00:00:05 Speaker 1: Welcome to this Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves from coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living. I want you to stay a while as I share my stories and the country skills that will help you beat the system. This Country Life is proudly presented as part of Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast the airways have to offer. All right, friends, pull you up a chair or drop that tailgate. I think I got a thing or two to teach you know your trees. Tree identification is more important than maybe some folks think, and being able to tell the difference between a red oak and a white oak could be the difference in going hungry or coming home with a sackful of supper. Trees on the landscape tell a story. It's never too late to learn the difference, says, and it's never been easier to do it right now. Why it's easy right now because right now is when we're talking about it, and the amount of information available has never been greater. I'm challenging you to know the woods you're rambling around in. The more you know, the better it's going to help you in every pursuit that you have that takes place in the woods. No, you trees us up next. But first I'm going to tell you a story. In high school at Warren, Arkansas, I took a two year forestry class at the Votech campus along with my old watermelon stealing buddy Greg Hayes. I'm starting to think this guy may have been a bad influence. But our teacher was a bona fide of registered forester and his name was Fred Burnett. It's still Fred Burnett anyway. The Warren Votech took students from all over southeast Arkansas and offered welding, construction, trade, nursing, business courses, and forestry. The forestry class was absolutely outstanding. It was also hard. We had to learn to identify seventy five different species of trees that grew in Arkansas along with their scientific names, and be able to identify them by their leaves and the characteristics of their bark, limbs, and twigs. I loved it and everything about it. The majority of the instruction weather permitting was always outside, which is where I wanted to be anyway. There were around on fifteen of us I guess in the class from four different area high schools, and like little Turkey polts following a mother hen we trailed mister Burnett all over the school campus learned about all the aspects of trees and where they grew. I remember exactly where we were standing a week into school when he looked at me and told me to identify a tree and give him the scientific name. We had just are studying this stuff, and we were at the south entrance to the school campus that doesn't even exist anymore. Beside the driveway where the votech bus was parked was a tree, and everyone in the class was waiting for me to screw it up when I said American sweet gum liquid AMBARSTI rest of Fleua, correct, said mister Burnett. And that was forty one years ago, and I remember it like it was this morning. Lucky for me, it was also the first one that I had learned. I could tell you about ten different trees before I started that class, but the scientific names, and that was the gravy of the tree ied game. We were also blessed to have a school forest about fifteen acres of mixed pine and hardwood, and that was our real classroom. That's where we made money to finance school projects and trips. Those woods are gone now and have been for quite a long time, but back then, selling firewood was our mission. I can't imagine this kind of curriculum in schools now. Maybe I'm wrong, but we had chainsaws and we used them. A lot of us had used them at home before we ever got to high school, and those that hadn't, mister Burnette taught him how to do it. We'd take turns notching and cutting trees, trimming the limbs, cutting the log into firewood links, and then take a bolting axe or splitting them all, whatever you want to call it, and split the wood for stacking. At school. Chainsaws, bolton axes, sledge hammers, steel wedges, single and double bit axes were all at our disposal. It looked like a children's prison gang out there, and mister Burnett was the warden. Now. Having kids from different schools, especially those from rival schools, always put an extra dynamic of competition amongst the students. Terry was a guy from just such a school. He was a good guy, a good athlete, but always competitive. Everything was a competition to him. Terry told me that while I was pretty good with a chainsaw, that there wasn't a cut off section of wood that he couldn't split with a double bit axe. He then proceeded to demonstrate it by easily splitting a cut red oak and the pieces ready for the fireplace. Terry was a show off, but Brent was diabolical, and when he said there ain't a cut off piece of wood out here that I can't split, being at my limit of having to listen to him say how good he was at everything, I accepted his challenge and rolled him up a two foot in diameter and beautifully round cut of sweet coat. Now, anyone who knows anything about splitting wood and burning wood knows that oak cut offs split good when they're green, and great when they've been put up to dry. Sweet gum, on the other hand, do not. The twisted woven grain of the sweet gum is terrible for splitting, and it's basically useless as firewood. Whoever cut it down that day must have just been practicing, because I can assure you mister Burnett wasn't about to have us split it up and stack it for sale. But that wasn't Terry's challenge. He said there wasn't a cutoff out there that he couldn't split with a double bit axe. Well, remember Greg Hayes, my partner in Watermelon Crime, my lifelong to this very day friend, that's more like a brother. That guy, Well, I blame him for what happened next, because he should have stopped me. He knew just as well as I did that he wasn't going to be able to split that, especially with an axe. You could have loaded that thing up in a cannon and shot it through a fire truck and not knocked the bark off of it. Sweet gum doesn't split well. But Terry, he was a competitor. He knew the challenge that lay before him, and he walked around that end table size cut off, sizing it up and looking for a weak spot. He was toting that double bit axe like thor toased his hammer as he tried to stare it down. He stopped and looked up at each of us like he knew something we didn't, and he grinned and he spit on that cutoff, marking his spot. I looked at Gregg and we smiled. Then that cat slowly raised that axe above his head and with one mighty stroke, he landed that axe blade precisely where he'd planned, and was as surprised as that both of us when the axe bounced straight back, hitting him with the opposite side blade on the forehead above his left eye. It was a bang bang play. None of us had time to react. Before the love of humanity, I wasn't trying to kill him. The amount of litigation that would take place in these times makes me shudder to imagine what would happen. But those times were different. He had a two hitch cut on his head that bled pretty good for a few minutes. Mister Burnett applied some galls from the first daid kit that he kept with us and took him to the school nurse and the nursing students got to work on a real live dummy instead of a plastic one. He came out of there smiling after having all those gals fussing over him and wrapped up like he been loaded in a cannon and shot through a fire truck. But that was all. No one got sued, No one got in trouble, not bad trouble. Anyway, mister Burnett had what I'd call a meaningful exchange of ideas with all three of us, and that was it. This wouldn't be the last adventure in that class, but that's for another time. But before someone writes in it says anything negative about the supervision or that there was a lack of it, let me remind you that we had all gone through safety training and chose to ignore what we knew were tried and true practices of safety in that setting, Mister Burnett couldn't be everywhere at once to keep idiots from causing their own calamity, just like a coach can't be to prevent an athlete from injuring themselves, or or my high school a teacher at the time. I filled a pipe full of stlene stuffed full of wet paper towels, lit it and shot them across the shop and agg class like a Roman candle. That was all on us, nobody else. Mister Burnett will go on to become the forester at a Central Arkansas military base and eventually retire as the fire management officer for the Arkansas Forestry Commission. You don't rise to those positions being inattentive or characters. He's a grandpa now, and a good man and a great influence on me, And that's just how that happened. It's been said the best deer killers probably don't know what kind of tree they're sitting in, So why does it matter. It matters because all animals operate on the three necessities of life, food, water, and shelter. Food and shelter can be provided by trees and water. Well that can be located by the types of trees that you observe. Trees are also a static identifier for a whole bunch of stuff. They'll tell you the potential wildlife that lives there. They can tell the air you're entering or leaving as different species grow in different terrain types. They can tell you the general health of the ecosystem you're operating in, and possibly be a barometer for your potential success in that space, or at least the opportunity for success. Healthy trees usually dictate healthy wildlife, but not for all wildlife. Sometimes the absence of trees is even more beneficial, or at least in that same area. And stay with me, there's no one that likes an open hardwood bottom more than me. Seeing that grand overstory of giant oak trees is both peaceful and nostalgic. It's our nature to love things and to have order, and the neat defined contrast between an open hardwood flat and a briar laden thicket is a prime example of how predators in prey coexist in the same space. One time, my dad and I was squirrel hunting and sleaning over bottoms where I grew up. Peanup was treated, and we were going to him by cutting across a thicket from one spot of timber to the next. I was sitting behind him on our big buckskin horse with the toes of my boots dug in behind the bend of his knees, and my hands were running deep in his pockets of his old army green hunting coat, and I was squeezing him as hard as I could to hang on with my face buried in the middle of his back, as we rode through a patch of briers so thick a rabbit would have had the toe to hatchet with him to get around in. We busted out on the other side and I could relax and look around. I remember telling him how much I hated those thickets, and that I wished all of it could look like the open timber we were riding in now. And I never will forget how he described it looking when he was a kid. He's just something. When I was your age, I could run barefoot from Mount Eby to the Califorard. Y'all just gonna have to trust me on that one. That's a long way from down the river through the woods from those two places. But he said, I didn't have to worry about stepping on briars, getting hung up in BlackBerry thickets, or even slowing down to look at deer tracks. When I asked why he wouldn't slow down to look at deer tracks, he said, because there wasn't any deer in here to make them. Now, don't get me wrong. They were deer in Arkansas way before my dad was a little boy. Fernando de Soto was trapsing around here for about a year starting in fifteen forty one, and he was trading goods and visiting with the Caddo Indians who were wearing buckskins that came from here, and the meat that they ate was a large part of their diet, and I can dig it. Less than an hour ago. Alexis had me lay out a package of burger to throw out for supper tonight. Those folks knew what was good, and we do too. His point to why of the woods, the open woods looked so good to me was because we were out there to catch stuff and eat it. Now here's another side note. He was making a point about predators. But don't anyone think for a minute that he was about to eat one of the squirrels we'd kill that day or any other day. He wouldn't at one if he'd have been starving, slapped to death. He'd help me skin them and even cook them for me, but eat them, not buddy reeves, and not for any amount of money. He gave them away to neighbors, traded them to a man down the road for snake bite medicine, and anyone that wanted them. But he wouldn't eat one. And why he wouldn't eat one, that's a whole other story. Anyway, He told me, the better that we could see, the better chance we had of slipping around and getting close enough to something to catch it. It worked the same way with animals, And while that didn't endear me the thickets, it did make me realize that, you know, they were important. It's one of the necessities of life. We talked about shelter. Those thickets are where deer lay up to have their phones hidden from any and everything that was running around trying to make a bamb sandwich out of them. They also hold the brows and a million other goodies and reasons why they're beneficials to a multitude of animals found in and around them. Maybe we'll talk about thickets one day, but this day ain't it. We're talking about trees and importance of knowing the difference. You don't have to know the scientific names of trees, but it's important. It's hunters and observers, the wildlife that we understand as best we can, the environment that we find ourselves operating in. Being able to tell the difference in mass producing trees, evergreens and decideous trees that's the ones that lose their leaves in the fall is one of the best eras in your quiver. And not all decidus trees lose their leaves at the same rate or begin at the same time. If your summer scouting and you looking to hang a stand in that perfect spot where trails come together, and you want to be there for an October bow hunt in Arkansas, and you choose a tree with limbs that come out at a ninety degree angle with great leaf cover, you'll be shining like a diamond and a coach. But by the time that October gets here, because the tree you select is more than likely a black gum. Now that's Nissa silvatica. It's one of the first trees in the woods to lose its leaves, and usually by October it's as barren as a ten year old dough. However, the fruit of a black gum can be made into jelly for us to eat, and animals from turkeys to songbirds. The coons, bears and squirrels and a bunch of others love them. Deer not so much. They'll feed on the seedlings and the leaves up to a point. Then, as the sample of matures the leaves lose they're attraction, the deer bove on to something else, and the other animals I mentioned take advantage of what the deer crossed off their menu. Also, the black gum tree is very susceptible to heart rots, which can cause them to become hollow over time, but with there wood being so strong, they can still live for a long long time. This creates shelter and dens for mammals, birds, tree dwelling critters, bats, and spaces for honey bee hives. All of that in one tree. That's just one of more than one hundred different species of trees that are native to Arkansas. In Louisiana and Kansas, you're looking at about the same number. Well, you say to yourself, I hunt out west, and there ain't many trees out there anyway, and thanks, you ain't enough to make a different to any kind of plans that I'm going to make when I hunt out there. Well guess what it should make a difference. Because New Mexico and Arizona they sport over one hundred and thirty different species. In Utah that's close to two hundred and fifty. Obviously, all of them ain't providing food for game. But you have to remember that shelter is just as important, and it's one of those three basic requirements for life. So keep that in mind. Speaking of shelter, my friend MARAE. Means, who is the Large Carnivore Program Coordinator for the Arkansas Game and Fish he told me once when they were due and some bearden studies now bearding studies, when they locate a breeding age seals that have been radio collared and they hit them with the old razzle dazzle knockout shot and get all the biological data they can muster from her in any cubs she may have betta and I went on one this past March, and man, what an experience it was. Anyway, Myron and his merry band of biologists, veterinarians, and technicians tracked a collared sound down in South Arkansas, where it's common for mama bears to use tree cavities to den in since the areas are prone to flood. I guess this old gal was prepping for the big one, because Myron said she was located over eighty feet high in a huge bald cypress tree. That's tax odium to stitch them for you folks keeping score, and just some more gibbers for those that ain't. But bears are funny creatures and I dig them. Now. I can't speak much about the trees out west, but I can talk about those I find here. Orcus alba, the white oak Man. It's a blessing and a curse all rolled up in one. Now. How could something that produces nature's best acorn, preferred by animals and humans alike be a curse. Wait a minute, did I say humans? I sure did. I mentioned the Caddo Indians earlier. Well, that's just one tribe of Native Americans that were trading deerskins and others such plunder to the Sodo and his crew while towding a lunch bucket full of acorn based groceries to the meet and greet. My friend Rick Spicer is a flint napping, acorn eating bushcraft teaching guru. If there was such a thing as a human Swiss Army knife, mine would have a Rick Spicer blade in it. Y'all check out Rick's Instagram page at packrat Bushcraft and give it a fallow. I'll share a link to it on mine and post up his step by step method in the recipe he uses to make cinnamon acorn bread Cinnamon acren bread. Y'all know I'm gonna try tow, so you might as well join me, all right. The Curse of the White Oak Acorn is mainly to bear hunters hunting over bait. I don't have the energy to fuss with folks about baiting or not baiting. I ain't what we're talking about. Save it for another day and somebody else what I'm talking about is how white oak acorns can absolutely ruin a baited bear hunt. Simply put, when they start falling, a black bear will crawl over a mountain of doughnuts to eat one acre. Your bait will die deader than disco literally overnight. Knowing the trees in your bear hunt area is crucial. If the acrons start falling early, you may have to swap it up and change up your tactics from standing hunting to more of a spot and stalk. By knowing tree I D. Knowing your trees, you can look for a stand of white oaks, check for bear sign, focus your efforts where you're likely to cross paths with the bear or the bears that have abandoned your bait. Now, I know I've been talking about bears and and white oaks, but that's only example. Your target species could be focusing on the acorns of red oaks, pinoaks for salmon fruit, or beech tree masts whatever. Late winter, when the acorns are all but gone and there's no frogs or crawfish or bugs around for coons to eat, we'll go to areas where we know there are groups of deciduous holly trees. That one's called alex decidua. Some folks call it apossum haul or a winterberry tree. That's probably the best name for it, because they'll have fruit when everything else is gone, and when that's the case, we'll be treating in those spots on a regular basis. A lot of you may know that before I turned to a life of fighting crime that I worked in the woods managing timber. For those that didn't, I used to work in the woods managing timber. Tree I d was crucial and allowed me to do my job cruising timber, which is taking a survey of the mertionable timber on a particular property, either by measuring every tree on it or through a measured sampling of designated intervals. Required me to tally the different types of trees to estimate the value of the timber on that land. You should be doing the same now every time you hit the woods, but not for removing timber, but for removing whatever you're chasing out there, or at least finding what you're looking for. Everyone I hunt with is always looking for sign, and I'm the same. But maybe just as important as a sign you're seeing is where it's located and what's around it. Are they just passing through to get to an area of food or shelter. The shelter doesn't have to be a place where they sleep. Shelter can be described as a secure place in which you know they breed or they rest. How about a like a big oak flat or a pine ridge where a gobbler has a strutting zone or white tails bed during the middle of the day. Of course, you can substitute elk and deer or whatever you're after. All I'm saying is to observe the terrain, what's growing there, the environment, the wind, everything that you can file in the old noodle data bank for retrieval when you run across it again, you know somewhere else. Being able to easily identify the trees and what uses them will make your scouting quicker and more effective. When all things are the same, it may be the difference in setting up in a sweet gum grove or a bunch of white oaks. Now, I'll close out with this story here that demonstrates the necessity of tree I d Back in my timber management days, me and mister Leon were marking timber to be cut and We're half a mile from the truck when I found a forty pound pine knot covered in dried gray mud. For those unfamiliar with a pine knot, it's the rich heart or sapwood of a pine tree. Some folks call a lighter fine. It's used for killing and starting fires. And where I grew up it was gold. Everyone that had a fireplace picked it up all year long, regardless of where they were. See a pine knot, pick up a pine knot and told it home. It was common practice and basically the law of the land. A man with a fireplace or any reason to build a fire was judged by the amount of pine knots that he had piled up at home. This one was a monster, and it was all mine. Mister Leon had eyes like a hawk when it came to find the pine knots, and it was like he had a radar. He'd find them, and I'd wind up being the one that towed them back to the truck for him. After all, I was the youngster and the crew, and I respected him for his age and his service in World War Two. This day, it was hot, and we'd been in the woods all day long. We were still a half a mile walk through a sea of briars from the truck. I'd taken the lead shot in the asthmus with my compass and was breaking a trail for both of us when I spied the end of the mother of all pine knots poking up from a patch of green briars. Mister Leon saw me pull it up and throw it over my shoulder. We'd walked from minute or two when he stopped whistling and said, what you got there, son. Luckily he was behind me and couldn't see me rolling my eyes and making a face at the dumbest question I was going to hear all day, my pine knot? Oh? Is that right? With a hen sarcasm, I said, I believe it is, and I wanted to end that with old man, but I didn't. He started back whistling, and we kept walking and fighting through the briers and the heat toward the truck. Now, I got to tell you that pine knot was killing me. I was swapping shoulders more than I was walking. It was over one hundred degrees in that thicket, and the only air turning in there was when I was walking, swapping shoulders with my prize or mister Leon's whistling. I wanted to check, but I knew he'd pick it up and told it about fifty yards before my conscience made me take it away from him and told it for him anyway. Still a quarter from the truck, he stopped whistling again. He said, you really gonna tote that all the way out? Now? Did he think I couldn't do it? I'll tell you what. As bad as I wanted to fling that pine knot past his ear and almost miss him, I was bound and determined to have it at the truck. When I got there. The last one hundred yards was the worst. I'm telling you. Rain would have had a problem hitting the ground in there, it was so thick. But we broke out of it right beside the truck, and I immediately dropped that pine knot. He stopped whistling and said, you run a good line back to the truck. Soh nob he had to say that. Mister Leon wasn't very complimentary to anyone about anything. His usual response to a question or observation was usually negative. But I always tried to look past that because of all that he'd been through in the war. He was a genuine hero to me, and all of a sudden I felt real bad about the way I'd been thinking and acting. As we walked out, even though he couldn't see it, he poured and handed me the first drink from our water keg. I looked at him and said, mister Leon, do you want this pine knot? He took a big long drink of water and he filled his cup again. He drank it down. He turned away from me and chunked it back over his shoulder, hitting me dead in the chest with a watered up paper cup, and said, that ain't no pine knot. That's a big red oak. Lim turn it over and look at the bark that was on the end you had pointing towards me. He was whistling again when he sat down in the cab of the truck. It pays to know your trees. Thank y'all so much for listening. I truly appreciate you allowed me a little time to run around in your head. Every week, I promised to do my dead level best not step on anything import This is Brent Reeves, sign it all. I'll be careful

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