PREFACE: The old saying that "Time Heals all Wounds" sadly does have a little truth to it. Time sadly does heal some wounds. Many of you understand what I am referring to you and others will in time.
The background: My Mama, Geneva Arnold, inherited a piece of property from her parents that we called "The Swamp". This property was inherited from Houston and Lizzy Pearson. My father and mother were looking after this property and I being the prodigal son had hunting rights to this property. I had my Daddy fattening up a few of the local deer in this area while I was living in Pennsylvania at the time. When I came home, I was ready to kill myself one or two.
Daddy warned me that some of the locals had been enjoying tearing up the road into the property and that I might better just park the Ford pickup and walk in. In Bama, we call it mud riding, but it made a mess of the road. I was not one to back down from a challenge and I just knew his old F250 with grip tires would go through the bad part of the road.
I was driving in Daddy's White Ford F250 and had on my camo, with my trusty little Remington model 7 in 308, and was going to kill a doe and maybe even a big buck. I made it to the bad part of the road. I gave it a real hard run and the truck just sat down. I worked and worked and knew from past experience the truck would never get out on its on. I sat there for a moment disgusted. Then I went to work walking out. I walked out about 1/2 mile as I didn't have a cell phone at the time. I made it to Marshal's house and called my folks.
Daddy came with his trusty come-a-long and a chain. He and I went pretty close in the car to where the truck was. Daddy had a huge amount of chain and that is all that saved us. We hooked to a large pine on the side of the road and began winching the truck out. Granted---we were using a hand driven winch to pull a full size truck out of the mud. We went inch by inch. Inch by inch we pulled the truck around and out of the hole. I can still remember the sweat and the burning of my lungs. I recall it was November and probably around Thanksgiving, and everyone knows that it still is hot in Bama. Well, it was hot that day I can remember that it made a huge scar in my memory. I look at mud holes much differently now days. Daddy didn't really have much to say that day. I think he knew that I learned my lesson with all the walking in and out as well as that experience of winching that truck out. (ouch)
I still have the "come-a-long" and have used it to erect a shooting house and yes help me out of a mud hole. The Swamp is now proudly owned by my sister Patsy who has made drastic improvements to the road into the property. The old 308 has been sold my buddy Ed who shot a huge buck with it last year. The old pickup is long gone but gave us good memories. Marshal's is still an eye soar and there close to the property. Daddy is however gone and its been four years now. I still miss him but its not as raw as it once was. Hopefully its a long time for your wounds to heal. Healing isn't always a good thing.
