Issue link: https://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/401545
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 2 0 hear 'em som'times, before bed. I learned a lot through those walls, an' I guess they never really knew. That night I learned about carin'. "The roof had suffered a leak the day before, over Mama's stove, there in the kitchen. There was rain comin' an' it needed fixin', an' Daddy mighta stayed and done it, 'cept Mama knew more he wanted to take Queenie and go bird huntin'. "I could hear 'em talkin' that night, soft-like. 'I'd like to have the neighbors in, Lyman,' Mama said, 'Chris'mas Day. We need some birds. I want to make a bird pie. Why don't you and Queenie run along in the mornin' and git some.' "'There's the roof to fix . . .' Daddy said after a moment, like he prob'ly ought'n. "It was still for a few seconds . . . "Then Mama said, 'I got plen'y o' pots an' pans.' "Things got quiet after that . . . well, sort of . . . an' in the morning early we loaded up and went out bird huntin'. "Mama would drive. Daddy had a favorite round or two, and dependin' on the wind that day we'd drop him and Queenie off one end or the other. That mornin' it was four miles past the Four Way crossroads store. An' we'd pick 'im up at dark, five er six miles from where we let 'im out. "There's so much cover and feed then, they'd be a chance at 15 or 20 coveys. Queenie would take 'im covey to covey. "There weren't no posted signs. Jus' neighbors. "Folks took care o' their birds back then. "I remember birds would nest under the bottom tobacco leaves. Daddy would mark the stalk. Tell us, 'Leave that one alone.'" Folks farmed by hand. Helped each other, swapped work. Before tractors came. There weren't any combines or bush hogs. They combined by mule, left a lot of beans on the ground. It took all winter to get the corn in, so there were always stalks left standing. And they'd leave a few rows of peas. If there was a laid-out corner, they'd throw a few beans on it, nothing to harvest but to build the soil. And keep the birds. Everything else would grow up in ragweed and beggar lice and brier and gallberry heads. For Mister Bob. Birds were frugal country currency. Show Ol' Doc Yarborough where he and his dog could find a few, and he'd make a trip out to see your next baby into the world. Invite your neighbors over for the Missus' special bird pie, and they'd remember you kindly when they cured hams. Or carry a mess to the minister, and he'd marry up your daughter when she came ripe, no charge. But you QUAIL DAYS BY BRETT JAMES SMITH