The Tribe Of The White Arrow

Chief YoSenAToBy was the leader of the Chickasaw band of Indians that lived at the famous Christmas Place 

many moons before the tribe was moved on “The Trail of Tears” to Oklahoma. He was a very smart leader and became famous in Mississippi as the leader of the Tribe of the White Arrow.

The proud and cunning warrior had a vision when he was made Chief. The Spirit of the Great Deer of the Hills appeared to him and showed him the white rock in the streams and sides of the bluff and told him to protect his people in a way that all would realize the greatness of the Tribe.

As the Indians made arrowheads, he realized that his tribe would become widely known in the Indian world if all of his warriors would use the abundant white quartz in the creeks and hillsides to make arrowheads and spears. Later, they even dyed the shafts of their arrows white and became much feared and respected among the Mississippi tribes as the white men first entered the country.

Everywhere, he became known as Chief White Arrow and the Indian people of the bluffs became known as the Tribe of the White Arrow. 

When they left Mississippi they left this stuff everywhere.

I am putting up a few pics of the arrowheads for you to see.

We find the damn white rock everywhere and the yellow streaks in it sure are pretty, but we just toss it out of the fields. The arrowheads and spear points are all over the place but who wants a lot of leftover Indian trash poking holes in the tractor tires and breaking our disk.  

The Origin Of Our Mascot

Early on the morning of August 22, 1864 Union General Andrew Jackson Smith, also known as “Whiskey Smith” rode his army into the little town of Oxford, MS.
His anger at the southern people was boiling over and Oxford is where he was going to make them pay for their insolence. His troops started out the day by tearing up the rails and burning the railroad depot before they systematically started looting the whole town. Stores and homes were ransacked and any resistance was met with a bullet or fire and it wasn’t long until the General ordered the burning of the stately courthouse, and then the burning of every building on the town square.
Flames and fire lit the sky as the townspeople sadly gathered to watch the destruction from a safe distance a few blocks south of the inferno as the Yankees hauled everything of value away. Late in the day, the army prepared to leave and the soldiers turned their overloaded wagons down what is now University Avenue in the general direction of Pontotoc.
A crowd of older men stood on the porch of a small house on South Lamar and watched in silence until they heard running steps racing toward them and a young boy shouted up to them that the soldiers were going to burn the University before they left. The men spoke quietly to each in their pain. There was nothing they could do.
One of the older men listened for a minute and with grim determination in his eyes, turned and hurried the few blocks to his home, called for his horse to be saddled, changed clothes and briskly rode toward the University that was now serving as a hospital.
He had changed into his blue officer pants from his time in the United States Army and put on his prized red British officers coat that he had captured in the War of 1812 and soon was riding toward the University.
Colonel Jackson Augustus Steele was a dashing figure in his fine attire, string tie, and gray cavalry hat as he rode toward the bridge above Hilgard Cut at the entrance to the University. He was an imposing figure too as observers noted the many pistols draped around him and the long rifle he carried. The Colonel was retired and too old at the time to serve in the Army but was a renowned war hero that had served and fought with General Jackson in the Battle of New Orleans in 1815, had served his country as an Indian fighter in the West, had stood with the Rebels in Texas against Santa Anna until he was wounded and missed the Battle of the Alamo in 1836 and had served as a Colonel in the War With Mexico in 1846. Now at the age of 65 he was still known as a dangerous man to be reckoned with.
A detachment of horse soldiers carrying torches soon appeared trotting their horses down the street toward the Lyceum and were surprised to see a lone horseman sitting tall and waiting quietly in the middle of the wooden bridge above the railroad cut.
The soldiers approaching took in his flinty blue eyes and relaxed commanding air as he calmly waited barring the bridge and they could also see the swelling mass of people starting to gather behind him. The townspeople of all ages had started to appear in the street leading to the Lyceum. Old, Young, Black, White, Women and Men quietly gathered carrying pitchforks, wooden staves, and bare fists in a last effort to defend the beloved buildings from being burned. The soldiers pulled up as the Lieutenant in charge rode up through the ranks of men to confront the old warrior.
No one knows exactly what was said as the two men quietly talked. Most people believe that he reminded the Lieutenant that the war was all but over and to burn a great University and hospital would be something that would haunt him the rest of his life, that he had led men in battle and sometimes to do the right thing you could not blindly follow orders and he most assuredly told the Lieutenant that he or his men would never cross the bridge alive if they continued with the insanity that they were contemplating.
Darkness was falling as the Lieutenant retired to talk with his men, but more and more of the Oxford people were moving into the street as word spread to hurry there to save the University. After a few minutes, the Lieutenant returned to face the Colonel, saluted, turned his men and they rode back the way they had come.
Years later, a drawing was made of him and attached to a football program to show the valor of the team. The tradition became part of our football history but the name of this hero was lost. He was simply known in Oxford as Colonel Jack.

The Mississippi Bears

The true story of the Rebel Bears.
In 1901 when President Roosevelt came to Misissippi on his famous hunt, the legend of the Teddy Bear was born, but the true story of the Mississippi Bears did not really start there. The real story started with General Grant and the seige of Vicksburg. During the Civil War the Mississippi Delta was still a tremendous and forbidding wilderness with few towns or roads and in the winter it was nearly impassible. This helped protect the city of Vicksburg during the assaults it undertook as the Union army tried to take control of the Mississippi River and complete the blockade of the South.
The famous ditch known as Grant’s Canal was started in an effort to cut a loop out of the river and bypass the ferocious shore batteries established at Vicksburg. The Confederate Army was heavily entrenched and no end was in sight as General Grant gave the go ahead to restart work on the project once he took command of the Federal forces.
A large contingent of pressed labor and 3000 soldiers restarted the excavation under General Grant that had ended in July and by January of 1863 they had dug a large canal 18 feet wide and 13 feet deep. The Union army believed that if they cut open the channel the Mississippi River would flow through the gap changing the route of the River and bypassing Vicksburg completely. As the Confederates watched the work from behind the city walls, it began to look as if it would succeed.
Finally a small detachment of volunteers under the command of Colonel James Pembroke was selected to try and disrupt the heavily guarded canal. Colonel Pembroke had been recently hired at the University of Mississippi before it closed and had been named a Colonel in the Mississippi Rifles made up of Ole Miss students and other young 17-20 year old men from across the state that had been unable to enroll at the University because of the War.
Under cover of night some 200 of these Confederates crossed the river five miles below the work area and made their way into position for an attack at sunrise. They were 200 hundred against 3000 but hoped that the shock of an attack could halt excavation until the Spring thaw would cause the River to rise and put and end to the digging for at least another year.
As the Confederates prepared to sound the charge something totally unexpected happened on the south end of the canal. Workers digging into the bank broke through a large underground chamber and as it was just breaking day, one of the workers threw a torch into the black opening to see what was inside. This elicited loud growls and roars from the hole and three large, enraged black bears that had been hibernating came boiling out into the bottom of the canal. Terrified soldiers and workers scattered in all directions and seeing the disruption taking place, Colonel Pembroke sounded the charge. The Confederate forces easily reached the trench and fell in behind the angry bears that were working their way up the canal scattering men and horses in every direction. In less than an hour of hard fighting, the Confederates had control of the area and the bloody bears had disappeared back through their lines apparently unharmed. The terrified Yankees were forced to retreat upriver and never returned to finish their work because of their fear of the Rebel Bears.
For their heroism,, this unit became known as the Mississippi Bears or Rebel Bears and were known for their Tough and Ferocious nature and refusal to quit even when pitted against overwhelming odds.

Red Death

Everyone at camp has noticed Tent’s sudden overwhelming desire to hunt hogs lately. In fact, it has become almost an obsession to him. If you ask, he will tell you that he really enjoys it and it is a lot of fun. This is odd in several ways with the most obvious being that he is a die hard big buck hunter. In his life anything else has always been secondary.
Quail, doves, ducks, squirrels, turkey or anything else has not interested him in the slightest. The obsession with hogs has been very strange and until this past Watermelon Carnival I never understood it.
We had made it through the 100 degree heat of the day, toured the Carnival a dozen times, met all our old friends, hit the street dance and watched the fireworks display. We had had enough and we moved to the porch of my office and listened to the music as the hour got late. We sipped our drinks and talked. Denise and I, Paul and Wanda, Bobby Suratt, Shelley and Trent, Holly and Dennis, Bob and Marian and numerous others that came and went after a cold beer or drink. the night wore on and one by one all of our friends headed for the house until just Trent and I were left alone on the porch to sip our drinks. Bobby Suratt was fast asleep in a lawn chair and his gentle snores were the only distraction after the band had left and the lights in the park slowly went out for the night.
We sat there enjoying the last few minutes before we had to go and out of the blue Trent said “I know you’ve been wondering why I am hog hunting so much” I answered that I was and he said “I’m going to tell you something no one else knows” I took a drink and waited for him to continue. He said “You still have that little light on your keychain?” I did and he stood, dropped his pants and sat back down. “Get it and look at my leg” he said. I got it out and turned the penlight on and looked.
There was a hole in his thigh almost as big around as my thumb. The edges looked puckered but the skin looked stretched not ripped. He pulled his pants up and I asked “What happened”
“I came down from the Arrowhead field at dark and walked to the bottom. I was hoping to catch a hog out in the open while I could still see. As I reached the edge of the fields, I was hit from behind and lifted off my feet. I had dropped my rifle and saw that I was laid back across the biggest hog I had ever seen. It shook it’s head sideways and I went rolling off into the brush and landed in the middle of a dead tree.” I didn’t say a word, just waited. Trent said “The hog didn’t waste any time and came after me. I had rolled into the dead tree and scooted my body behind the trunk of what was left of the 12 inch tree and the hog came down right against the tree and my chest. It gored the tree while it’s eyes stared right in my face from 6 inches away. I could see the hate in its eyes. I couldn’t breath and fought to keep it from getting me and finally I quit moving and pretended to be dead. A minute later it stopped, stared at me a minute and trotted off into the woods. I found this hole in my thigh later but it has never hurt even though it looks awful.”
“That hog was solid red and would easily weigh 600 pounds. Its tusks were 5 or 6 inches long. I’m going to kill that SOB no matter what it takes.”

Hershel's Famous Hunting Speech

Abbeville, MS> We were still at our old camp in Abbeville and I was about 13 when it happened. It had been a long winter of deer hunting and no one had taken a deer that year. The hunters were tired, discouraged and flat worn out. Our supplies were low, tempers flared and most hunters were ready to throw in the towel.
Right at dark Mr. Fay Clemmons came in and said that he had seen a big boar coon right down the ridge as he was coming out of the woods and it had scooted up a tree and gone into a hole. That was all my Dad needed. Organizing a coon party, and securing a pistol they headed off and soon I heard the blam!, blam! of the pistol. The elated coon party arrived back at camp and I asked what they were going to do with the coon. “We are having coon for supper” my Dad answered. That left a sick feeling, but It wasn’t long ‘til the kitchen was filled with the smell of frying coon and everyone waited in hopes that it was edible. It wasn’t.
We nibbled on it, and pushed it around our plates and when we finally gave up on eating the damn thing, my father banged his glass a few times on the table then stood up.
He said in a jovial tone “I hope you all enjoyed the meal tonight and it looks like we have plenty if you are still hungry. His voice then turned steely and hard "Tomorrow, if someone does not kill a deer we will be having leftover coon for supper, so I suggest that you do not come in from hunting tomorrow without a deer!”
Needless to say, there were some serious hunters in the woods the next day and that morning the spell was broken and a deer was finally taken.
Please remember to sign up below for the Virtual Deer Hunt. I am going to need some action pics from our hunters.

A Christmas Place Story

I had the pistol on the seat with me as I left Water Valley.
At the time, I was going through a long and very sad divorce. I was deeply depressed and the only place I wanted to be was at the famous Christmas Place alone. I decided to go down and spend Christmas Eve at the camp and maybe drive back to my Mom and Dads house the next day.
I packed up and left early on the 24th as light snowflakes were falling in Water Valley. A heavy snowfall over everything never occurred to anyone and I eased south listening to Christmas songs on the radio and occasionally reaching down to put my hand on the big .45 caliber Colt that rode on the seat beside me.
You can not understand depression unless you have been through a traumatic event. Soon after my separation, I came across the old model 1911 Colt that I had received from my grandfather. I cleaned and oiled it until it was ready for use and stuck it in my nightstand drawer. It began to feel like an old and trusted friend.
Soon I started dreaming of the pistol. I dreamed of the cool barrel against my temple, the savage roar and peace it promised, the sudden stopping of the horrible ache inside me and the rest from what seemed endless pain wrapped around my heart. I started carrying the old gun around in the truck and at home would clean it repeatedly.
Deep inside I had a plan before I left Water Valley.
By the time I reached the gravel road below Howard, an hour and a half later, the snow was falling in flakes that looked like dinner plates. It was too late to turn back and I gunned it along the slippery delta gravel roads as my wipers fought a losing battle against the heavy snowfall. I slid into camp, unloaded, built a roaring fire and watched the mini blizzard of snow. I walked and played around the camp the rest of the afternoon. It was peaceful and uplifting, and the deer seemed as interested in the snow as I was. They seemed to scamper everywhere. As it got dark, five or six inches had accumulated and I reluctantly went back into the camp. I made a light meal, built up the fire and made a pallet on the floor in front of the blaze. I got my old sweat suit and tennis shoes on and made some popcorn and hot chocolate and laid the big pistol on the coffee table. I settled in and watched the old classic Christmas movies “IT”S A WONDERFUL LIFE” and “A CHRISTMAS CAROL”. The snow kept piling up outside until everything was covered in silent white and sometime around 1 in the morning I fell asleep. I don’t know how long I slept, but I awoke to a loud thumping on the door.
I jumped up, still asleep, holding the popcorn bowl and staggered over and opened the back door. I was completely astonished by what I saw. Standing not three feet from me was the largest whitetail buck I had ever seen.
His giant horns were dark and a perfect 10 points and he was a solid, snow white! The massive deer was the most beautiful animal I had ever seen and he stomped his hooves in the snow as I stared at him. I wiped my eyes as he stepped away from the door and walked out into the yard. He turned to stare at me and stomped his foot again as he started feeding on the frozen shrubs. Was I still asleep? I was staring at a magical creature beyond my comprehension. I was so frozen in shock that all I could do was stare back. The snow had stopped and a full moon shone down, lighting the yard to near daylight conditions and finally, it came to me to walk out into the yard also. I went out and stepped near the deer. He moved closer and my hand rubbed his beautiful hide. He nuzzled around and soon ate all the popcorn and the bowl fell to the snow. He turned and looked at me and it became clear in my mind that I was to get on his back. I hopped up, threw the leg of my sweatpants over his back and found myself comfortable. The giant deer gave a glance at me then started trotting and I reached out and lightly held on to his gigantic antlers. The deer picked up speed until we were flying across the land and I bent low on his back for warmth against the icy wind. Snow flew up in great plumes behind us as we crossed the frozen delta land until we finally stopped in the center of a large snowy field and I slid off of his back.
There were hundreds of deer in the field and they ran and played and chased each other in the bright moonlight. The giant white deer left my side and ran and played with them. On a small rise at the edge of the treeline, the lordly ancient deer sentinel of the bluffs, Thunderhoof stood silently watching.
To watch them all was exciting and intimate. The deer ran in herds, then turned as if playing tag and slashed through the snow like kids. I was not cold, even though I could see my breath and the smoke of hot breath from the frolicking animals. They finally came closer and a few circled me as I watched. Then, before I knew it they were all running in a wide circle around me. Big bucks, does, and smaller bucks, they all ran like lightning around me. It was exhilarating! They came closer and closer until I could almost touch them and then they stopped all at one time and faced me. I had fallen to my knees and tears covered my face as I watched the beauty of their movements and felt their raw power. I felt small and guilty in front of them, as if they knew my cowardly inner thoughts. It grew silent and all I could hear was the gasping from their exertions. The white buck came through them. They parted to make way for him and he came to my side. I reluctantly got on his back and we ran toward the beckoning bluffs above the lake.
That night we traveled all of the bluff lands and the giant white buck showed me many hidden things in the Earth and took me to a secret place that had a small pool of water in a rocky bowl that he drank from. He stomped his foot until I drank too. Knowledge and Images poured through me and I learned of the creation and sacrifice of the deer, why they are here, all that had happened from their beginning, to the time of the Indians, to my family arriving and our living and hunting on the land. I learned the secret names of the deer and learned why they danced in the moonlight and snow that Christmas Eve, the reason that Thunderhoof guarded the land, what he protected and the special reason why I was chosen to help him. We raced over the country as he showed me things that I could now understand, signs and meaning in the woods and hills. He showed me how the truth of the future and of a life and plan beyond what we know now was hidden there and guarded for all time.
Before I knew it, we stood at the backdoor of the camp and I dismounted exhausted and mesmerized by the great secrets that had been entrusted to me to keep. I hugged the giant white bucks great neck and fresh tears fell from my eyes as the joy of that night filled my soul that had seemed an empty shell only hours earlier. I stepped back and he trotted off into the deep snow. I watched till he disappeared into the whiteness, then went back in the camp house and built up the fire again.
I made more hot chocolate, thought of all that I had seen and learned and then dozed in front of the crackling fire. The thought of suicide was gone and I awoke the next morning completely refreshed, happy again and ready to get on with my life. Time makes the things he showed me fade or maybe they are supposed to. He could have just been a dream, but real or imagined my life was saved that night and new meaning given to it.
I found the popcorn bowl in the snow the next morning.

The Portrait

Finally, I got the portrait finished. Do you know how hard it is to get those two to sit still? Had to hurry, Thunderhoof and I become enemies in two weeks. He keeps laughing but I'm serious! Wait till I get that stupid deer on my wall! He thinks he's so smart saying that he is a Megaloceros. I know a deer when I see one, even if he is as big as a barn.

Hillarys’ Armadillo Ordeal

Hillary was not much older than Erin (9) when this happened, and she really wanted to go see some deer. Her father, Paul (the clueless, thoughtless, selfish lawyer), said that he would be glad to take her and put her on a stand that afternoon. She was excited and got dressed.
Paul loaded her on the 4-wheeler and took her across the property to a stand called the Bird Point. A nice field seldom hunted that was perfect for watching deer. He helped her up in her stand and told her that he would be back at dark to get her. She settled in.
Everything is perfect you think. Hillary is having a good time enjoying the nice afternoon, she sees a couple of deer, and everything is great! Then the sun starts going down.
Paul is a deer machine and when he goes to his stand he is going to stay there till the very last second. He even bought super duper binoculars that gives him an extra 30-40 minutes. So what if some kid he hardly knows has to stay in the woods by themselves (for the first time) for an extra hour or so after pitch dark. He is trying to kill a deer.
The sun went down and it got quiet, then faint rustlings began in the grass. Did her father make sure she had a flashlight? Hell No! It was dark, and the last of her vision picked up movement as an awful looking predatory saber-toothed armadillo moved into the field. A horrible looking creature! Surely a cannibalistic killer! Not a sound in the darkness as she prayed for her father to hurry. Another one of the ferocious beast eased out in front of her as the pale moon came out. Yikes, there might be hundreds of the things, it was time to get the hell out of Dodge! She scampered from the tree and took off through the darkness, praying her father would pick her up. Had he forgotten her? It was about a mile or so back to camp and she followed the old road as best she could while terrified and crying from every sound in the woods that were probably more fanged beasts. She did not stop for anything. She made it into camp alive and shell-shocked as we waited supper for them.
Hillary came in the door exhausted, crying and totally upset. After questions of what happened, you could see her Mothers’ eyes kind of squint and a red glow began to burn in them. Paul should of stayed in the woods that night cause all hell broke loose when he came in about 15 minutes later.
Needless to say, a man-eating armadillo is one thing, but a ferocious mama Wanda is a whole lot worse.

Where We Came From

A recent comment from my old friend, Two Feathers, reminded me of how we got here.
Many moon ago our tribe lived in the deep pine forest near the banks of the Tallahatchie River in north Mississippi. We hunted and enjoyed our 160 acres of land and everyone was happy.


Chief Tallahatchie was happy too, but he was visited with a strange and ominous vision. He called his braves together and told them that they must leave this wonderful place. The white man was encroaching on our sacred hunting land and we must find a bigger and better land that will be ours as long as the sun shines and the rain falls.

Many of the fine braves who hunted there laughed and refused to go with the Chief. They said the cost was too high to leave their lands. The deer were plentiful and the rivers were full of fish.
The ones who listened and believed in Chief Tallahatchie immediately started searching for a new hunting land.

The Chief and his sons' Trent (Patient Spider), Paul (Blue Hawk) and Rex (Spotted Cat) sought out and walked many different lands and finally found themselves near Vicksburg, MS and bought a new hunting land.

The old camp was gone and they found themselves in unknown territory with only one member of the old camp with them. Mark "Talks With Hands" Stewart. The braves enjoyed a very good hunting season that year but the Chief was troubled.

Chief Tallahatchie warned that this was not the end of the trip, but the beginning.
A vision soon came to him of a tremendous deer named Thunderhoof that called him to come to the sacred land in the Mississippi Delta and immediately he led the remaining tribe there to live for as long as the river runs and the stars shine.


This is how the Tallahatchie tribe ended up on our land in the Mississippi Delta.
We will keep the land for our children and their children and as long as Thunderhoof runs free to guard the forest.

The Yeti Conspiracy

Swamp Creature, MS> After my amazing find and reporting of a giant Bigfoot nest in a recent post, I was overwhelmed with emails wanting to know the exact geo-coordinates to the find, how much he weighed and which direction did he run. Most of these emails were from hunting bloggers and wild game chefs. Hmmm? What was that all about?
I put the crack team of investigative journalist at the Bodock Times to work. What we found out will amaze and disturb you. Read the rest with caution!
What was going on? I put the names of all the bloggers, their URL's and zodiac sign into Google and the shadows of a strange conspiracy started to emerge. A network of so-called bloggers with a hidden and evil agenda. My computer whirled, smoked, chugged and finally one name and one webpage came out. Steve Remington at Skinny Moose Media. Ah-Hah! The mastermind of these nefarious criminals! He runs the Skinny Moose Media. And why is that moose so skinny? I have the answer.
My expert computer techies cracked the encryption on his email and we have the truth!
These hungry bloggers are systematically collecting and making gourmet meals of all of the last remaining unusual, exotic and strange creatures on the planet! More Google and I found two unscrupulous chefs involved in this enterprise. Cookie from The Cook Shack and Frank at My Mans’ Man.They have thousands of recipes. Martians, Bigfoot, Dinosaurs, Lake Monsters, you name it, there is a recipe for it. Now that I have exposed them, maybe Cookie will finally give up his recipes for Bigfoot-au-Gratin.
What are Othmar and Bill Anderson doing in the frozen tundra? Who do you think digs up the frozen mammoths and cuts steaks off of them? They also know that Godzilla is in the ice up there somewhere too!
Mr. Remington has that Nutria guy down in Louisiana frantically looking for the Honey Island Monster.

Even my friend Steve at the Shed Antler is in on it. Anyone Seen the Boggy Creek Monster in the last 10 years? No? He’s a goner! Boggy-Bar-B-Que!
The Hog Guy, Phillip, is hunting hogs in California. HA! Everyone knows that no one hunts in California. Hell you can’t even buy a gun there! So what is he doing?
Searching for and blasting the last of the Bigfoot, Bigfoots, er.. Bigfeets! He got the Abominable Snowman last year. Want some? $8000 a slice.
And what about those Bright Idea guys, and what the hell is a bio rod for. I know. Right now those two are casting for Champ, the sea monster of Lake Champlain. Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster, they caught her four years ago. Sushi at $20,000 a plate.

More facts you say! It took 6 hours to land that Creature from the Black Lagoon. They all agreed it tasted like chicken.
Wolfman- eaten in 1969, The Chupacabra was served with rice, The last Thunderbird- served in 1983 with cole slaw. Some guy with the codename Moose has been busy.
You think the dinosaurs are extinct? I don’t think so. A certain African blogger named KeesKennis has them on a game ranch down there. He sends pics to all his hungry cronies. Dodo birds, he got ‘em! Tyranosaurs, Triceratops, he got ‘em.

These bloggers have the world covered and are continually searching for strange beast to serve their well paying guest. Who are they? Zillionaires of course, like Rod Storrs or Paul Howell, Jim Braaten and the Fat Hairy Bastard, all politely plump at this time.
Go to Skinny Moose, the damn thing gains weight as the month goes by. When it burps, that means the dinner will be served that night in their secret dining room. Now that I have exposed this conspiracy, hurry and send money here for the Bigfoot Preservation Fund. Twenties, fifties and hundreds are all accepted. Save the Bigfoots!

Tales From Uncle Hershey

Brer Thunderhoof and Mistah Hershel

Thunderhoof, he be layin’ up on the hillside, just chewin’ his cud and catchin’ a lil sun that fine monin’. Brer Thunderhoof, he feel fat ‘n sassy whilst he looked down at them fresh green shoots of dat corn patch and just a’waitin’ for dat corn to be big and sweet, when he spy Mistah Hershel coming up the road lickity split. Thunderhoof, he ain’t worryin’ none, he relaxin’ in the sun.
Mistah Hershel, he pull up in his fancy cart and stare hard at Ol’ Thunderhoof. Brer Thunderhoof, he just stare back, chew his cud and don’ say nuttin.
Mistah Hershel say, “Brer Thunderhoof, I knows you’s jist up here thinkin’ bout my corn patch, waitin’ for them moist yella kernels soons they ripe.” “I ain’t goan let cha eat up my crop agin. You ates up my garden, wit my greens and butter peas and now yous sits up here waitin’ on my corn. I’sa shamed of you, Brer Thunderhoof!”
Brer Thunderhoof, don’ say nuttin, he jis reach back and scratch his back wit a giant antler where Mistah Hossfly be bitin’.
Mistah Hershel say, “It’s sad, sad you be so mean to Mistah Hershel.” I works hard plantin’ and a hoein’ and takin’ care of the farm and you sits up heah chewin yo cud and a wishing for sweet corn. I’sa mind to whup you jist for spite!” Mistah Hershel, he get down and walk over and grab Brer Thunderhoofs leg and pull. Thunderhoof, he jist lay still. Then Mistah Hershel try an grab his big ol horns, but Thunderhoof jist shake him off like a baby rag doll. Then Mistah Hershel say,”You good fer nuttin deer, I’se goan tie a rope to youse and drag you to the next county!” Mistah Hershel back his cart up while Thunderhoof watch in mazement. Mistah Hershel get a rope and tie around Brer Thunderhoof neck, then tie to his fancy cart. Mistah Hershel pull it tight den hobble back to dat cart, den jumps in and take off!
Brer Thunderhoof so surprise he quit chawin’ and watch them wheels jist spin. That cart ain’t goin nowhere. Thunderhoof start laffin, almos’ choke he laugh so hard. Mistah Hershel, he so mad he can’t talk, then he amble over and untie him from the fancy cart and he sit down beside Thunderhoof bout to cry. Thunderhoof, he feel pitiful sorry for Mistah Hershel now and he starts studyin’ on a slution to help poor Mistah Hershel. They sit there in that grass lookin’ out over the fields for a terrible long time and finally Brer Thunderhoof say,” Mistah Hershel, I’se got a answer to yo problum”.
I’se deer and can’t help my callin’, but if’n I had something else to eat, why I would leave yo beautiful ol corn crop alone till after the harvestin.” Mistah Hershel, he so relieve he bout hug that big ol deers neck and say “Brer Thunderhoof, how bouts I plant lots of good tastin’ pretty clover and green grass up in them hills so’s nobody be bothering you whilst you eats?”
Thunderhoof allow that be jist fine wit him, and Mistah Hershel so ’cited he jump up and say “We goan keep you fit all winter!, Brer Thunderhoof youse a mighty fine frien!” Then Mistah Hershel, he head for the barn to git that tractor fired up and Brer Thunderhoof , he go back to chewin’ his cud.

This is how and why the first food plots were planted in the hills of the famous Christmas Place. We currently have over 30 food plots scattered across the property.

Never Rope A Deer

Whatever you do, never, ever, ever rope a deer.

Strange Rock Carvings

Mesa Verde, MS> Halfway up the old road across the famous Christmas Place there is a red gate that you can drive under on a fourwheeler very easily. This gate leads into the area known as the T-field. There is great hunting there, but directly across the road is a thick area of young pines, honeysuckle, and a jungle of twisting vines and thorns. If you fight your way through this for a few hundred yards, you will drop off the end of a long hollow going away from you that leads down and meets another bigger hollow through the heart of the area.
If you work your way down the extremely steep slope to the bottom, you see that it is very flat and about 40 yards across, with the sides almost straight up and down. A lot of cane and hardwoods are in the hollow but it is rather open anyway. A narrow little dry creek wanders down through there that only has water during big rains. There are several easy deer trails down through the middle and you can follow those for another 200 yards or so.
Once you make it this far, you will see a large rock outcropping poking out of the side of the hill. This rock face juts out almost to the edge of the creek. A trail will take you right up against it. The rock is mostly flat and a portion facing you is about 10 feet high and 20 feet long as you brush against it. Pay attention, because if you look closely, you can see strange writings carved into the stone. There are no carvings of local Indians or the type thing an early man would carve. There is a carving of Thunderhoof though. The flat surface has strange symbols and holes obviously cut very carefully and carved deeply into the stone. The only thing that you can read, says August 14, 1842. What do the symbols mean? I only have part of the answer but I think that I will know the rest, very soon.
Like many people over the years (I suppose), I have spent a lot of afternoons drawing or just staring at the symbols to see if I could figure out what they mean. You stare, then move to a different angle, study some more, move to a different angle and study some more until you almost have the answer and then it mysteriously slips away. The rock face has a way of pulling you back to it over and over again. I have hunted there, but never did have any luck. I guess my mind was on the carvings. I have even traced them out in chalk for a clearer view. I imagine people have been trying to figure it out for over a hundred years.
I was there on a summer afternoon just looking them over for the hundredth time and suddenly a symbol on the very right end seemed to jump out at me. I studied it carefully and realized that maybe I had found a key that would solve the mysterious writing. Looking back up the hollow and then walking down another 300 yards to check, I counted eight ridges (4 on each side) that jutted into the hollow I was in. I had never noticed it before but at the end of the top of each ridge a large cedar tree grew. Now this could have been coincidence but I was suddenly convinced that they were planted a long time ago to match the carving on the rock face. I walked down to the third one on the right and climbed up the hill until I reached the top and stood under the gigantic cedar tree. I knew exactly what to do, and 30 minutes later I had returned with my metal detector and a shovel. A few passes and I heard the buzzing that meant a metal object was buried there. Pretty deep from the sound, but something was damn sure there. I dug, deeper and deeper, working through roots and checking the hole with the detector to make sure I was right until finally, after some hard work, I hit the edge of something that sounded hollow. I cleaned the hole out, pulled out my pocketknife and carefully dug some more. This is what emerged. I slowly pulled out a small clay jar with the top sealed with a thick layer of wax.
I studied it carefully. It was slightly cracked but solid. I sat down and carefully used my knife to remove the seal. Prying off the clay lid, I peered inside.
When I looked in the clay jar, I could see that it was stuffed with an oily and tough canvas I took to be oilskin for waterproofing. Pulling it out, I could tell that it was wrapped around a heavy object; I laid it out and unwrapped it.
This is what I found. It is metal (brass and iron), and about 6 inches long. I do not know what it is or what it is for, but there is a lot of unknown writing still on the rock face and I think that this will help me finally unlock the rest of the mystery. You can help me this summer when you come down to visit.

Rime of the Ancient Deer Hunter

Lost Buck, MS> Paul Howell is absolutely pitiful. Like the tortured ancient mariner he walks around mumbling to himself and buttonholing any stranger he sees to tell him the awful story of how his giant 10-point got away. His wild eyes, trembling hands and disheveled appearance are totally pitiful as he feels compelled to wander the streets of Gulfport as he moans, tells his horrible story and asks everyone if they have seen his deer or have any extra bullets. Pitiful!
Most of the members at the famous Christmas Place avoid direct eye contact with him, in case he starts moaning and weeping about the huge buck. He spends a lot of time just sitting under the hanging pole with a vacant look on his face and an occasional “Woe is Me” “Alas!” and a few bars of Tom Dooley or clanks his muzzle loader against the pole as he softly sings Birmingham Jail. Pitiful !

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink ;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

Deer, deer everwhere
And not a bullet to plink
Deer, deer, everywhere
And all the horns did shrink!

His pitiful story has reached epic proportions, the terrifying charge, the giant horns, his historic and brave stand against the giant creature in the face of overwhelming odds.
His poor wife feels so sorry for him that the tears roll down her face as she holds her stomach and rolls on the floor laughing in pity as he wanders the dark halls of their home at night looking for his deer.
The members figure he has the Deer Shanks and avoid him like the plague. He has written long essays reliving the event, and drawn morbid pictures of the deer. He has tried all sorts of new and unusual equipment to help him with the Deer Shanks. Nothing seems to help and he seems to blame Wandas' laughter for some reason. We figure he is doomed to wander the awful hole area forever. This area is cold, lonesome and perfect for his dumb A@@. We hope so, we’ve got mules to shoot and he is a damn nuisance!
Good-by and Good riddance.
P.S. I just received an email from a man who has taken pity on Paul and has decided to come down to the famous Christmas Place to help out and shoot a trophy buck for Paul. Don't worry he says, the MAIL RIDER is on his way with his little book. He will get a giant buck for YOU.

A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Hanging Pole

Hysterical Shriek, MS> Paul Howell, well known braggart, crooked lawyer and cheapskate took one look at Rexs' deer and ran for the woods in a sprint. Sheesh! He had taken a nice routine 8-point but Rex had taken the lead with his big deer. HA! He knew where a big one was and he was going to get him come hell or high water.
Paul did not remember what happened with his big seventeen inch buck. His mind conveinently forgot the horrible consequences of the last time he blasted a deer with a muzzle-loader. He also did not remember the curse he had brought on himself with his greedy ways. He headed to the super buck hole he had found. Going to his stand he did not think anything of the blood red moon lying low over the woods in the early afternoon. Excited and covered with sweat, he climbed in his stand. What a beautiful spot to hunt! Soon, deer were all around him. He did not hear the ominous roll of thunder in the cloudless sky or see the strange lightning rapidly heading his way. Paul is too good a hunter not to kill a deer, but the giant buck of his dreams had always eluded him. He lost a monster at the Gamewardens Stand and we searched for that thing for two years. He was ready to change things around. Deer filed past, he did not relax. Finally, movement and giant antlers appeared! YES! It was moving toward him! The brush and cane was too thick and he lost sight of it. Deer moved around him, but he focused on seeing the huge buck. A snap of a twig! He looked down. The giant 10-point was standing right under him. Yikes! Too close, buck fever grabbed him! Lightning flashed in the clear sky as Paul shakily cocked his old muzzle-loader. He leveled the scope on the beast, and all he could see was hair as the unsuspecting animal chewed on a whiteoak acorn. He fired! BOOOOOMMM!! Smoke covered everything but he saw the deer hit the ground on it's back. "I GOT YOU" he shrieked!
The deer tried to get up. Uh-Oh! Paul started reloading. The deer got to his feet, Paul drew down for a killing shot! Click! He forgot to put a cap on the smoking gun. DAMN! YIKES! The giant 10-point took off. The lightning faded away and the woods were quiet. To make the story short, we will be looking for that damn thing for the next two years also.

Paul and The Hidden Mine

Sierra Madre, MS> It all started with a scouting trip and a chance finding of a rusty skeleton key. Paul was making a wide sweep across the famous Christmas Place Hunting Club looking for signs of a big buck to hunt opening day. He had reached a sheer bluff that cuts across the property and found a deer trail that wandered into the thick brush at the base of the cliff. Fighting 10 foot high sticker bushes, thorn trees and thick honeysuckle he forced his way along the trail hoping to find an opening that might be a hidden honey hole for a big buck. The narrow trail hugged the base of the sheer bluff until the overhanging wall seemed to be a threat of collapsing on him. In fact, numerous small parts of the wall had recently caved off making it difficult to follow the rocky trail.
Easing along, watching for deer sign and keeping an eye on the bluff looming above him, he looked down and saw a small rusty piece of metal in the trail. Reaching down he pulled it out of the dirt and saw that it was an old skeleton key. He wiped it off on his shirt, wondering where in the world it had come from. As he started to slide it in his pocket, he realized that he had reached a sharp turn in the wall and there had recently been a large cave in as part of the wall had broken away and fallen. Moving up on the rubble he noticed several pieces of old planks along with a broken and rusty kerosene lantern.
He squatted down to look at these items and then noticed a hole at the base of the fall, leading into the side of the cliff. The small opening looked man made to him and he eased over and peered inside. It was jet black but he could make out wooden bracing and smooth walls just inside. He reached in his pocket for the flashlight he carried on scouting trips, turned it on and shined the light inside. All he could tell was the tunnel lead deep into the hillside. He grabbed a piece of the old wood plank and started to dig out the opening.Soon, he had opened it up enough to crouch down and step inside. He looked above him and felt safe that the wall above would not collapse any more, shined the light in and moved inside. The floor was packed smooth, the walls were also smooth and cut through a layer of clay that had been smoothed with a trowel. Several rough hewn braces had been added to support the tunnel along with several small recesses that held old lanterns.
He thought to himself that it was a goldmine but realized it was probably a shaft to keep food and milk cold for some family long ago during the summers. Then he reached the door. A large oak door bound in iron. He reached out and tried to open it but no luck. Shining the light he saw the keyhole and realized that he had the key in his pocket!
He stood there very quietly, scared and excited, listening for any noise. He glanced back at the light from the opening twenty feet away. Heart beating wildly, he pulled the key out, wiped it on his leg a few times, spit on it and eased it in the lock. Unbelievably, it turned smoothly and with a loud click the lock released and he pushed the heavy door open with a loud creaking sound.
Not stepping in, he shined the light into a large round chamber. The room was filled with wooden boxes. He saw that some said dynamite on the side. Others had the name Jacob Walz on the side. A large table was in the center of the hidden chamber that was half covered with small rocks covered in dust. A large piece of parchment was held down by an old lantern. Paul stepped into the room, and studied the boxes without touching anything. He moved to the table, ignored the rocks and studied the paper. Shining his light and blowing the dust off, he realized it was an old map that had a mountain range labeled Superstitious Mountains, some dim writing in the corner that appeared to be compass bearings and had a trail on the map that led to a large X. He started to get the map, but the edges crumbled with the slightest touch. He started to move the lamp away to try to roll the map up and then gently moved a few rocks off the edges.
He didn’t notice that the old door had silently closed behind him until he heard the slight click as it snapped shut. Panic gripped him as he instantly imagined himself locked in and dying in the darkness. He rushed to the door with everything else forgotten and tried to open it. He pulled, he jerked to no avail, and then he even yelled for help but realized that he was totally alone. The feeling of being buried alive almost made him lose control as he saw the small flashlight was getting dimmer. He closed his eyes a second and tried to think. Opening them, he tried to work the old key in the lock but it wouldn’t go in from this side of the door. Looking close, he saw that the keyhole was almost closed shut from rust. Breathing deeply he finally remembered his father always telling him to stay cool in an emergency. He looked around and grabbed a couple of the rocks from the table, he stuck one in his pocket just in case, and used the other to gently tap the key into the lock. After several gentle taps, the key slid in.
He dropped the rock and tried turning the key back and forth until, finally, it gave and unlocked as before. He jerked the door open against the wall as he dropped the key in his pocket, there was a small rumble that made a few small rocks and a bit of dirt fall from the ceiling of the chamber. It was time to leave and bring back help. He quickly moved down the tunnel, and heard the door once again click shut just before he moved out into the sunlight. Deer hunting forgotten, he hurried back to camp as the sun went down.
Paul told us of his adventure that night as a huge storm whipped the Christmas Place.
The electricity went out, candles were lit and between flashes of lightning he told the story, showed us the key and we discussed what it all meant until we fell asleep. The next morning we headed out to the cliff. The storm was gone and the sun was bright. We worked our way to the base of the bluff where it made the sharp turn and then realized that during the night, the whole side of the bluff had collapsed burying anything that was there under hundreds of thousands of cubic feet of dirt. Trent, Paul and Rex agreed then and there that one day soon they would hire equipment and reopen the hidden room. Meanwhile we have done extensive research and believe that Jacob Walz was the lost Dutchman of the famous lost Dutchman Mine . He had made several trips back and forth to Natchez and could have slowly moved his treasure here in wooden boxes, especially labeled as explosives. The other thing is the small rock Paul had kept in his pocket. Cleaned up, here is a picture of it.