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CONSERVATION CORNER
(For the week of January 7, 2008)
My Grandfather
by James L. Cummins

It was 26 years ago – December 31, 1981 – almost to the day. I was on my Christmas break from Greenville High School and spending time with my grandparents.

The smell of hickory smoked sausage awakened me. I grabbed my hunting clothes, put them on and walked into the kitchen. My grandmother had gotten up at 5:00 just to fix breakfast before my father and I headed out to deer hunt, which was about a mile from the house. (For the record, my wife doesn't fix breakfast before the hunt). After a short drive and about 15 minutes of walking, we finally reached the area we had scouted. I climbed up the first stand – a Baker climbing stand – and my father went to his stand on the next ridge.

After about another 15 minutes, daylight began to break through. I was glad because the temperature was in the low twenties. As I sat silently, squirrels and a variety of birds played around me as if I wasn't there. About 7:30 a.m., I happened to turn my head and a six pointer was easing through the woods. I raised my Remington 1100 shotgun and shot. The first slug knocked him down. As he got up and ran off, I steadily pulled the trigger a second time. I called my father and told him that I had hit a deer. We got down out of our stands and started tracking him. I found him motionless about 75 yards away. I walked closer and found out he was dead. If he was alive he would have run off when he heard my heart beating. This was my first deer and it was probably the happiest moment in my life.

After Daddy made some pictures with his Pentax 35 millimeter camera, as opposed to the digital cameras of today, he put the 125-pound six point on his back and carried the deer a quarter of a mile to where we had parked the pickup. When we got back to my grandparents' house, I showed my prize to my grandfather. He was prouder than I was. He had a smile on his face that stretched from one ear to the other. He vividly remembered the days in Webster and Montgomery Counties when you never saw a deer. After my father and I had cleaned the deer, my grandfather told me some of his old hunting stories. We talked for three solid hours on hunting, farming and other things he did while he was growing up in rural Mississippi. He talked about working for fifty cents a day cutting timber and working on building Highway 82. Every time I visited him after that, he told me some more stories. I even have some on tape.

The next year I killed an even bigger six point at the same place. My grandfather said that not every 16 year old kills a big buck like that. Both of us were very proud, but not as much as the time when I killed my first deer the year before.

Today, my grandfather is not around to see my harvests. On November 2, 1982, my Grandfather Cummins died. He taught me a lot of things about life, especially about hunting and fishing. His death hurt me very much since he was a big influence on my life. Before he became ill he took me squirrel hunting often. He showed me how to shoot a gun, gun safety, the ways of the animals and much more.

Spend time with your grandparents. You have a lot to learn from them.