed some feral piglets, that’s wild baby pigs if you didn’t know, I stopped dead in my tracks. I wasn’t worried about the litlen’s, I was wondering “where’s momma at?” I stood still as stone and took in my surroundings. I caught her out of the corner of my eye about 15 yards to my right just off the trail; I took a few steps back and had a quick look around. I was bound and determined to see what lay around the next bend in the trail, but I was not about to tussle with a momma hog. I picked up a few rocks and decided to press on. (in hind sight, those rocks wouldn’t have done diddley against a mad mamma pig, but it worked out anyhow) I took off the left side of the trail. Went into the woods a few dozen yards and then aimed back down the way I was headed. For most folks, heading off the trail alone in the woods is not a good idea but to a man such as me, one with the heart and soul of Jeremiah Johnson, I was not concerned. I knew that the river was to my left and that the mountain was to my right and the trail moved on along somewhere in between, I didn’t need no stinking trail.

After a while moving through the brush, I came to a clearing at a bend in the river. The water was clear and calm and deep. There was sand on the bank and the sun had peeked out and the rays were warm. I couldn’t help myself; I was going to have a dip. Now I was smart enough to know that swimming in my clothes would have led to shivers later, so I got down to natural and had my swim. I’ll never forget how peaceful that was, just me, the fishes, the hills and the river. That is living my friend. After a while I headed back to camp, this time no piggies but I found me a hell of a stick. Everyone knows how important a good stick is and this one was one of the best. About 5ft long and a good fistful around, it was fine stick.

I got back to camp and stoked up a fire and sat with my jug for a while. I figured it was a good time I go have me a sit and think; I went to a picnic table that was about in the center of the campground, climbed up on top and sat down Indian style, me, my stick and my jug. I sat there a good while listening to the wind and feeling the sun, I was tuned in pretty good that day and the woods told me it was time to have another walk about. I had a few more pulls off my jug and decided that my clothes were making too much un-natural noise, so again I shed down to natural.

This time I went down the trail that headed back up river toward Steel Creek. This trail was more open, cutting through meadows and meandering away from the river. It wasn’t long before I jumped a deer. I stood there surprised for a moment and watched as she went a ways and disappeared into the grass. I remember thinking “man that looks like fun”, so I took out. Fast as I could go I ran and ran after that deer. I jumped her up again after a ways and me and that deer ran all over that field. She never really tried to get away; she did like most doe do and ran in large long circles. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore and we parted ways.

 Back at my picnic table I had me another sit and think with my stick and my jug. I’m not sure what time it was but the day was wearing on pretty good. I sat there a long, long time with my eyes closed until I heard a car coming down the road. I watched the one section of road that I could see; I remember it didn’t sound like my camping companions car. A nice little town car appeared and pulled into the camp ground. I was relieved to know it wasn’t a ranger; I was in no condition to speak to a ranger. I watched the car as it went down every road all over the campground and finally pulled up toward me. The car stopped and I stood up there with my stick, my jug and my naturalness. Some of you knew me back when I had dreads, so imagine if you will the expression these blue hairs had when they took the sight of me in, long dreads full of sticks and leaves and rocks and whatever else I could stick in em, standing there all natural like with a stick and a jug of whiskey.

They asked me if I was ok and if I needed help. I decided to have a little fun with them you see and with my best hillbilly draw I said, “naw I’m good, I live here.” They were amazed that I lived there. I said, “Yeah, I got me a place back there in the cane, folks come from town sometimes and bring me sipping whiskey and what not.” This carried on for a while and then I asked them if they were lost. These blue hairs where on a Sunday drive and they were a long, long way from home and they were looking for elk. I said, “yeah there’s plenty of elk around here, but you on the wrong side of the mountain.” I told them how to get to Steel Creek and Ponca and they left. Imagine the stories they had to tell of the nappy headed local they met that day.

I remember my friends coming back, but for the life of me I don’t recall if we went back to town or if we camped another night. I don’t remember anything really before or after that day, around the time of this day that is. I don’t remember what led us to camp down there that particular early spring time and I don’t remember what we did after. I will however remember that day for as long as I live.

Now, I’ve told you all of this so that I could tell you this; it is true that my natural habitat is back in the woods. I belong with the hills and the river. I know myself well enough to know that.

This world I’m in now could not be further from my home. This world is bleak and ugly but this is not my world. My world is back there in Washington County with my wife and boy. My world is back down that Buffalo and back down deep Newton County. My world is down Thompson Cut in Madison County on the White River.

Right now though, this is where I need to be. Not just for the money and not for any other reasons, but I know that here, now, this is where I am supposed to be. Just like I knew that that the river was to my left and the mountain was to my right. This trail I’m traveling now heads on down that way between the mountain and the river. I’ll get where I’m going as long as I know where I’ve been.