Beginning Woodslore

Well, let’s see here, what to write of next?

Hmmmm, now I did say that this would also touch on my education as an outdoorsman from time to time, didn’t I? So I guess that’s where we’re going to wander off to next then.

I don’t make any claims as to having anything special in my outdoors education other than Boy Scout leaders who were all veterans, Marines mostly, and the occasional “nut.” Who the nuts were, and who the Marines were, was a subject of intense debate, at times, and depended ENTIRELY on who you approached; as well as when.

Mom never seemed to worry too much about me being outdoors and running around the woods, but then again, most other kids didn’t have a two hundred pound behemoth (named Saber) for a friend and ally. After a while, she didn’t even worry too much if I wandered off completely on my own. Although she wasn’t all that thrilled about me being gone for entire weekends, or weeks, if it was a school break, I always made it home, in one piece and without a police escort.

The “without a police escort” was the especially important part. A lot of the kids I grew up with seemed to get to know the local cops, on a first name basis, early in their lives. I only knew one or two cops like that; only because they were neighbors. Other cops I met much later in my young life when I volunteered at “Safety Town.”

It wasn’t that I was particularly angelic, I just had sense enough; then later, training enough to keep myself out of the limelight.

So, to get back to the point, I was pretty much my own boss, as long as my dogs were taken care of properly and I made arrangements to get my other chores done.

When I first took to the woods I was probably seven. I wandered into the edge of the forest across the street from the back of our property. It was only a woodlot really, right there, but to me it looked like something out of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ “Tarzan” novels.
Pausing briefly I looked back at my mother, she had wanted to see how I was going to react to having a “forest” that close.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked.
“I don’t know, how far can I go?”
“How far do you want to go?”
“When do I have to be back?”
“Before dark …”
Without waiting for the rest of her answer I went crashing off into the underbrush, trying to “merge silently as a ghost” with the undergrowth only to discover a blackberry patch.
Cursing as only the son of a gunnery sergeant can (and I could hear my mother laughing as she walked back to the house) I managed to untangle myself from the briars without disemboweling myself. I also picked a few of the berries, eating them carefully at first
(at the time, I had no idea if they were even edible, I was just lucky that they weren’t belladonna); making a mental note to myself that I would need to learn how to store them if I ever got around to making a semi-permanent camp.

Now, there are a couple of points I’d like to make first.

In those days, there weren’t a lot of “nature” or “survival” books available to the general public. It wasn’t that they didn’t exist (I later came to regard Kephart as some sort of camping saint, finding out his life story put a stop to that, but not the respect I had for the man) but simply that a lot of it was considered common sense, if you lived in the country. I had spent the first six years of my life in the city of Cleveland; the most greenery I had seen prior to moving out to Aurora was down at the corner of our street, an empty, abandoned lot that was severely overgrown.

My only information about animals had come from our own dogs, two Pekingese, a Chow Chow and a German shepherd, in addition to what I learned from my books, the Cleveland Zoo and the Cleveland Aquarium.

The Natural History museum was alright but I have always preferred my animals to have a pulse, even if it means that I might get a harsh lesson in animal communications.

So there I was, a city boy about to start an education which would consume very nearly the whole of the rest of my life.

Looking back I believe that there were two reasons that Mom didn’t worry about me a whole lot, although I don’t believe she ever had to give it much thought.

The first is, although I might be consumed by the desire to learn something, I have never been so consumed as to put myself at unnecessary risk. Some teachers; some of my former friends and associates might find that statement amusing but even with the most hare brained stunts I might pull, there was a certain amount of calculation to them. Not as much as the people around me would have asked for, but I’m still here and (kind of, mostly) in one piece.

The second reason; not one that you’ll see in most children today, is that I’ve always been willing to listen (well, as much as I listen to anyone) to stories that my elders might want to tell me. I have learned a LOT by the simple act of stopping and listening to people.
A habit which has been known to grate on the nerves of my (most beloved) wife.

So, as I ramble, let’s get back to the story of my first lesson as an outdoorsman.

This one was a quick lesson about two things, knowing what you’re putting into your mouth and patience.

So I went into the woods and spent the better part of three hours in there. I followed a deer trail, some rabbit trails and learned what their bedding areas looked like with the help of a couple of hunting books I had.
I also learned that it’s pointless to run around, trying to follow a squirrel. I then learned that feral kittens have no distinguishing markings (OUCH!!!!!!) which magically tell you not to pick them up, that’s what their claws are for.

Glancing up at the sun while playing gave me plenty of indication that I needed to start heading home, and real soon. I only had about forty minutes of daylight left (the sun was three fingers off the tops of the trees.

Even though I didn’t want for the fun to end, neither did I want to be banned from a place I had only just gained access to. I started home.

After crossing the street back to my home (under the watchful eye of Officer George, who kept a close eye on the four, and then later five, of us brothers) I noticed that there was a tree with green and red apples.

Now, let me be the first to tell, many of you, what I learned in the course of the next ten minutes. Officer George stood watching me, in disbelief, from his living room while I did this. He later told my mother that he would have stopped me, if he hadn’t been under the impression that I knew what I was doing.

Well, I thought I knew.

Since I had twenty minutes of light left and only a five minute walk ahead of me; since I was feeling a might bit hungry and wanted to experience the “full rapture and joy in supplying food for oneself” …. I decided to eat a few of the apples.

More precisely, CRAB apples

Now, one didn’t generally give me a problem; even two or three, I usually got away with. But I didn’t stop there.

I probably ate all the apples off one branch.

Alright, that’s enough with the laughing, already.

I didn’t have far to go, not more than about a quarter acre from the tree to the edge of the barn (this was years before it burnt down) for about half the distance I was O.K., but as I came around the barn I knew I was having problems. My stomach had gone from a mild rumble, to something that sounded like a rabid bear was growling in my stomach while moving around restlessly. Sitting down outside the barn’s side door I was praying for death, or at least that if I was going to have “issues” that it would be while I was outside, so that I could preserve at least the APPEARANCE of dignity.

Without warning an arm slipped under mine, assisting me in getting up, “Too many of those apples’ll ruin your day for sure, son,” a familiar voice said. I looked up, it was Officer George, he helped me into the house and straight to the bathroom.
He and Mom were talking but I wasn’t listening …. I closed the door behind me, then it opened a bit and a shot glass full of some foul smelling oil came through, “Just drink all this, and stay in there for a bit.”
“How long should I stay in here?”
“Just drink that, you’ll know when you can come out.”
Well, his advice was sound, I drank the castor oil and after a few minutes, well, it wasn’t pretty but the pain in my stomach subsided and I felt a lot better.

Note to self, LAY OFF THE WEIRD LITTLE APPLES.

Second note to self, OBTAIN BOOK ON WILD EDIBLES

Third note to self, MAKE CERTAIN YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE EATING

To quote the Bard, “ ‘nuff said.”



It's not about anger - it's about peace
It's not about power - it's about grace
It's not about knowing your enemy - it's about knowing yourself.

the Monk