I'm writing this story in honor of my brother Jarvis. He was known all his short forty nine years as "Humpy".
Humpy got that moniker from a fall from the farm wagon when he was just a little tike. Daddy and Mama were clearing some land where they thought one day would be where they planned to settle and build our family a house. Baby Jarvis was in the wagon and somehow tumbled out to hit the ground. The family lore had Daddy and Mama saying he was like Humpty Dumpty in the fable nursery rhyme, Humpty Dumpty. Humpty got shortened to "Humpy".
In my mind I see Mama and Daddy and my oldest brother brother Rayford there in that woods giving kisses and teasing Humpy with that nursery rhyme to pat his bumps, dry his tears and quell his fears.
When I was about ten years old and a full blown tomboy I tagged along on hunts with my brother, about fourteen years of age
. Humpy was a latter day Daniel Boone. He thrived in the woods. He loved to hunt, birds, squirrels, coons, gophers and fish. He was also very easily spooked by things that go "bump" in those woods. I was his "booger whisperer", so usually I was begged into tagging along for the hunts.
I look at this dried up old cypress filled pond and remember the feel of the daylight frost against my hands as I clean away the weeds and brambles to sit very quietly at the knee of a cypress waiting for the squirrels to come out from those nests way up there in the treetops.
We had abandoned our nice warm beds before daybreak to trudge through the woods to the, "Old Long Pond" for a squirrel hunt. I grumbled and stumbled and made too much noise as he drifted along like a noiseless spirit.
His precious litle rifle carried carefully the way Daddy had instructed him for being safe with a gun.
I never felt any fear that my brother would ever accidently shoot me, but I'm as sure as sunlight he feared me because of my big noise making feet and my loud talking as we crept to the place he wanted me to sit and wait.
I squatted, I adjusted my squat, I froze into a solid lump of frozen me. I blew out my breath to try warming my fingers. I pretended to smoke a Lucky Strike as my breath fogged. I looked up at squirrels nests.
Humpy had disappeared into the dawn shadows of that pond.
I listened for him.
I once whispered......................." Humpy'........"Hum.......py I can't see you".
Who was the one that really feared the bump in the dark of that pond that morning.
Time dragged there in that frozen day breaking.
I heard a faint rustllng, then a chit.
My heart slammed my rib cage.
I saw the little grey squirrel flit it's tail, instantly move to the other side of the old cypress tree.
Suddenly he was back on the facing side to raise his head and flit his tail as he did another chit.
"Humpy"..................!
I watched that little squirrel coming down the side of that big old cypress then jump to another tree.
" Crack"..............
The squirred fell against my shoulder.
He lay in a clump of dried sage grass while one final spasm passed through his little body.
I looked up to see my brother standing there beside me smiling.
" Did you see him jump to that limb, that was when I got a good bead on him".
I ran all the way home as frozen tears and snot collected on my face.
I didn't go squirrel hunting again as his "booger whisperer".
I went gopher snagging with Humpy to use those reptiles for hauling pretend logs by holes bored in the back of the shell to tie leather strings for pulling our logs.
I played in Poley Branch with him as he built water mills while I shoveled out sand to build dams to cause those mills to flutter against the streaming water.
Years I enjoyed his natural ability to build traps for catching quail in the pea patch. We spent hours and lost perfectly good skin from the back of our armpits walking on tom walkers he built. He made "rollermen" for us to pull by filling a syrup bucket with sand, punching a hole into the lid and bucket bottom to run through a piece of bailing wire used for pulling those fun contraptions through mudholes for making water curtains flare.
I fished with him through the years.
In my opinion, hooks and bullets are different.
I never again went squirrel hunting with Humpty.
I would give anything to go squirrel hunting again with my brother.
He finished his last hunt on Thanksgiving Day in 1986 at the age of 49.
