There was an old plantation in South Carolina I would visit as a kid with my dad – Imagine bumping up and down dirt roads flanked with Spanish moss draped live oaks- There were countless lily pad-filled ponds with orange-eyed alligators- At night we’d fall asleep to the ceaseless din of bullfrogs and crickets- There were 34 square miles/22,000 acres of this, with a little hunting cabin in the center- Without one of the old maps, you would need a great amount of luck to find that cabin- My dad and his friends had CB radios in their vehicles to communicate with each other as they took turns getting lost, either trying to find the cabin, or trying to find the pond they wanted to fish- The cabin was primitive but functional- It had an old hand pump in the kitchen for water- If you didn’t bring a gallon jug to prime it, you could go get a pot’s worth out of the nearby pond to use- There was no electricity, so we relied upon noisy propane lanterns in the big room, the hallway going to the bunkhouse, and the bunkhouse itself- The big room had an old stone fireplace- It was never in use in the Summers, so we’d put the lantern in there- Out front was a newer-built screened in porch- The grownups would hang out there with their beer and ring toss game- So at night, the kids would have free reign of the spooky-lit cabin, hallway, and bunkhouse- I can’t over emphasize how cool that was- Plus, I was an only child- At these get togethers, not only would there be other kids, but I’d be the oldest by a year or two, so I would call the games of hide and seek in the dark, tag, or spider hunting with flashlights-

I was usually the first kid to wake, along with a towheaded wild child called “Hugh-Boy”- This particular Summer, I was 10- Hugh-boy was 7- It was a “boys trip”; no wives,  so we were completely free to do whatever we wanted, as long as it didn’t disrupt the harmony of the dads- This wasn’t stated explicitly, but understood, shortly after arriving and being left to our own devices- We tried to think of things we would not normally be allowed to do- “Don’t stray too far,” would be a commonly heard instruction, so that July morning, we strayed far- It wasn’t that exciting- We walked and walked and walked until the sun was directly overhead, but the surroundings didn’t transform into any danger-filled adventure zone- Hugh-boy wanted to see what was around the next bend, but I was hungry, and knew it’d just be another swamp scene- So we turned around and headed back- As we came upon the pond that fronted the cabin, Hugh-boy tried to spot alligators, hopefully headed menacingly toward us- There were cypress trees scattered throughout the pond, with their roots, or knees, poking up in the water- “There’s a big un!” he loudly whispered, pointing toward a couple cypress knees about 30 yards away- “Naw, that’s just some roots,” I countered, suddenly unsure- “No way! He’s lookin at us!” I was bored, so bought in- “They don’t eat in the day, I don’t think…” “They do if they’re hungry!” Hugh-boy said, sidling over to the other side of the road- “Well, he’s not moving…,” I said, as my imagination cooled and the alligator started looking more like tree roots- “Let’s shoot it!” Hugh-boy exclaimed, inspired by another usually banned activity- I didn’t want to shoot some alligator just minding his own business, but shooting at a couple cypress knees sounded interesting enough- So we made our way back to the cabin- I made us a couple pimento cheese sandwiches, wrapped them in napkins, and put them in an empty tackle box with a couple cans of Nu-Grape soda- Hugh-boy got a single barrel shotgun from his dad, and I got a 22 rifle from the back of my dad’s Jeep- We loaded it all into an old canoe and after we freed it from a year’s growth of kudzu, I hiked up my pants and shoved us off- We were soon paddling away from the cabin, out into the wide swampy pond- From this direction, we had no clue where we’d seen our “alligator”, but figured there had to be more than one out there- We paused in our paddling after a while to take in our surroundings- The sun broke through the cypress tress in beams upon the clear amber water- There were cranes fishing in the shallows, painted turtles basking on tree roots, and fox squirrels leaping from tree to tree- I wondered if they could swim- Hugh-boy kept taking aim at the wildlife, but was saving his buckshot for that alligator- We ate our sandwiches and paddled further into the swamp- After finishing our lunch, I realized I needed to relieve myself, number two- We were at the far side of the swamp; I didn’t want to paddle all the way back to the cabin, and knew if we went back in, we’d likely not come back out- So, I braced my legs against the side of the canoe, leaned my rear over, and did my business as Hugh-boy took aim at a bird’s nest- Luckily, I’d packed those napkins in the tackle box- I sat back down in my seat and we pondered on the whereabouts of our alligator- After a few minutes, my business came floating by in front of the canoe- Hugh-boy was suddenly inspired- “I’m gonna shoot it!” He exclaimed, lifting up the shotgun- “Um…,” I started, but didn’t know how to counter this proposal- He was itching to shoot that gun, and I’d rather he not shoot any of the wildlife- So I gave him the go ahead- He sighted on the poo target, now floating about 15 feet away on our left- I’m always shocked by the thunderclap of noise a shotgun makes when fired- The kickback from firing the gun knocked him off his seat into the center of the canoe- The air was suddenly full of fowl of all sizes, and the squirrels joined them as they leaped through the trees- Hugh-boy was laughing in shock of the situation, and pointed his gun in the direction of the target, now gone- “I got it!”  I was impressed at his marksmanship, and turned to congratulate him…then noticed something looked…different- His baseball cap had fallen off, and in its place was a brown lump of the blasted-apart target- I started laughing along with him, and managed to choke out, “Shit head!” before dissolving into another peal of laughter- He looked confused, so I pointed at his head, unable to stop laughing- He put his hand up there, then let out a shriek that echoed over the water- The dads had left the porch at the sound of gunfire, and now hollered their concern at Hugh-boy’s vocal commotion- I paddled back as fast as I could, as Hugh-boy hung his head over the side, repeatedly ducking his hair in the water and mewling like a cat in distress- Seventies parenting at its finest…The dads kept closer tabs on us the rest of the weekend-