Reflections of a True Pioneer

            As the sun stamped her final seal of approval on yet another glorious January day in the piney woods; Mr. Monroe Thompson steadied the cross-hairs on the scope,  mounted atop of his 30-30 Winchester bolt-action rifle.

            His aim was directed at a 4-point buck that appeared from the woodline approximately 30 yards from his elevated observation post nestled between the Ochlocknee and Sopchoppy River basins. As he smoothly and steadily squeezed the trigger with total disregard to the recoil and report of the high-powered rifle, the whitetail buck  fell instantly in his tracks from a single well-placed shot.

            Many might think that this scenario is well within the norm and status quo during hunting season in North Florida, and is more than likely simultaneously occurring in several locations throughout the Panhandle.

            On the contrary, there's one significant factor that separates this event from all others; Mr. Monroe Thompson celebrated his 99th birthday on Nov. 16, 2008.

            News of this event first aired at work in casual conversation. Many others like myself decided this was definitely a story worth being shared by all. When Mr. Monroe's son, Mitchell, mentioned our intentions to his dad, he was quick to point out another local hunter that had recently bagged a couple of bucks in the woods nearby.

            Little did Mr. Monroe know, that his reluctance to be noticed is a direct reflection of his humble character, and does nothing more than fuel a writer's pen and make him more worthy of recognition. On the seventh day of February 2009, I was blessed with the sincere pleasure, honor and privilege of speaking with Mr. Monroe Thompson and his boys, Herbert and Mitchell at their homestead in Curtis Mill.

            During this genuine opportunity, I learned that Monroe Thompson was born in the Year of Our Great Lord, Nineteen Hundred and Nine (1909), on the Franklin County side of the Ochlocknee River, in a vast expanse of land we refer to as Womack Creek Swamp.

            While growing up in the "Roaring 20's" and the "Great Depression" in the 1930's; these catastrophic and monumental occurrences of American history seemed to  have little or no effect on this part of the world. Most people planted their own crops and preserved the yield, so it could be consumed throughout the year. Raccoons, opossums and crows posed a much greater threat to the crops in those days than did the deer. If deer were seen standing in the garden one minute, they would probably be seen laying there the next.

            Mr. Monroe expressed that there seems to be more deer now than there were 50, 60 or 70 years ago. Several factors could contribute to the increase; such as better conservation practices and enforcement, folks not being as dependent on wild game for a food source, and the lack of free-ranging cattle and hogs roaming the pine scrub flats and hardwood hammocks and swamps eating up all of the natural deer feed. In those days it wasn't uncommon to consume raccoons and opossums, and they were pretty tasty when prepared properly.

            The primary means of transportation was either on foot, horseback or horse and buggy. One horse was so boney on her backbone that you couldn't ride her bareback; she also couldn't stand anything under her tail, such as reins, or tack while pulling a wagon and would kick violently until she was clear of everything she was pulling. One time, he moved a house with a yoke of oxen (two ox bound together with a large wooden yoke)  from across the branch using railroad irons and huge wooden rollers.

            On many occasions, when he would visit neighboring Sopchoppy through the woods, he'd swim the river and just float the animals across; sometimes they wouldn't swim and would be pulled across the river as they floated naturally. For a livelihood, Mr. Monroe worked in the turpentine woods chipping boxes and scraping trees, in the logging woods, with the state road department and in the construction business building houses all around this area, to include Alligator Point and Carrabelle.

            Upon retirement at the age of 65, Mr. Monroe started avidly deer hunting, mostly with hound dogs. The best and second buck he ever killed, is a fine 10-point and this magnificent specimen is hanging on the wall of his bedroom. He bagged this trophy whitetail buck with a shotgun, while running dogs on Jan. 11, 1983, one buckshot piercing the heart.

            After dog hunting for many, many years, and harvesting his share of deer, he took up still hunting a few years back on some of his family property that borders the Morrison Hammock Unit of the Apalachicola National Forest. With the help of a nephew and his sons, he built an elevated shooting house that he refers to as his "Condominium." This elevated observation post is 12-foot above the ground, insulated, carpeted, heated and stocked full of necessities. There's an ample supply of drinking water, snacks, newspaper, bug spray, scent neutralizer, a urinal bottle, pine disinfectant, flashlight, a large comfortable office chair, and a two-way radio that he refers to as his C.B.

            As we were leaving his residence, en route to the "Condo," Mr. Monroe reached down and picked up a small, hard-shell pecan and handed it to me. As he handed me the pecan, Mr. Monroe said, "I'm not sure if there's anything in it, but you can have it anyway." I slipped it into my pocket and we were on our way.

            Although I'm not in the least bit superstitious, I put the little pecan in my hunting fanny pack when I returned home; kind of like our Southern version of the "buckeyes" native to the northern states. The origin and source, of course, meaning much more to me than the little nut itself.

            When we arrived at the "Condo," Mr. Monroe climbed the two flights of stairs; upon reaching the top platform, he said, "If ya'll are man enough, come on up!" This is just one of many witty and optimistic remarks expressed by Mr. Monroe throughout the afternoon. Not only has Mr. Monroe Thompson witnessed a century of time come to pass; he has certainly been a genuine "Sport Model" in the process.

            As I said my goodbyes to Mr. Monroe, he was settling in and awaiting the prime, golden hunting hour. While I was descending the stairs of his "Condominium," the sun was also gradually sinking into her resting place behind the pines, gums and water oaks to the west across the tannic acid stained waters of the mighty Ochlocknee. My emotions were overwhelmed with a strange and refreshing sense of enlightenment. I have been engaged in conversation for a couple of short hours with a remarkable individual that generously took me for an awesome and unique stroll through a century of history.

            I've heard and used the term "North Florida Pioneer Stock" loosely and nonchalantly on several occasions to describe local natives, including myself; however, Mr. Monroe Thompson meets and exceeds any criterion established for the covetous and prestigious title "Pioneer."\