Whitesburg KY
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Struttin’ Time:

About squirrels and great friends

Here’s a big shout-out to the Fleming-Neon High School Class of 1965. We had a wonderful reunion again this past weekend, and a special tip of my hat to the committee for a job well done.

I would like to give a very heartfelt thank you to my lifelong friend, Tommy “Tick” Lewis of Whitesburg, who told me he never misses reading a Struttin’ Time. He said he looks at the front page of The Mountain Eagle and then moves on to Struttin’ Time.

Tick and I have been friends since 1962, and it has been a good journey together. I liked what Tick said about taking him, and hopefully you, back to the days of our youth. It is always good to remember where you have been to get a direction on where we are going. Thank you again, Tick, not only for being my friend all these years but also for being a loyal reader.

On August 18, the third weekend of this month and a day that has withstood the test of time comes the opening of the season that got us all addicted to hunting — squirrel season.

Some of my fondest memories center around squirrel season and will be forever burned into my heart. On the third Saturday in August, you would find my dad and Mr. Henry Sword with my brother Rick and me hunting on my great uncle’s farm in Wolfe County. It was a world of difference from hunting the hills around Letcher County. Although there are some rolling hills there, none are as steep or thick as ours here.

I still recall eating the breakfast at my uncle’s farmhouse that my aunt had fixed. I remember the long country-style table, the bench you sat on instead of chairs, and the old drop cord lights that hung over the table. And of course I will never forget the food.

She baked cathead biscuits that were never quite done in the middle, gravy as thick as mashed potatoes, bacon that was piled high on the plate in the center of the table, and runny eggs served with homemade jam. My Dad and Mr. Sword always took second and third helpings, but as for my brother Rick and me we could never eat a bite.

I will say this: it sure taught me there are no eggs unless they are farm fresh and brown. Even today, I have a farmer bring me three-dozen of fresh brown eggs every other week. Those years are long gone, but the memory is still just as fresh in my mind as if they where still happening.

Please take a child hunting on the 18th. You can never go wrong, and the memory will last a lifetime.

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