Y'ALL'S 'MEMBER THET MOVIE-SHOW, RIGHT? Fellers goes way back up ta' Nantahella' Gorge an' gits in big truble n' all's...

Well, tarnation naow – if'n same thing ain't kinda comin' down now right at where we are at right now at Chuluota, Fl... Chu-LOW-TEE is out East a-ways of Or-LAND-O in whut is called the Pine Barrens or Pine Scrubland ...live oak groves, palmettos n' pines n'all sech with lotsa scattered sinkholes.. 'Hit's some diffrunt from South Floridy you see wid' da Glades and mangroves n' all where I went wadin' wit' da 'gators thet time an' all... Wadin' wit' da 'Gators

As y'all's know, I'm re-COVER-in from havin' my shoulder fix't by ta' sawbones up to the Winter Park Gin'l Hospital month or so's back, and so fer re-COVER-eee and genl' fitness I either walks 'bout five miles a day or (oncet agin!) ridin' my bike upwards 14, 15 – sometimes 20 miles some days.. By Dang!

Well, I goes up this dead-end road past Powell's Brahma Ranch... (same name on sign as mine, By Jinkies! Be dam'nd! As ya kin see, they is several rusted bullet holes in ta sign... ta 'sportin'boys (good ol' boyz, ya see) runs aroun' nites down hyar in they pickups jest a blastin' 'way at signs.. it's kinda what ya might call a "nation'l - make that region'l - pastime ya see. Maybe y'all's frum elsewheres don' see - I don' rightly know...) Brahma Ranch 'Hit's a-ways out ta Brumley Avenue Extension it's called, but it don't really go nowheres and it ain't hardly a road, let alone a 'stenshun – just dirt surfaced deadend whut goes all way up to bar-gate acrost road there n' ya cain't go no further. Edge o' ta' Econoloxahatchee State Forest ya see (Woweee! Thet thar is a oldtimey Inyun word ya see... 'roun here folks jest mostly calls it the "Econ" nowadays) – and ain't nuthin' back up beyond there but bar's n' painters an' boogers an' sech like ya see (c'yotes, too – I lays in bed o' nites and hears 'em a howling and whelping way back in thar). Yarborough's Bar-Gate

An' fer ta record, tho it hain't part of this yere story – they wuz oncet a old runaway Barred Rock Rooster showed up fer awhile an' he wuz like a guard at ta gate sorta. I called him "Rooster Coggins" an' him an' me sometimes we wuz only livin' things aroun' fer miles and miles – n' he would jump outta ta palmettos at me when I put my hands on ta gate. I got to carryin' dogfood nibblies in muh pockets fer a while fer him 'cause he didn't have no decent scratch up thar you see – n' he would come out and peck aroun' and he was one fine ol' cock, wuz Rooster Coggins, but then he vanished n' you kin be sure somethin' et him along the way. Don' nuthin' iver come ta no good up in ta Econ innyways...

'Hit's only 'bout five more mile over to ta Little Big Econ, which is whut they call the river down here – Shucks, jest a great big, dark, coffee-colored slough with current onliest after it rains, ya see, and 'gators an' mushrats and sech like livin' 'long the banks. An' Mud Turkles, too – great big 'uns thet go "Splash!" when they hears ya comin' thru ta' grass...swish, swish, swish ... and the ticks and cooties and skeeters just a pilin' on fer a free ride out'n ta Little Big Econ bottoms...

Ain't nuthin' hardly ever comes to any good back up there in the Econ. Oncet, ta' gate was open (thet's whar I turns my bike 'round and skeddadles back ya see – and sometimes I hang on the gate bars and "workout" first - a-stretchin' my muscles and laigs and things (at 80 ya see ain't much left ta stretch noways, but ya gotta keep at it..!). Well, anyhow thet's Yarborough's lan' right beyon 'ta gates Pan-o-ramy and I jest rightly don' know how he manages to "own" lan' back in ta Econ 'cause thet belongs to State of Floridy – but he does and don' no one iver ask him much. He runs cows back in the edge-woods, and he's got some kinda sod farm "deal" back in thar (ya kin see it on ta airy-eel here: Airy-eel Map and fer all I know he might have a Still back in thar, too.

So innyhow, oncet I rode my bike right thru ta open gate someone had left, and was having hard time 'bout quarter mile in, in deep sand n' By Gawd – here come Yarborough 'roun' ta bend in his pickup truck comin' t'other way! (Pickups is really 'bout the onliest way ta git aroun' down here ya see.)

So's les' hav' leetle music here to kinda set the mood: ya' just clicks it on and go right head-on a-readin'... it'll either bust 'ventually (bein' a 'puter n' all) or quit on its own when 'hits done...N' ya kin come back innytime and start it over agin: whut shuts it off is when ya open one o' ta visuals here...

Well, naow here comes ta' Deliverance part.... Few days back, they's a lady down road ta other way here, n' she runs couple old hayburner horses out in a pasture by road. N' t'other day she come an' one of ta nags had got a kinda hole like in its withers n' some blood and flies n' all so she calls ta Vet n' he comes and cleans out wound and fixes horse up. Few days later, Naomi (muh wife) is walkin' Baxter (ol' houn whut came into place one day n' we tuk him in) n' she looks over in ta pasture and she see'd a arrow stickin' up in ta groun'. So she comes back and tells me n' I sez "Well, naow wunner if maybe 'twas a arrow whut hit Deborah's (I think thet is her name) horse and so iveryone jawbones a bit and Deborah calls Vet back and he comes and sez yes! Could be a arrow....

So naow Naomi tells 'em she seed an arrow out'n ta horse pasture there...an' horse lady naow sez they's a strange kind fella whut works aroun' there and folks whut owns ta property (she just a squatter like) "hires" him but no one knows who he is really 'ceptin' he is believed to be killin' deer back in woods behind propitty with a bow n'arrer – sometin' like thet. She says he been haulin' feed in sacks back through her orange grove n' all – 'cause they sees the drag marks n' this is to bait the deers...

N' he is drivin' big black pickup on raised struts and some folks sez he has red hair.... But the folks whut owns the propitty is in Africa right naow and no one can get the name of this guy from them but seems like he "works" on other absentee-owner estates only, too, aroun' ... No one knows who he is or where he goes of a night or nuthin'....

Naow when I hears all this (I jest sittin' in kitchen, and chimes in when they all a-talkin' 'bout it) – they gittin' some excited you see – kinda big news or somethin' herebouts I guess and I sez "Well, naow, whyn't someone pull ta arrow Naomi seed out'n ground and see whut kind o' head on it?" N' they all chimes in, "Oh, we kain't do thet! It is crime scene naow and the Seminole High Sheriffs is got it all marked off n' all..."

"Well, Jayzus," I sez –" it is really mah-TEAR-ial whut kinda head it has 'cause a huntin' head is barbed and won't come out, ya see: ya got to push em' clear through – like ol' Jim Bridger n' ta mountainmens did long ago when the pesky Kioway peppered their ornery hides with arrers... But a target point is tapered and barbless you see, 'n if'n Deborah's horse had onliest a hole with no arrer in it –' tuz mos' likely a target arrer n' not a huntin' one and then ta in-FERENCE wud be thet it warn't a hunter guy maybe but some other reason ta horse got shot..."

But ta conversation veered into babblespeak wid talk of sometimes they are target arrers wid barbs and huntin' arrers wid blunts and what not – n' I uster draw a 50-pounder limin' wood myself in my day (or maybe 'twas a hickry or yew – they's all got their ad-van-tages y'see but I don' remember naow...) and I made my own points n' all (hammered out'n nails and then filed with little bitty barbs...) and was a fair archer I wuz – even done my own fletching way back when – birch – and knows my archery a bit, but a lot of babblespeak came on 'bout fiberglass arrers and barbless hunting points and crime scene tapes an' modstuff like you see, so I jes' sorta withdrew from ta conversation like... Don' no one herebouts much listen to me, innyhaow...

But not afore someone said, "Well the High Sheriffs now said they "...been lookin' fer this guy" and someone added thet they think he maybe has killed up to 600 animals recently in the forest and on estate grounds where owners are away, and yestiddy roun' nooning, they was hoppyclipper flew over – low – and circled and circled and Naomi sez maybe they lookin' fer ta per-pay-TRAY-TOR (down in Miami they fly over all nite – lookin' fer ta "perps" an' we knew all 'bout that...). But no one knows this guy and maybe he hidin' back in the bush and all and who knows? ...maybe he needs glasses or somethin'... an'maybe he shoot a hiker or biker next time instead of horse...

(Thet reminds me of a joke: y'all's know how to cook a hiker or biker? Well, fust ya' cut em' up in little pieces and puts them in pot of water with a stone. Then ya hangs the kittle o'er the fire. When ya kin stick a fork in ta stone – then the hiker/biker is done! Heh! Heh! Heh!)

This starts puttin' my me in mind of number of dead deers' carcases I been stumbling over back up ta road to ta Econ. Couple weeks back ya see I wuz walkin' up north side of ta road near whut I call First Bend – right where it crosses ta branch. 'Hit's not quite as fur as whar da water boiler toppled over in da storm whilst back. Ta branch don' have no name far as I knows but I calls it – to myself – Dismal Branch – 'cause it is kinda dark and evil-lookin where it flows under ta road. An' thim Jesus Bugs just a skitterin' to an' fro across ta water there... (Flows off toward "Peggy's Place" n' I ain't tol' ya 'bout her neether, but they is all leery o' Peggy ('cludin' ol' Yarborough there... big black beard or no). I spied out a dead tree oncet all wrapped with purple ribbons –s'help me! – up toward head of Dismal Creek, n' I wuz askin' Kent and Yarborough whut ta tarnation it meant oncet when they wuz stopped runnin-board to runnin'-board with their pickups in middle of road (folks 'roun here duz thet ya know: jest stop in mid road and shuts down engine fer a good jaw with ta neighbors thet is goin by.. Dang! – it's ta durndest thing but it don't discombobolate nobody 'cause if'n someone comes along, they jest shuts down too, and joins right into ta conversation...)

N' they said, "Well, you best be keepin' out'n Peggy's land, Pop, Peggy she kinda funny n' all." N' they sez (whut iveryone roun' here alluz sez) "Don't nuthin iver come to no good back up in ta Econ, noways" n' they looks at each other, so's I jest spit in ta road and shifted my foot on ta running-board you see – and didn't say no more 'cause I did'n grow up in TX you see fer nuthin', n' I knows how to get accepted here by ta rednecks n' when they does, well they will tell ya a lot more (maybe I kin git 'em to tell me where some Inyun Moun's are. At, thet is. – Ah'm workin' on thet!) This h'yere Peggy ya know, I think she got a ol' Longhorn steer or some fierce looking ol' bull here she keepin' back up there and I got a pitcher oncet from ta road when warn't nobody lookin'... And she claimed the two red cows as wuz walkin' down our road this week –smart as paint they wuz! – an out by they selves of a fine morning it was - and Kent hauled em back up there to her place in his trailer but a Lady called later and tol' Kent, "Them ain't Peggy's caows! "...We ain't heerd last of thet one, you betcha!

Her poppa, ya' see, is real famous old guy - a re-tired doctor who owns whole spread up here... here is a pix along road leadin' in... Big Oaks

This old Doctor Greene, ya' see, is the inventor of the "Orlando Diet," as he calls it - and takes 'em in fat up here and sends 'em out thin as 'twas. The trick (it said oncet on the National News 'bout him,) was that you got to eat all the fruit you kin hold one day a week - and nuthin' else - and then yer home free!

(Well, there's really more if you must: Kent he seed me walkin' long side the Brumley Road 'Stenshun later you see, and he pulled up 'longside. N' he sez, "Bernie! You know anyone whut owns two red gals between here –where we are – and where at you are at where at you are staying at?" So I thinks to mysel'..."Red gals? Whut 'red gals'? Don' know any 'red gals' (pause) but then I thinks, ..maybe I shud... so I sez , "Red gals, Kent? Whut's a red gal? Maybe I shuld know...? He looks kinda exasperated – you know how when you are 50 and you look at someone 80 ...(Sigh). So he says, Red GALS, Bernie! DAMMIT! RED G-A-L-S!" Well, I still kinda out-to-lunch ya see, so I climb up on runnin' board and sorta lean way inside the passenger's side window (he is stopped in middle of road now: favorite place to stop down here . And also to back up, btw...) and I lean toward him, ya see, and he kinda shrinks back toward driver's window side and I said, "Kent! Goddamit! Whut you SAYING? I don't hear so well, Kent – fact of matter, is I don't hear shit! I got state-of-art-disappearing-hearing-aids in my ears (like those disappearing German coastal guns we found long time ago in WWII...Heh! Heh! Heh!) but that don't amount to squat! I got plastic cataract lenses and they duz work: ain't a Leucocephalus alba or even a Floridy Vulture gonna out-peek me! Bet on it! An' I got other things been replaced, too (besides my shoulder) – and they are – like the diet of the whale that lived in 'Frisco Bay "...too fierce to mention" – but I ain't niver knowed about "red gals" and naow... you got to tell me!" So Ol' Kent he kinda look at me and he say back, kinda snappish like: "Red Gals, Bernie? Red Cals! Red Caowls! Red CAOWS!"

Jeezul I got it: he saying: "Red Cows!"

Dang!

So I pulled back out of window and stepped off running board. Kent breathed sigh of relief! Now I understood whut all they all talking all about. Red cows, not red gals. N' I sez, "Nope! Ain't no one keeping red gals ...er, red caows down where at I am at.!" Then Ol' Kent he drive away...

(Y'all's will find out (heh! heh!) "Growing old not all it cracked up to be!"). Heer'es some caows off NE ta' Brumley Road which ain't red...Cows wid' egrets

Well, like I say I was crossing up ta First Bend there and ta trees is loaded wid big black Floridy Vultures. Big 'uns: these suckers is big as turkies and bold as brass and they are covered with the shiniest black feathers and raw, raggedy bare heads you see and they sittin' over this waterhole in the trees ya see, the moss all hangin' down kinda spooky like, and then I saw whut 'twuz: they wuz two deer carcases floatin' in there – they been butchered with a axe – ta head o' one was sittin' on ta bank all kivered with flies n' ta vultures was pissed because they couldn't reach the carcases floating just out of reach so they wuz raisin' a awful fuss.

Well I thought this is fine howdy-do here 'cause these here carcases is prime chow fer ta vultures and welcome to it ('cause a stidy diet o' dead armydilla out'n ta dirt road, can git pretty borin,' you betcha! Sometimes tho', they is a 'coon fer dessert...). But they kain't reach them deers, and I thought well maybe I could wade out a bit and pull them in (figuring no 'gators roun' right then 'cause they would a-had the carcases already, ya see... but then I said ta hell with thet cause I might step in real boggy part and go down outta sight forever, 80 or no...). So' I did'n.

So's not long after I see Kent goin' by in his tractor and he aluz says "Howdy" – he is more friendly like than Ol' Yarborough – so he stopped, and we wuz talkin' n' he says "Hey, Bernie! Whut all's is ya doin' down in ta Cow Hole – maybe washin' up? Heh! Heh! Heh!" N' I sez real pert-like right back at 'im, "Why no, Kent, I alluz showers later – like they sez (n' he laughs up somethin' great) – you know when I gets back home and showers off after I had my constitutional up here in yer boondocks...". So's I climb back up and steps into ta road you see, n' they ain't no one but cows (n' vultures) visible either way all way each a-ways so fur as ya kin see) n' then Kent leans back in his John Deeres (the tractor, not his cap) and he says:

"They" killin' ta deer n' all they is takin' is ta liver and a strip off ta back an' the rest they just chuckin'." N' I sez, "Why they got to chuck it in waterhole innyhow? Jest pollutes it and makes it unfit." (Often I see old cows in this one hole here in ta water half way up their sides of a hot afternoon and drinkin' n' all in it, too....). I alluz speaks to 'em ya see, n' if they is bulls I jest say "Next time I'm bringin' the A-1 Sauce," but mostly bulls don' have much humor or much to say. The cows is more friendly like but more nervous sometimes... maybe the minnies is nipping on their teats... who wud know?...

Ol' Kent he jest shrug and shake his head n' sez he don' understand some fellers. He alluz shakes his head redneck style here ya know: they all wear John Deere caps and when they agree or disagree with ya', they first lifts their John Deeres right straight up off'n their haid like, then they turn their haid or shakes it whichever, and then lower the John Deere right back down in same place like before. Takes some practice to do it right...

He lives down ta other way off Curryville road right acrost from where the murder wuz last year and they found ta guy hidin' in ta woodshed, ya may recall... Wuz in ta Oviedo News n' all and iveryone knowed 'bout it... We pretty good friends ya see – well, I mean, I couldn't ask him fer a loan or anything like that – or him me – but we alluz amiable, so to speak. He always inquires after ta great new scar on my shoulder and I tell him I got another one comin' soon on 'tuther arm – n' he sez, "Dang! Well, whut ya gonna' do when ya grow old, Bernie?" N' I sez, "Well, Kent, I'm gonna give up walking ta Floridy backroads here and sportin' wid da vultures and Brahma Bulls n' all sech like thet and jest take it nice n' easy like, y' know. "Dang!" sez Kent again, and raises his John Deere – this time to scratch. Then he grins like and sez, "Well I see Ol' Yarborough ain't shot ya yet." I 'lowed as how he was right. So far.

Kent leases all ta southeast side of this land here from 'bout whar ta bathtub sits out'n ta fiel this side o' Yarborough's gate ('nuther 'un!), down to where the pavement starts... N' the kids and druggies n' all drive him nuts you see, cause when they is lotsa fresh cowpies (or old cowpies whut has got rained on last nite) they sprouts up a crop of tiny mushrooms on each pie you see, and the kids and druggies all know it and come out and park off'n the road and tress-PASSES thru the bob-wire onto Kent's land ta pick the Mushrooms off'n ta pies, and he has sent six of 'em to jail (ta' Seminole County Judge is a buddy o' his, an' adds extry he says fer ta mushroom consumption). They chop the mushrooms up, he says, and shake them up in bottles of gin they got right in their cars (pickups, thet is)... Ta gin kinda kills da manurish odor, he figures, and same time leeches out ta joy-juice they is seekin'... Kinda do-it-yerself "fix" fer ta redneck crowd... No one been shot yet, but always gud chance I 'magine. He gave me his phone number and I've called him couple times over strange dudes I've seen back up in there... Kent learnt me a lot 'bout cowpies n' druggies' n' allz.

But ta days is gittin' shorter now and I have to take off fer my walk earlier and earlier of a afternoon. Couple times lately, I been back clear up to Yarborough's Gate and evening taking over fast and the sun low down over ta Econ an' ta cows all bedded down and the vultures gone to roost n' all. The owls startin' to call again way off in ta woods and three mysterious, faint, shotgun pops way, way off... somewheres.... Kinda creepy like and it suddenly comes to me thet Kent has red hair – kinda - and maybe two, three pickups – a red un, a green un, and a...black un! Say,.... ya don' think....??!!!!

Well, ta' sun about to dip below the hoe-RIZE-unnn here an' iverbody tucked in or gone but little old, loveable, laughable Pop. N' I think, I best be gettin' out'n here before dusk-dark – they ain't nothin' ever comes to no good back up here in the Econ..."

NB: Since this was first written and posted here, I have completed a sound-and-visuals Powerpoint Presentation of the same subject, on a disk - which plays in any computer (you don't need PP). I still have a few: if interested let me know. BWP