Momma was a Pistol Packing Southern Belle

Posted on August 8, 2014

Well, sort of.

Mom was born in Hampton County, South Carolina almost 100 years ago. Her daddy was an engineer and she was the youngest of six children that survived infancy. She had lots of interesting stories to tell about living way out in the boons. I admit that some of her stories have ended up in my books. Mom’s life growing up in the deep south always seemed way more interesting than mine. Which was sort of funny, since I grew up just miles away from the New York City line.

I was told that Mom once had a thick southern drawl, but like the Georgia Good Ol’ Boy I married, she lost it living up in Yankee land. Mom was a sweet woman. And most of the time, she wasn’t all that different from the other Moms in the neighborhood.

But other times, not so much.

Photo of a Squirrel eating bird seed

Photo by Chris Williamson

I have one particular memory of mom where her southern came out in spades. It was wintertime. And she woke up to find the squirrels feasting on the bird seed she’d put out in the feeder. Coming from the South, a squirrel was considered a varmint as far as she was concerned. She was not interested in feeding the squirrels.

So she put on her mink coat over her pajamas. (Picture a beautiful champagne-colored 1960s style mink that would be so not PC in this day and age.) And she stepped into her rubber galoshes (there was snow on the ground). And she grabbed my older brother’s BB gun. She stepped out onto the side patio and began simultaneously taking pot shots at the squirrel while cussing up a blue streak. I was impressed. I had no idea that Mom knew how to work an air rifle. (Or to curse like that, either.)

She didn’t hit any squirrels, which I think annoyed her. This probably explained why she offered my brothers money for every squirrel they killed. Although the boys were not real good shots either. In the end, Mom gave up trying to feed the birds.

This memory came back to me just the other day. The Georgia Boy and I were sitting on the back deck, having some adult beverages and enjoying our bird feeders (which are squirrel proof, thank you very much), when what should come into our yard but two young bucks.

Now maybe where you live seeing deer is a regular sort of thing. For me, it’s not. I live just a few miles south of the nation’s capitol. A major north-south rail line runs near my house, as does I-95 and the Capitol Beltway. The presence of these deer, sort of explained two things: 1) the coyote that we’ve seen recently, and 2) the mystery of the disappearing portulaca in my front yard.

Photo of a deer

Photo by Slgckgc on Flikr

Up until I saw these critters, I was pretty sure I had a crazy neighbor who was cutting down my portulaca. It looked like it was getting regularly mowed with a weed-whacker. But I immediately realized that my plants had fallen victim to hungry deer. I was quite annoyed.

I expressed this annoyance to the Georgia Boy, who took matters into his own hands, so to speak. He put down his beer, picked up a rock, and threw it at the deer.

They were as unimpressed by his rock throwing as the squirrels were of my mother’s aim with the BB gun. Those deer were so tame he had to get right up on them to scare them away.

The very next day, he told me that he was borrowing a friend’s pellet gun. Then he muttered something about maybe he should just go out and buy himself one for deer emergencies.

Yep. I always said that my mother and my husband were kindred spirits. The Georgia Boy proved it this week.

So do you have varmint troubles?  And since I’m not a gun person, myself, I’m interested in any ideas anyone has about how to keep the deer out of my portulaca.

photo of Portulaca flowers

Photo by TANAKA Juuyoh